With bereavement on life's artery

The writer's eldest son, Amir, was killed in action in Lebanon in 1988.

cemetery 298.88 (photo credit: Ariel Jerozolimski)
cemetery 298.88
(photo credit: Ariel Jerozolimski)
Bereavement envelopes many Both in the army And civilian life. Bereavement is a blot on the landscape. Slowly drifting apart Old time acquaintances: Some quickly Others circumventing. For them bereavement Is a traffic jam. The route on which we travel, So familiar to us Is a hard path, strewn with obstacles, With endless twists and turns, Steep ascents, And dizzying drops, On which we stay Twenty-four hours a day, Without respite For what remains of our lives. We have no stations, Where we can unload, Even a small part Of the unbearably heavy Burden of bereavement. Here and there Are short mid-journey stops Where we can briefly pause. We are required Always to stay alert Navigating carefully, So as not to find ourselves Rolling back To the bottom of the bereavement abyss. We've been there already Broken and forgotten. No one pulled us out. Each one of us, With his own strength Made his way Up the steep slope, Back to everyday existence. Each bereaved family Remains alone, Holding tightly to life's rudder. We must continue with the traffic's flow Through life's artery, While confronting The new reality. The writer's eldest son, Amir (pictured) was killed in action in Lebanon in 1988. Translated by Dani and Assaf Gavron