This piece is part of our Wit­ness­ing series, which shares pieces from Israeli authors and authors in Israel, as well as the expe­ri­ences of Jew­ish writ­ers around the globe in the after­math of Octo­ber 7th.

It is crit­i­cal to under­stand his­to­ry not just through the books that will be writ­ten lat­er, but also through the first-hand tes­ti­monies and real-time account­ing of events as they occur. At Jew­ish Book Coun­cil, we under­stand the val­ue of these writ­ten tes­ti­mo­ni­als and of shar­ing these indi­vid­ual expe­ri­ences. It’s more impor­tant now than ever to give space to these voic­es and narratives.

I stood close as tar­gets do”

-Rosa Lane


Tues­day morn­ing 7:27 AM and I am

as naked as the morn­ing still in bed

not alone but clean still from where we 

met in the bath last night our medallion

love stick­ered and true and there I lay

7:27 lift­ed by a siren first from the next town

over some­thing just off but close then 

our own – like a tod­dler between us so loud as if

from under the bed inside the windows

between my ears our first siren in 

the new house and yes­ter­day my mother

at 87 3 times lugged to her saferoom

in her wheel­chair grab a nightgown 

and glass­es, flip flops and phone down 

the long flight of unfa­mil­iar stairs 

to the garage I nev­er thought I’d ever have 

all poured cement and safe when halfway 

down the booms of mis­sile hit­ting missile 

and shrap­nel that knows grav­i­ty like we all

know grav­i­ty and still out­side this old

body tum­bling to safe­ty or maybe

safe­ly tak­ing a tumble.

*

And all along we believed in the cold blue bar­rel of it, the gun clos­et full the smell of gun­pow­der from home­made bul­lets tar­get prac­tice in the base­ment and bel­ly down in tall grass a .22 pushed to the shoul­der of your 3 year old body hit cans that cold blue so cold it could suck the sun­shine from the sky and dun­geon it out of sight we thought this must be good only it nev­er was: bul­lets enter­ing like secrets, full lipped and plo­sive unzip the can the spill of roe and the bed­sit rubied the school­room drowned the hos­pi­tal awake in flame. Remind me of the good what deter­rent means cause I’m blind. Always have been and now. Blind.


The views and opin­ions expressed above are those of the author, based on their obser­va­tions and experiences.

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Poet, essay­ist, trans­la­tor and Ful­bright Schol­ar, Rachel Neve-Midbar’s col­lec­tion Salaam of Birds was cho­sen by Dorothy Bar­resi for the Patri­cia Bib­by First Book Prize and was pub­lished by Tebot Bach in Jan­u­ary 2020. She is also the author of the chap­book, What the Light Reveals (Tebot Bach, 2014, win­ner of The Clock­work Prize). Rachel’s work has appeared in Black­bird, Prairie Schooner, Grist and Geor­gia Review as well as oth­er pub­li­ca­tions and antholo­gies. Her awards include the Crab Orchard Review Richard Peter­son Prize, The Pas­sager Prize, and nom­i­na­tions for The Push­cart Prize. Rachel is also the co-edi­tor of Stained: an anthol­o­gy of cre­ative writ­ing about men­stru­a­tion (Queren­cia Press, July 2023) and her schol­ar­ly work Thought and New Lan­guage in the Men­stru­al Poem is due out from Pal­grave MacMil­lan in 2026. Rachel earned her PhD from The Uni­ver­si­ty of South­ern Cal­i­for­nia, where her research con­cerned men­stru­a­tion in con­tem­po­rary poet­ry. She is cur­rent­ly a Ful­bright Post Doc in Israel trans­lat­ing the poems of Holo­caust poet Abba Kovn­er and she is also the Poet­ry Edi­tor at Judith Magazine.