Homeward Bound

I come to a land that calls me homePulled in by the suns of August.On each visit, the eyes utter the same words: Electric. Messy. Miracle. This time, I'm told: things are changing.More electric?A bigger mess?Another miracle? Look for the signs, my friend says.Go to Rothschild and look for them.Not the tents or the people.The signs. They are all in Hebrew. Israel is speaking to itself, once again.They're protesting in HebrewNot in Hasbara.They're worrying about HolonNot Washington. They have awoken from twenty lost years.Twenty years of peace mirrorsOf marching for nothingOf looking at the WorldOf "security first." Twenty years of two-state hypnosisOf land for warOf IDF RebbesOf wasted poemsOf "security only." While the people were dreamingKnesset fear merchants were happily scheming. The tycoons free to gobble up banks, mediaSupermarkets and much of the country.The people too dizzy to see. But every scream must find a mouth.Even the heart of a cynic beats.The Jewish people will be "masters of their own fate"As was promised on our day of birth. Cottage cheese woke the people up.The people were broke, and breaking. Can't afford my landlord.Can't look at my overdraft.Can't afford to drive my carOr put the kids in day care. My vote's been stolenBy the fake heroes in Volvos.Who can remember where we left our future?Still no peace -- only a miracle in pieces. Crazy gaps everywhere.Workers subsidizing schnorrers.Those in green defending; those in black learning.Hoarding in the Towers; sweating in the streets.The elite can build while the poor can leave. Jews can't dream any better than this? Off to Rothschild they trekkedHalf a million strangers reintroducing themselves.Sushi eaters, chakchouka eaters Mothers, strollers, comedians, professors Settlers, anarchists, laborers, Saturday nightersPitching their tents in a shouk of causesMarching, sleeping, singing, arguingReclaiming the miracleLeading a nation back to renewal. The innocents have returnedAnd the cynics are stuck in reverse.In the outdoor salons of the shouk of causesIt is the merchants of meaning who rule. Look at the fear peddlers nowRunning for cover -- scrambling behind their blue ribbons.Reform or not, it is already the morning after. The people are back in the desertAnd they won't settle for fool's gold. The Israelites are in tents -- and Israel is coming home.