I know things 

That most people don’t 

And I hope never do 

I know the slam of a computer 

And the rush of anger 

That comes after reading the Magna Carta 

After reading every single right 

That a Jewish person didn’t have 

And I know the conflict that pulls at your stomach 

When you finish reading the Merchant of Venice 

And a Jewish man 

Someone like you 

Has just been forced to become  

Something that they are not 

Because the world does not know what they know 

And a laughing mask stares up at you 

Telling you it’s a comedy 

Was Shakespeare sympathetic 

Or just mocking 

It is impossible to tell   

I know that feeling you get 

After looking at pictures 

Of concentration camps 

After being told 

That six million people 

like you were killed 

And you can’t help but think 

That could have been me

I know the candles that are lit 

When a shooter enters a synagogue 

Leaving more than twenty people dead 

And even when it happened in a place you’ve never heard of 

To people you’ve never met 

You still feel their pain  

I know that moment of terror 

When you see an email 

From the board chair at your synagogue 

With the subject line: Threat This Morning

The feeling of helplessness 

As you anxiously scan it

Telling you that the rabbi 

Received a threatening message 

Telling you that troops 

Had to be called in 

To make sure it was safe 

And even though it was 

You can’t help but think: 

What if they missed something? 

I know the dread that looms over you 

When you hear that there are people

Being held hostage 

In their own synagogue

Maybe it will be okay 

But maybe it won’t 

And even if it is okay 

Next time it might not be 

Because there is always a next time

And I know what it’s like 

When a keypad and a security guard 

Have been put up at the entrance to your synagogue 

And you don’t ask why 

Because you already know 

Because it’s the same reason why 

You were told not to leave your backpack lying around in the lobby anymore  

And while you wave at the guard every time you pass 

You wish he wasn’t there

And I also know what it’s like 

When you hold the door for the person behind you 

Because the keypad is finicky and doesn’t always work 

And your mother tells you: 

We can’t do that anymore 

She doesn’t explain 

Because you already know 

I know what I will do 

Where I will go  

If someone comes into my synagogue 

With a gun 

I wish I didn’t have to 

I wish I didn’t know

I know things 

That most people don’t 

And I hope never do