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I think of myself as being on a “spiritual” path, on a spiritual quest, that experiencing spirit wisdom and sacred wisdom, whatever they turn out to be, if noting more than a greater attuning of my sensory instruments to feel the vibration of the others’ sensory instruments, the other hearts beating, the other molecules spinning in ritual dance. But let us move on.
Journeys
Many travel books and travel videos are immensely well done, although no amount of reading about or videos of the pyramids at Giza or a village in India can compare to the overwhelmingly physical and sensual experience of being there.
My travel writings all seek to convey something intimate about the setting I am describing, to capture the “feel” of a unique place on the planet as experienced at a unique point in time by a unique narrator briefly passing through.

A reflection on the absence of agreed upon priorities and leadership on the Left
My focus is on organizing ourselves … the Rainbow Left … at this writing … specifically in the lands and with the blessings of the Massachusett and Wampanoag and many more Indigenous people who we owe a debt to and who lead us still.
Who speaks for and to the Rainbow Left nationally? Brother West? Rev Barber? The Abolish Prison and Prison Slavery movement? Bernie? Rise Up? The Squad? Bill Fletcher?
Who speaks to or for the Rainbow Left in MA? Jamie? Jo? Nika, Ayanna? Mahtowin Monroe? Big Mike, Jim McGovern?
We MUST be able to decide on our priorities, on where we can best direct our forces/resources at this critical moment.
There is no single organization on the left that doesn’t want more active volunteers. We all think about recruitment.
My focus is on organizing ourselves. Land back!

What I Left
In the middle of a mild winter on Cape Cod in Massachusetts on the land of the Wampanoag and the Nauset i escaped before the storm of ’22 that turned mild into wild.

I took leave of my home, dog, plants, coyotes, whales, oysters, sunrises, sunsets, birds, bays, and so much more to travel by air across an entire continent and land here – link to “what i found”






What I Found
I arrived in Temecula. It is beautiful. You can buy five acres of hillside here with 2 houses and 100s of highly productive avocado, orange, lemon, tangerine, grapefruit and more trees, hundreds!, for less than a bucket of sand on the beach in Orleans. You do not have to worry about sharks. You do worry about water availability and water’s price, especially water enough to quench a growing avocado’s liquid needs.


The U.S. Army – Day One, 1960
I leave from the Port Authority building in New York City by bus to Fort Dix, New Jersey, where I’ll begin my two months of Army basic training. I’m just shy of my twentieth birthday. The Port Authority is like Grand Central Station where I was sent unwillingly to camp at age four. This is different, a decision I have made. And although there is a claustrophobic feeling of doors closing and choices made which cannot be changed, there is also the sense of adventure and maturity that is concomitant with actions taken by men.
Almost everyone on the bus is an inductee from New York City. The Jersey countryside, a dune-like succession of sandy low hills and chicken farms, rolls by until we arrive at Fort Dix, which is surrounded by barbed wire. At the entrance to Fort Dix stands a tremendous statue of “The Infantryman,” the ultimate fighting machine I am about to become.
We are herded into a huge building, formed into lines, and begin our transformation and processing from civilians into army troops, first swearing loyalty and fealty to the United States and then being given shockingly short, dare I say bald, army haircuts. We put our civilian clothes into bags. We are marched into line after line where we are inspected, questioned, sorted, and given a series of injections in both arms with air-powered guns. We move down a lengthy counter where we declare our chest, waist, weight, height, and shoe sizes and are given shirts, pants, belts, underwear, shoes, and socks, more or less consistent with our size declarations.
At the end of the counter we flow onto another line and approach a sergeant seated at a table filling out forms with the information necessary to issue each man his dog tags. When I reach the table the sergeant finds my name and military identification number on a card and asks me my religion. I’m not sure why, but I am just not able to answer him. I don’t think it’s that I am afraid of anti-Semitism, or ashamed of being Jewish, quite the opposite, I am rather proud of being Jewish and eager to stand up to anti-Semites. It is much more that I don’t really believe in religion and I’m sort of stunned and offended because I don’t think my religious beliefs are anyone’s business, especially in this context, I mean this is the United States Army is it not, and we were all equals right, brothers in arms. I mean what does my religion matter? It seems almost unpatriotic to make such a separatist declaration.
“What’s your religion?” the sergeant asks me again in a Southern drawl as I continue to stand there, in spite of my wish to answer him, quite mute, embarrassed, and dumb.
“What’s wrong with you, son” the peeved sergeant asks, “what’s your religion?”
And I just stare at him, unable to answer, unable to form the words, unable to fully understand what is going on with me. Maybe I’ll say, “no preference, sir” but I can’t make up my mind and don’t really like that answer either. So I just continue standing there, struggling with myself about these matters of personal and philosophical significance, as the sergeant grows more and more exasperated, and rightly so, thinking I’m a moron or something, and rightly so again.
“I said, ‘what‘s your religion, boy?'” he says slowly, very slowly. And I just stare at him … frozen.
“Jesus H Christ,” he growls almost menacingly, “Who are your people, boy? “
People? The word “people” startles me. Who are “my People?” Shit, I know that answer. People? “Why the Hebrews, sir,” I say.
“Hebrew,” he repeats, and writes it down. “Next,” he says, and smiles.
I receive my dog tags two days later. They read just that, “Hebrew.” I still have them, of course. I don’t imagine there are many other Hebrews in the U.S. Army, but the Hebrews are definitely my “people.” And were there ever to come a time to identify my scarred and unrecognizable mortal remains left on some desolate field of battle I think I would be far more comfortable buried as an ethnic American, dare I say tribal, Hebrew (for all that would matter) than I would be hypocritically declared a “religious” Jew.

Jews / Hebrews
Further explorations of the world as it is and the world as we wish it to be
HEBREWS!?
…one of the unique things about the jewish people is that historically – at least for nearly two millennia – they were not a state/nation per se altho they were and are an ethnically identifiable “people,” independent of their religion … albeit a stateless people … a little like gypsies … members/citizens of many diverse nation states in the middle and far east, in africa, asia, europe, and the western hemisphere – while simultaneously maintaining their jewish identity, but not as a nation with a state/territory as such. the advent of zionism, the notion there should be an ethnically identified jewish state (designed initially as a nationalist movement primarily to protect jews from centuries of abuse), changed all that.
i personally never much favored the idea of there being a state for jews, especially on ethnically cleansed conquered lands, even as I celebrated the pre-1967 triumphs of Israel. it is my naïve utopian hope that israel and palestine will merge as one state for all its people – a far better outcome in my view than a jewish national state living side by side in peace with a safe, just, and equitable state for the palestinian people – and equally unlikely an outcome as there being one just and equitable state for all the people of Palestine. as Gideon Levy says, “the two-state solution is dead (it was never born); the Palestinian state will not arise; international law does not apply to Israel; the occupation will continue to crawl quickly to annexation, annexation will continue to crawl quickly toward an apartheid state; “Jewish” supersedes “democracy”, nationalism and racism will get the stamp of government approval, but they’re already here and have been for a long time.” in light of that reality i’m left believing israel and palestine are one state already, albeit an apartheid state w a major civil rights problem.” and there is no palestinian state, regardless of the best intentions of the pope.
So how did David turn into Goliath?
MISCELLANEOUS

Musab
I am Musab, six years old
Two days ago Israeli soldiers surrounded our house at 2 A.M. shooting
Helicopter gunships illuminating the night
Their rotors like giant fans hung from the sky
The whine of their rockets like angry birds
Here four bullet holes through the door of the room where my brother sleeps
Here the shattered windows
“Take your clothes off, all of you, even the women” the Israeli soldiers yelled
Then father was handcuffed
Taken as a human shield to the apartment of uncle Hussan
Where their bullets pierced his door
and the chest of the old man opening it
Who bleeds to death for want of an ambulance.
After his body is removed
The soldiers withdraw
But brother is still crying
My city, Nablus, is still occupied
The old man remains dead
And I am Musab, six years old.
POETRY
- 99 Gratitudes in 3 Minutes – A Yoga Chanting Poem
- A Poem is Born
- After The News
- Alan
- Alan Is Dead
- American Wedding, 2011
- Ask the Sphinx – 2 approaches
- Baggage Claim
- Beach Plum Jam
- Beau Dies
- between spiders
- Burnt Wood – for Bubi
- Cheerio Box Speaks of Love
- Conversation With A Ladle
- Coyote in the Headlights
- Coyote in the House
- Crow’s Songs
- Daybreak
- Death Factories
- Death of the Dolphin
- Furry Bug
- Gospel of the Redwoods
- Insects in Amber
- It: In Honor of Dr. Seuss
- Journey to Standing Rock
- Kevin Garnett in Africa
- Life among the barbarians
- Long ago, perhaps yesterday
- Mandalay Hills
- Mesquite Dunes
- Miles’ Ashes
- Miles’ Journey
- My First Yoga Teacher
- One Drop of Rain
- Salton Sea
- Self Love
- She Has Loved 100 Men
- Shivering in Majesty
- Sunrise
- The Love Life of Clams
- Throwing Away
- Turn up for Turnips – a song
- Uncle Sol
- What The Stones Say
- when spring arrives ice flows out of the bay
- Whispering Among The Gods
- Willow
- Winter Fog
- Work and Love are What Really Matter: a reunion poem for the BHS class of 1958 reunion
Stand off at Gate 927
It is a beautiful sunny morning
At apartheid gate 927
The Israeli soldiers are listening to rock music
They are in their 20s
They have automatic weapons
Uniforms, walkie-talkies
Humvies, tanks
F16 fighter jets, a nuclear arsenal.
We are Palestinian farmers
With donkeys and tractors
With seed, fertilizer, and lunch in plastic bags
We are four Americans over fifty
With cameras, cell phones, and bottled water
We are Bedouin with sheep and goats and identity cards
We dismount from our donkeys and tractors
And wait
Wait long enough to see the falcon hunting,
To see the wild dog with the stolen chicken,
Wait to be admitted through the small gate
To the turnstile
Then into the concrete bunker
To wait at the counter, to show our passes,
To be released into a holding area
To go back through a sliding gate
To get back on our donkeys and tractors
To pass through the big gate
Opened only certain hours
On certain arbitrary days
To get onto our land – our own land –
On the other side of this abominable fence
That separates us from our fields
From our trees and fruit
From our grass, our rocks, and our graves
On the other side of this fence
That separates us from our brothers and sisters
We stand in the sun waiting two hours
On the side of this fence
That separates us from our livelihoods
On the side of the fence
That separates us
© brtaub – 02/08