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letterstoyourlove · 33 minutes
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This claim, shared widely, reworded, and filtered into the media, is false.
Mahmoud Darwish did not date a Mossad agent. (Rita was not a Mossad spy) He did, however, in the 1960s, date a Jewish woman named Tamar Ben-Ami. The name Rita, which is often cited in these posts, is the pseudonym Darwish used to refer to her in his poetry. He was 22 and she was 16 ½. Ben-Ami was a member of the youth movement The Young Communist League of Israel.
Quickly, Darwish and Ben-Ami developed strong feelings for each other and, while they wrote and saw each other often, neither was eager to publicize their union. “I kept our relationship a secret. I didn’t open it up. I think it was because of Communism, because he was an Arab, I was a Jew,” said Ben-Ami.
In 1967, after the 6-day war, Ben-Ami joined the Israeli Navy as part of the naval band. Upon discovering this, Darwish wrote her the following:
“Tamari, this week I thought of you often. My thoughts made me feel bad. I could see only the criminal in you. I was forced to forget the sweet, beautiful aspects. Do those aspects exist? I hope they do.”
Darvish also wrote-
“I love you despite the nose of my tribe, my city, and the chains of customs. But I’m afraid if I sell everyone, you will sell me, and I’ll return with disappointments.”
A heartbroken Darwish then wrote –
“I felt like my homeland was occupied again.”
After their relationship was over, Darwish continued authoring poems revolving around this failed relationship, as he wrote,
“All roads lead to you, even those I took to forget you.”
He also wrote:
“Maybe it wasn’t important to you, Rita, but it was my heart!”
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For her, he also wrote his famous poem, “Rita and the Rifle.”
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Finally, he also wrote:
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letterstoyourlove · 2 days
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letterstoyourlove · 4 days
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letterstoyourlove · 8 days
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letterstoyourlove · 9 days
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“Their grief is in proportion to their affection they know their loss to be irreparable”
-Jane Austen’s tombstone, Winchester Cathedral. (Epitaph written written in 1817 for legendary author Jane Austen by her brother James, in which he describes the grief of all who knew her).
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letterstoyourlove · 13 days
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letterstoyourlove · 15 days
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I’ve been telling myself the reason I can’t write anymore is because I’m not sad. Because there’s no pain inside me to flow out of my trembling hands onto paper, there are no sorrows clouding my vision to make my poetry hazy.
I can see straight and sometimes I feel poetry needs to be twirly and zigzagg-y.
But, I’ve been trying to be sad lately. Trying to find wretchedness among the mists, among the nights I stay up laughing, trying to feel what I felt before, trying to pour poetry back into my veins. Maybe this is some stupid excuse.
But here’s how it really is. I keep finding myself beaming at unfamiliar faces and sipping hot chocolate over brunch dates with new friends, or falling back into rhythm with old ones.
Or that one time I snuck out to my best friend’s house and we danced to alcohol in our bodies but we were sober enough to remember one of the best nights of our life. So maybe there’s nothing poetic about this. Or maybe there is.
I know poetry is more beautiful than sad and there’s something really very beautiful about loving life.
-H.S.
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letterstoyourlove · 16 days
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letterstoyourlove · 18 days
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letterstoyourlove · 18 days
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letterstoyourlove · 22 days
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When Virginia Woolf wrote, “Yes yes yes I do like you. I am afraid to write the stronger word.” And when Taylor Swift said, “Writing letters addressed to the fire.” And when Phoebe Bridgers said, “I can't open my mouth and forget how to talk. 'Cause even if I could, wouldn't know where to start, wouldn't know when to stop.” And when Lana Del Ray said “I wrote you a note, but I didn't send it. 'Cause that's the best method the women here taught me about.”
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letterstoyourlove · 24 days
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letterstoyourlove · 25 days
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letterstoyourlove · 26 days
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letterstoyourlove · 26 days
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letterstoyourlove · 26 days
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