If the words 'no words' could be said just once, they would undoubtedly be said this time. But from the waves of flowing blood, the dam broke, and a sea of hot pain bubbled up.
The blood of life:
There in the same neighborhood.
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Right there, on the same street.
Yes, also around that synagogue.
Right among those residents,
Between the crooked and the groaning, the holy and the pure.
Innocent blood has been shed there in recent months.
There he was torn and crushed by the stones of his house for weeks and days.
There, there, right there, a man was buried alive, with his collapsed house crushing and crushing his soul until blood gushed out,
Like the shadow of a man struggling with bare arms against the piercing fragments of his life.
This is how he bleeds, bleeds, and sneezes.....
He no longer cries or calls.
And everyone knows
And everyone is silent.
And everything is cursed
And everything is gossip
And they all stir, slander, defile, and stain,
And everyone, great and small, aims their arrows for the sake of heaven at his aching heart.
Out of fear of committing a great sin, they do not slander their soul with the intention of committing adultery.
And in the joy of existence, "and burn," they kindle fire in his decomposed bones.
They burn his livelihood - they make sure it will be lacking.
Spare his shame, that you may find him honorable,
They give him many epic dishes, an offering of their righteousness and hypocrisy.
The altar they have been holding for many months is weeping,
He's been bleeding for months,
But this time the blood has both color and smell.
The pools of blood were already there, you had to be blind to know it to ignore them.
But now, now even the dead see the blood of the living....
Blood of the dead:
Human wounds flashed like droplets between their eyes.
With ribbons and tassels the strands of their lives were woven,
Their heart's blood spilled onto the earth like water,
When you cut a bush, their blood is spilled.
The essence of their milk and blood was offered in their prayer.
Their blood was thrown on the veil, and they stormed into the Holy of Holies.
In the temple of God, they were killed as priests and prophets.
They were tied up and also slaughtered as fragrant individuals.
They accepted the yoke of the kingdom of heaven upon themselves, and in one breath their souls departed.
They trusted in prayer for salvation, and they trusted in their death.
The uncircumcised drank the blood of the dead. But their voices are evil and deafening.
In thousands and thousands of voices, the blood of our nephews cries out and roars at us and rises from the earth.
""To say that what happened here today was a random incident is a measure of cruelty."" [From the eulogy of Rabbi Yitzhak Mordechai Rubin, Rabbi of the Bnei Torah community, at the funeral of the fourteenth martyr].
