Philip Terman: Too Much Already

Kennedy Airport, 1991 Waiting for Flight to Israel

As my mother and I check our bags, we meet a thirty-something American. Short, muscular. Friendly and patient with my mother’s questions. He explains he owns a gym in Jerusalem, and is returning from a visit to his parents. He continues: he actually has two gyms, one for women and one for men. I note his yarmulke. My mother asks: “Is it a private gym, or can anyone come?” “Oh yes—anyone. I have three hundred customers.” As an afterthought, in the tone of “it goes without saying”: “Except Arabs.” I inquire: “How do you explain that?” He pauses. “I’m a racist.” “Well, at least you’re honest.” “Frankly, I think we should deport them all. I used to be a liberal.”

Facebook Message from Gazan poet, Nasser Rabah, Maghazi refugee camp February 1, 2024

Nasser writes: “My house was bombed.”

He includes a video of his bombed-out house. The image is dark, exploded fragments of tables and chairs, shelves, personal items close to their heart for generations strewn. Wallpaper in shreds, rebar exposed. Door and windows open to harsh light. I enlarge the image: a small homemade bookshelf lined with a dozen books. Over a window a torn green curtain. Among the ruins, Nasser, dark in the shadows, hands gesturing in all directions. He speaks in a measured Arabic to the backdrop of rifles and bombs.

January 26, 2025, US President’s Statement on Gaza

It’s literally a demolition site.
You’re talking about roughly a million and a half people.
Let’s just clean out the whole thing.

March 13, 2024, Facebook Messages

I write from Grove City, PA:

Is there any chance of getting to Egypt?

Nasser Rabbah, from Gaza’s Maghazi refugee camp:

I will stay here.
It is my land.
Thanks, friend.

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Copyright 2025 Philip Terman

Philip Terman’s many collections of poetry include