What Would I Do If You Killed My Child?
This poem is dedicated to the memory of Ahmed T. Abdelal, long-time Dean of Art and Sciences at Georgia State University and later Provost at Northeastern and U. Mass., Lowell. As a young man, Ahmed could recite every detail of the history of the Arab/Israeli conflict arguing the Arab case like a prosecuting attorney. He did this fiercely and single-mindedly until a mentor in Cairo convinced him that if we focus only on the past rather than on the future — how to make peace — we will make war unending. This insight transformed him. In addition to being an accomplished biologist, a remarkably talented administrator, and a brilliant individual, Ahmed was a man of peace in all things. Ahmed died on April 12, 2024: airqud fi salam…aleve sholem
Israelis and Palestinians largely agree on just one point: The other side is untrustworthy, inhumane, illegitimate and extremist. The final element of this symmetry is that each denies that there is any symmetry at all.
Nicholas Kristoff New York Times 6/30/24 https://www.nytimes.com/2024/06/29/opinion/israel-gaza-west-bank.html
What Would I Do If You Killed My Child?
I.
the little one with the dark brown eyes and sweet
smile or the big one with the blue eyes and broad
grin, the two of them playing innocently in the yard.
What would I do if you or your tribe killed my pregnant wife,
her belly a mountain of waiting new life, seed of my seed,
yet to spring forth? I would gouge your eyes, cut out your liver,
throw your vile body to the dogs. I would have no compunction,
feel no guilt…be on my way without a thought or pang.
If I couldn’t gouge your eyes because you were better armed,
I would hate you and your tribe with passion undying,
lie in wait for you, store arms, do whatever I could
until I summoned the strength, found a way to make you all
suffer as I have. I’d do anything to see you writhe in pain…
as would everyone…except a few naïve, saintly types.
II.
What Would You Do If I Killed Your Child?
the little one with the still-snotty new nose and eager eyes
or the big one who loves to dance and can sing like a violin,
the two of them playing innocently in the yard. You’d gouge
my eyes, cut out my liver, throw my vile body to the dogs
because I and my tribe have killed your child and your pregnant wife.
What if I cried, “But your offenses against me were much worse
than mine?” What if I argued well?
You’d shout that you argued better, that you’re right and I wrong,
that your offenses were far less than mine, that MORALITY, THE LAW
and GOD ALMIGHTY HIMSELF has said so. “Look in my book,”
you’d say, “the true book, not yours, the false one. It’s settled.
Look back, look back, get the revenge you are owed.”
The desire is in our very bodies, our DNA, born of our prehistory.
In the beginning was bloodlust, thirst for power, conquest,
retaliation, revenge.
III.
So say the retribution-seekers, the backward-lookers, hawkers of hate,
guarantors-of-violence-immemorial. Each can argue his case well:
there is blood and blood and more blood everywhere —
we choose the blood we prefer.
Thus does it go: hate breeding hate, killing breeding killing
with no end until the last one of us is dead. Hate looks backward.
Love of humanity, of life and peace, look forward.
Holy are Mohammed, Jesus, and Gandhi, the prophets
of every religion who strived for peace. Holy are King
and Mandela, Sadat and Rabin (the warrior who said “enough war!”),
Alex Navalny, and all who emulate them.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
our salvation.
David Blumenfeld (a.k.a. Dean Flowerfield) is a retired philosophy professor and associate dean who resumed writing stories and poetry after a more than 40-year break. Since 2022, he has twice been nominated for a Pushcart Prize; one of his stories received a “notable essay” mention in The Best American Essays, 2022; nine of his poems were finalists or received high praise in poetry contests, and one of his pieces appeared in Best American Haiku, 2023. Davidcblumenfeld.com
The Marbled Sigh 