Culture Corner: Poetry of Terrorism

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PUBLISHED EVERY ROSH HODESH

Iyar 5763

May 2, 2003

Theme: Israel

Hannah Estrin, KOACH Rabbinic Intern, looks at fascinating (and back-to-back) observances: Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut.

Blast-from-the-past! Audrey Shore, KOC Editor, busts out the Nativ journal for a piece of living in Israel.

Three students who took part on the JTS mission give their impressions about Israel.

Joe Robinson of UCSD helps shed light on the poetry of terrorism through the words of Wislawa Szymborska.

Harriet Lerman of the U. of Wisconsin and Chaya Oliver, of the Honors College of Florida Atlantic University, refuse to cancel their travel plans.

YOUR OPINIONS

READ: Where do you get your Israel news? When are you headed over to Ben Gurion Airport next anyway? Check out this month's "Five Questions, Five Minutes" about Israel and see what your fellow college students have to say about the Holy Land.

WRITE: Ever wondered what really happened with Moses and God on the mountain? Ever studied "the Conservative perspective" about anything in particular? Does anyone even understand what "our Movement" is these days? Answer Sivan's "Five Questions, Five Minutes" about revelation and Conservative theology!

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Culture Corner: Poetry of Terrorism

By Joe Robinson
University of California at San Diego

The Terrorist, He Watches
By Wislawa Szymborska

The bomb will go off in the bar at one twenty p.m.
Now it's only one sixteen p.m.
Some will still have time to get in,
Some to get out.

The terrorist has already crossed to the other side of the street.
The distance protects him from any danger,
And what a sight for sore eyes:

A woman in a yellow jacket, she goes in.
A man in dark glasses, he comes out.
Guys in jeans, they are talking.
One seventeen and four seconds.
That shorter guy's really got it made, and gets on a scooter,
And that taller one, he goes in.

One seventeen and forty seconds.
That girl there, she's got a green ribbon in her hair.
Too bad that bus just cut her off.
One eighteen p.m.
The girl's not there any more.
Was she dumb enough to go in, or wasn't she?
That we'll see when they carry them out.

One nineteen p.m.
No one seems to be going in.
Instead a fat baldy's coming out.
Like he's looking for something in his pockets and
at one nineteen and fifty seconds
he goes back for those lousy gloves of his.

It's one twenty p.m.
The time, how it drags.
Should be any moment now.
Not yet.
Yes, this is it.
The bomb, it goes off.

Bomb.

It is one of those four letter words that seem to get printed in the media rather frequently. It scares me to death. Let us be honest, the likelihood of my friends and family, or myself for that matter, having any contact with a bomb is slim to none. Yet, I still have this feeling deep inside me that makes me cringe at the mere mention of the word.

I was handed this poem in a literature class and felt like I was the only one towards whom it was directed. Or at the very least, the only one who was affected by what it had to say.

A flood of emotions and memories came pouring down on me as if a dam in my head had suddenly cracked. It brought me back to the summer of 2002. I was staffing a United Synagogue Youth (USY) Pilgrimage trip to Poland and Israel. I was very excited and eager to be back in Israel. (I had not been back since the summer before my senior year of high school.) In fact I was making plans to study in Jerusalem at Hebrew University.

One afternoon, as we where heading back to our base at Ma'aleh HaHamishah Hotel, we were informed of a massive explosion in one of the cafeterias of Hebrew University. That school was and still is home to hundreds of students. They felt safe and comfortable there. Who would expect such an act to take place?

I do not understand the usefulness of a bomb. It explodes and obliterates its surroundings. It wipes out pieces of the past and hinders the advancement of the future. A bomb kills humanity. What good could possibly come from the blast of a bomb?

Hebrew University is a place to learn and grow. People from all over the world come to Jerusalem to study. The action and reasoning of such an extreme measure is beyond my comprehension.

I am afraid of bombs. But more importantly I am afraid of what they do. A future lawyer, politician, doctor, teacher; all faces of those who could have been. Those who needlessly gave up their lives. A future friend that could have been.

I am afraid of bombs.

[Posted 4/30/03]

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The Terrorist, He Watches By Wislawa Szymborska

The Terrorist, He Watches
By Wislawa Szymborska