The Israeli peace activist Vivian Silver in 2018 at Wadi Rum, Jordan Courtesy of Shifra Bronznick

Arielle Korman November 15, 2023

Editor’s Note: This poem was written in loving memory of the Israeli peace activist Vivian Silver, who was confirmed dead on Nov. 13, after authorities identified her remains at her home through DNA testing. Silver, 74, was previously assumed to be among the more than 200 people held hostage in Gaza following the Oct. 7 attack. She is now believed to have been killed by Hamas during the Oct. 7 massacre.

I think of you,
leaning over your porch for years
as the sky over Gaza turned orange
and blue and then orange again.

I wonder when peace died
and fear it was long before
you were born. Lifetimes before
the sand and the sun
and the promise of a communal
way of life brought you
to the place where you died.

Maybe I’m lacking imagination.
I can’t see what you could.
There’s so much I’m unable to imagine.
I called your death unimaginable, too,
but then
the sun had gone down early,
New York was so cold and I’m sorry,
I pictured it.

Your scarves,
your posters, every thank you gift
from your friends, engulfed
as the southern air turned
wholly to flame.
You, crouching in your
safe room, every piece of your story
eating you from the inside.
And now it’s eating me, and
I just needed to tell you.

I never knew you but I have this feeling
I could have been you, long ago,
the North American sixties behind me,
the corporate, saccharine eighties
before me, looking for hope and finding it
in the place where you died.

Maybe, wherever you are now,
watching the sky turn black
from far far away, you can help us.
Maybe in that unimaginable moment
when you realized you were leaving this place,
something else dawned on you, something important.

Would you whisper it in the wheat fields?
In the shallow breath of a still-living child?
In the flutter of a small paper sign
in the middle of a thunderous rally?
Vivian, we’re listening.

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