The Ten Plagues

When the rivers turn to blood,

we will know

that our violence,

our unending savagery, our cruelty,

things we pass off as normal,

has gone too far.

When the rivers turn to blood,

we will know.



When the frogs fall from the clouds,

and when the lice plague our scalps,

we will know

that our uncleanliness,

our impurity, our refusal

to accept that we are not mentally nor physically perfect,

has gone too far.

When the frogs fall from the clouds,

and when the lice plague our scalps

we will know.


When wild animals storm our towns, stampeding without thought,

we will know

that our unstoppable gossip,

our cruel rumors, our awful tendency

to casually flick away the truth

and stack pyramids of lies in its place,

has gone too far.

When the wild animals storm our towns,

we will know.



When the cattle drop dead in the fields, eyes glassy, tongues green,

we will know

that our insistence upon leaving the poor,

the sick and helpless,

to fend for themselves in the societies we have built,

built to turn them away,

has gone too far.

When the cattle drop dead in the fields,

we will know.



When the boils appear on our skin, flaming red,

we will know

that our constant I'm fine-s,

a monotonous untruth that has become so commonplace,

it rests at the base of our tongue,

and we speak it without realizing

that we are lying,

have gone too far.

When the boils appear on our skin,

we will know.



When the hail rains from the sky,

and when the locusts ravage our fields,

we will know

that our racism, our inequality,

our continuous stereotyped injustices that we have somehow

unknowingly accepted,

as a result of too many centuries spent watching

these crimes be committed,

too many centuries slowly giving in,

has gone too far.

When the hail rains from the sky,

and when the locusts ravage our fields,

we will know.

When the sky turns to black, the sun ceasing to shine,

we will know

that our (strangely inhuman, but somehow a part of all humanity)

ability to throw shadows

deep and fast, cloaking whatever we hate about

anything,

knowing that this invisibility is protected,

knowing we can say whatever we want

and continue throwing shadows,

has gone too far.

When the sky turns to black,

we will know.

And if

we have not learned

from our mistakes

at all,

when makat b'chorot 

leaves families screaming,

mothers tearing their dresses,

their eldest child gone to sleep,

never to awaken again,

we will know

that we must learn

if we are to save the next generation from destruction

we must learn

not how to be good,

but how to be human.