Juden

Tolerance,

compassion,

inclusion. 

Don't be fooled

by the words uttered,

by the words articulated.

We are slaughtered in the streets,

blood stains on the pavements,

in the synagogues,

in our neighborhoods. 

Tolerance,

compassion,

inclusion,

don't be fooled by the chatter.

Hatred is sprouting,

growing,

flowing,

igniting like wildfire.

My father threatened to sit shiva

when I left.

I made him into Tevye. 

Grandma warned me

that one day my love 

would call me a dirty Jew.

She said it would come on a day

when life was grey,

and hard words are exchanged.

Words that wound.

Words that leave scars.

My father was a boy,

with hazel eyes

and black wavy hair.

He laid on the ground and drank

from puddles,

while frogs watched him 

and rifles were pointing close by.

He was just a boy...

I made him into Tevye .

I wore a cross in my heart,

he looked away.

He did not sit Shiva when I left.

He did not rip his clothes in mourning.

Instead, he just loved me. 

Memory resided on his skin,

in his eyes,

in his voice.

It was handed down in my veins,

in my blood.

In dreams that I dreamt

as a child.

I am bathing in the breath

of all that was

and all that remains.

Amid all the noise,

I stand,

a yellow star on my chest.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fiddler_on_the_Roof