I am not of your blood
I am not of your land
I am not of the blood of Abraham
Neither of Ishmael, nor of Isaac
I was born with a passport
I married into a second
I was born in a faith
And was free to grow in belief in a man from Palestine, a son of Israel
I am teaching my daughters that the world is large
That boundaries and language barriers have to be crossed
That they must be grateful for the heritage of a dual citizenship
The heritage of two revolutions, two liberations, two-hundred years ago
I am not of your land
I have land that I can call mine; what is your land?
I am not of your blood and I don't need to spill mine for my rights
Nor fear that it will be spilled for someone else's
In fact others spilled their blood for my rights a long time ago
And a man from Palestine, a son of Israel, spilled His - I believe - for
my freedom
But where are your rights? Where is your freedom?
Why does one of my passports protect its freedom by witholding yours?
I see rage. I understand rage. But I know it is hopeless.
I see violence. I understand violence. But I know it is fruitless.
I believe in love, peace, patience and hope. I am amazed at love, peace,
patience and hope. But could I keep hope for so long without seeing fruit?
I am not of your blood. I am not of your land.
I believe a man from your land shed his blood for me.
I feel that my blood is dripping while yours is poured
I feel without home while you are without land
But it is only what I feel
And what you, my brother, my sister, must live
Silence.
But I do wonder, why I feel these things
Maybe because of the man from Palestine
Rejected and cast out from his land
His name, even sometimes subtly used against you
He - not I - knows your blood and your land
And I dream of having tea in your home, in your land
