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How many days has it been now, since 10/7,
that those Israelis held captive in tunnels in Gaza
have been without their freedom,
separated from all of life?
Their faces are plastered onto giant posters
for passersby in Tel Aviv to see,
burning these hostages’ plight into memory,
their country longing for it to end.
What can the prisoners know of the crisis above the tunnels?
The violence, devastation, rubble, blocked aid trucks, hunger,
children’s lives cut short.
Failed attempts at a lasting ceasefire.
Instead, more retaliations, an eye for an eye,
an endless war.
Bring them safely home.
Let them begin healing.
The Palestinian family I’m sending money to in Gaza—
Home destroyed, living in a tent,
subsisting on lentils and hot salt water—
Had a moment of joy welcoming a baby boy,
Husband venturing out to buy overpriced flour
for his wife and 2-year-old son.
She needed medication to prevent blood clots,
needs nourishment to sustain their newborn child.
They all need superhuman strength.
Almost 500 online donors, sending funds for a year,
trying to keep this family going, give them some hope.
Will they rebuild their home in Gaza someday? How will they manage until then?
Will Gaza even still exist for them? Will they be displaced again?
Will these two children who’ve survived ever know a free Palestine?
What can the Gazans know of the air raid sirens, during the night,
Families hurrying to bomb shelters and safe rooms
In Tel Aviv apartment buildings?
Bring all safely home.
End the occupation,
The unholy bloodshed.
The ghosts of the lost ones permeate the ashen air.
Restless dreams, nightmares,
and oh,
what the living have seen,
have seen,
have endured.
Author’s note: This poem came out of a freewrite session to the poem “Beannacht” by John O’Donahue, in Kathryn Santana Goldman’s Your Write to Resilience OLLI class, summer 2025.
Lynne Rappaport is a 72-year-old woman originally from New York who has lived in San Francisco for over 50 years. Retired from teaching ESL to immigrant adults, she enjoys poetry, nature, music, and Tai Chi. She dedicates this poem to her late cousin, Canadian poet Bobbie Ogletree, and to our late grandfather Jacob B. Sacks, born in Palestine (Jerusalem) in 1888. He immigrated to New York in 1912.
