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06-01-2006, 11:15 AM
The Man on the Mountaintop
By Deb Reich
A man is standing on a mountaintop, alone.
And he is screaming, screaming to the sky,
into the wind, screaming at the sun,
at the clouds, in the rain, also at night,
by moonlight, by starlight, screaming.
If you could hear him, you would hear this:
“I am a man, I am a citizen of the state,
I was born here, my father was born here,
my children were born here, I love this
land, I will never leave it, this is
my home, I want to have a decent life,
I want to be equal, I can help build this land,
I must build a future for my children;
where are my rights, no one will listen,
the state does not want me, no one cares,
am I not a citizen here, why does no one
hear me?”
I hear him screaming, I am distraught,
in his screams I hear echoes of familiar
agonies, agonies of my people, his pain is
my own, I am impelled to respond, I must
do something, I cannot turn my back,
I hear him in the wind, screaming,
also at night, and at sunrise, I hear him.
What can I do, I am only one, I must
turn to you for help, we must do something
about this man’s screaming,
his pain is real, we know about pain,
and is he not a citizen of the state?
So I say to you, please, listen, do you not
hear this man screaming, what shall we do?
But you answer me:
“No, why should we do anything,
he has his rights, pay no attention,
and besides, he is screaming in Arabic,
we don’t understand him, we speak
Hebrew, we are Jews, this is the Jewish State,
enemies of the state speak Arabic, they plot
against us, perhaps he is an enemy of the state,
and besides, you speak English, who are you
to make such a request of us, forget it,
you must be new here, you know nothing
about it, you are misinformed, go away.”
Still I insist, but wait, wait please, listen --
he is screaming now, he is still screaming,
I will try to translate for you, there must be
something in what he says, otherwise why
would he still be screaming, do you not hear
the pain in his voice—
--then you invoke the Holocaust, Zionism, and
the PLO, and with your unholy trinity you try
to silence me and to silence him.
Here I hesitate, I am loathe to go on
with this, but find I have no choice:
now I must say to you, if this man’s screaming
does not move you, then the six million
(including, please pay attention, various
of my family as well as yours) died in vain;
in vain, I say. And if your Zionism makes you
deaf to this man’s screaming, then the God
who dwells somewhere in this land, so they say,
does not want your Zionism in his kingdom.
And if you hear the PLO in this man’s screaming,
then it is your own screaming you hear, not his.
Now you are very angry, you turn away,
you are disgusted, you feel self-righteous,
you are indignant, you will try to forget
we ever had this conversation.
But high on his lonely mountaintop
this man is still screaming his pain,
and as long as he goes on screaming,
I cannot rest, and as long as I cannot rest,
your anger will not protect you.
And so I call upon you to judge yourself;
I do not claim the right to judge you.
The days of the judges in Israel are gone.
But I say, look at your anger. I say,
if you cannot yet listen to this mean’s screams,
then listen to your anger.
You would not need to be angry
if his screaming meant nothing.
And I say, if your leaders have hardened their hearts,
O my people, you must find new leaders!
Are there none among you who can hear
the man on the mountaintop, screaming?
And I say, we need a new vision in Israel.
I don’t see it clearly, but the seeds are
within YOU, and also within HIM;
and you cannot water them with anger,
but only with tears of compassion.
You must weep, O Israel, for this man
screaming his pain on his mountaintop.
God will not help a people who weeps
only for itself.
“The man on the mountaintop” was written in February, 1982, in Kufr Qar’e, a Palestinian-Arab town in Israel – while the author was serving as a community service volunteer with Interns for Peace, a grassroots Arab-Jewish cooperation program. Deb was born and raised in New York and educated at Barnard College (Columbia University) in Manhattan. She first visited Israel as a student in 1966-67 and later wrote a story about the Six-Day War called “Dudu in Heaven,” which appeared in Lillith magazine (USA) in the summer of 1996. Deb has lived mostly in Israel/Palestine since 1981 and is the mother of a son and a daughter. Deb may be reached at [email protected] .
By Deb Reich
A man is standing on a mountaintop, alone.
And he is screaming, screaming to the sky,
into the wind, screaming at the sun,
at the clouds, in the rain, also at night,
by moonlight, by starlight, screaming.
If you could hear him, you would hear this:
“I am a man, I am a citizen of the state,
I was born here, my father was born here,
my children were born here, I love this
land, I will never leave it, this is
my home, I want to have a decent life,
I want to be equal, I can help build this land,
I must build a future for my children;
where are my rights, no one will listen,
the state does not want me, no one cares,
am I not a citizen here, why does no one
hear me?”
I hear him screaming, I am distraught,
in his screams I hear echoes of familiar
agonies, agonies of my people, his pain is
my own, I am impelled to respond, I must
do something, I cannot turn my back,
I hear him in the wind, screaming,
also at night, and at sunrise, I hear him.
What can I do, I am only one, I must
turn to you for help, we must do something
about this man’s screaming,
his pain is real, we know about pain,
and is he not a citizen of the state?
So I say to you, please, listen, do you not
hear this man screaming, what shall we do?
But you answer me:
“No, why should we do anything,
he has his rights, pay no attention,
and besides, he is screaming in Arabic,
we don’t understand him, we speak
Hebrew, we are Jews, this is the Jewish State,
enemies of the state speak Arabic, they plot
against us, perhaps he is an enemy of the state,
and besides, you speak English, who are you
to make such a request of us, forget it,
you must be new here, you know nothing
about it, you are misinformed, go away.”
Still I insist, but wait, wait please, listen --
he is screaming now, he is still screaming,
I will try to translate for you, there must be
something in what he says, otherwise why
would he still be screaming, do you not hear
the pain in his voice—
--then you invoke the Holocaust, Zionism, and
the PLO, and with your unholy trinity you try
to silence me and to silence him.
Here I hesitate, I am loathe to go on
with this, but find I have no choice:
now I must say to you, if this man’s screaming
does not move you, then the six million
(including, please pay attention, various
of my family as well as yours) died in vain;
in vain, I say. And if your Zionism makes you
deaf to this man’s screaming, then the God
who dwells somewhere in this land, so they say,
does not want your Zionism in his kingdom.
And if you hear the PLO in this man’s screaming,
then it is your own screaming you hear, not his.
Now you are very angry, you turn away,
you are disgusted, you feel self-righteous,
you are indignant, you will try to forget
we ever had this conversation.
But high on his lonely mountaintop
this man is still screaming his pain,
and as long as he goes on screaming,
I cannot rest, and as long as I cannot rest,
your anger will not protect you.
And so I call upon you to judge yourself;
I do not claim the right to judge you.
The days of the judges in Israel are gone.
But I say, look at your anger. I say,
if you cannot yet listen to this mean’s screams,
then listen to your anger.
You would not need to be angry
if his screaming meant nothing.
And I say, if your leaders have hardened their hearts,
O my people, you must find new leaders!
Are there none among you who can hear
the man on the mountaintop, screaming?
And I say, we need a new vision in Israel.
I don’t see it clearly, but the seeds are
within YOU, and also within HIM;
and you cannot water them with anger,
but only with tears of compassion.
You must weep, O Israel, for this man
screaming his pain on his mountaintop.
God will not help a people who weeps
only for itself.
“The man on the mountaintop” was written in February, 1982, in Kufr Qar’e, a Palestinian-Arab town in Israel – while the author was serving as a community service volunteer with Interns for Peace, a grassroots Arab-Jewish cooperation program. Deb was born and raised in New York and educated at Barnard College (Columbia University) in Manhattan. She first visited Israel as a student in 1966-67 and later wrote a story about the Six-Day War called “Dudu in Heaven,” which appeared in Lillith magazine (USA) in the summer of 1996. Deb has lived mostly in Israel/Palestine since 1981 and is the mother of a son and a daughter. Deb may be reached at [email protected] .