The Passion of Slaughter

 

My eyes are heavy and swollen with tears

yet I have not wept though the tears keep

swelling, rising from my melancholy heart.

There is a blockage and it is anger. Anger that

once again my people are beset by the indifference

of a world accustomed to such paroxysms of

terror unleashed by the vicious scourge of venom

breeding among the haters of the originators of

the world's most prominent religions, viewed

by the faithful of its offshoots as symbolic of all

that is hateful, evoking old tribal enmities in their

accusations of sanctimonious victimhood at the

hands of Jews utterly innocent of time-ragged

slanders that unite their enemies while igniting

in them the raging urge to slaughter the innocents.

Once again the execrable slaughter and the lunacy

of ululations of joy over mass death. Once again the

outside world glances sideways at the death toll 

while murmuring token sympathy until the attacked

rise and defend themselves, the signal for an outraged

world to turn its back on the besieged Jews the better

to excoriate them for causing pain and death upon

those whose complicity in their own anguish and sorrow

now mourn in like manner, the deaths of the offspring

of those whose passion of slaughter smote Israel.