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Poets of Babel

@poetsofbabel

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“If you are a poet, we speak the same language” Poets of Babel is a multilingual poetry club from Jerusalem, Israel founded by @shoshanasarah

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Poets of Babel Summertime
August 16, 2026

Why do we stay here?
כמו ליטוף עצמות
עצם | עצמי
but I am different
האדמה תקבל את הכל

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The magic of poetry, the magic of gathering, the magic of Babel proves itself undeniably each time. With new poets and old, saying the names of our ancestors who have come to be alive, revived in the word and words; the land and the earth hold our bodies and our poems.

#poetryevent #poetrycommunity #poetsofbabel

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“The poets (by which I mean all artists) are finally the only people who know the truth about us. Soldiers don’t. Statesmen don’t. Priests don’t. Union leaders don’t. Only poets.” James Baldwin

I believe in boycotts as a way to ensure your money is in alignment with your values. Boycotting artists, however— that is tantamount to burning books. Especially, when the boycott is against writers & publishers. Literary minds are precisely the ones who have the ability to tell the stories you won’t hear on the news, broaden horizons, depict nuances & complexities, unify under universal human principles, build bridges. I just got through debating someone who claimed they don’t hear compassion in Israeli voices. How the hell are you going to hear it if you muzzle them? As another author writes, “Ironically, like most Western literary subcultures these days, Israel’s is predominantly left wing, so” …[the boycott] “is seeking to punish its natural political allies.” It is alienating the very voices who could actually bring about change.

Most of us don’t realize the echo chambers we exist in. How the algorithms on social media and Google searches just feed into what we already believe. How impervious and insidious confirmation bias already is without making the conscious decision to ban, block, cancel, filter. Hit pockets by all means, but the realm of silencing voices is a dangerous territory indeed. It’s actually empowering the very establishment they are looking to dismantle.

Outsiders are so gung-ho to pick a side when the people of this region actually have to live WITH each other. They don’t know the truth about us, how many deeply want peace. Communication — not stonewalling — is the only pathway to reconciliation.

“[This is] a time … when something awful is happening to a civilization, when it ceases to produce poets, and, what is even more crucial, when it ceases in any way whatever to believe in the report that only the poets can make.”

It’s sad to me how goddamn relevant Baldwin still is in all his genius. Let the poets speak. That’s what we’ll be doing tonight actually.

#jamesbaldwin #poets #boycott #bookburning #artists #israel

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TONIGHT! Spoken word poetry with visiting NY poet @vanessahidary!

In honor of this momentous occasion, I’ll be putting on a shirt without spit-up on it and performing an opening piece 🎤

So come with your snapping fingers ready 🫰 🫰 🫰

@poetsofbabel shoshanasarah

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Often I lament that my desires are greater than the hours of the day and days of the week. Yet, this week I “survived.” It’s strange to use this word because I have been overwhelmed with beautiful things, returning to things I love , and causes for saying shechayanu. 🙌🏽🙏🏽 Dance and Pride and poetry. There were things I had to let go of that I really wanted to participate in (Studio in Motion, a playback dance workshop, and a friend’s poetry event) but שאלה יהיו הבעיות שלי 🧿

On Tuesday, I passed my practicum for The Portal Method (more on that later, hopefully with footage). I taught and received lessons for myself: To bring my voice and energy everywhere I go.
On Wednesday, I had an awesome date with my Qoheleth to watch Fame. We sang and danced in the audience and dreamed of joining a musical one day (and had one in the car on the way home 🤭).
On Friday, I got to teach my first spoken word workshop at a school since the war in Modiin. Plus Poets of Babel’s Bat Mitzvah celebrating our 12th anniversary, the event first of this year at the classically Jerusalem setting of The Little Prince. It was funny, and moving, and all of the good things.

This Monday, I’ll be reading from my forthcoming memoir at the Bar-Ilan creative writing conference.
On Thursday, I’ll be reading Jerusalem poems at “Jeruzalémská,” a multilingual poetry event at HaMiffal for Jerusalem Day.

And I continue to dance, and dance with words 💃🏽✨✍🏽

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#throwbackthursday
Sharing a post from a Pride 2022 poetry reading 🏳️‍🌈🎤

7 years ago I was supposed to perform at קוויריקה, a spoken word event hosted by the @jerusalemopenhouse . It was the 1st time since I started spoken word that I had a poem about a woman. I punked out. I said the date didn’t fit my schedule, but I was scared (and heartbroken and depressed). In fact, after that I stopped performing spoken word altogether. When the @poetryslamisrael folks would call me, I’d say “oh I’d love to, אבל אין לי קטעים.” I had poems. I had poems for days. Just not poems I was about to read on stage. And if I couldn’t tell the truth on stage, I had nothing to say at all. It was never a secret— anyone who really knows me already knew I was bi—but also never the topic of public discussion. Since I announced it last Pride, I’ve been braver.

When my beloved student @po_cito sent me the flyer, I looked at it, said thank you, and almost dismissed it. But something kept bugging me. I get to stretch. Go back and do what I was afraid to do before.

On Monday, I confessed on stage before I shared my poem with female pronouns. “And thus poetry, whose only job is to try to express the inexpressible, takes us back full circle to the only thing that is real.”
Tikkun 🎤🏳️‍🌈✨

‎קוויריקה 2023 - מושב קיץ בתחנה הראשונה

Photo: mooli_photos @mooli_journalism
מולי גולדברג צלם Mooli Goldberg photographer

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(תרגום לעברית בהמשך)

The Dance of the Human

Imagine this: A man sobbing on the floor. A woman sitting next to him hand on his back, and they sit. Just like this.

And you cannot continue to move disconnected. You feel his aching crack your shell. His tears become your tears. Crawl in his direction. A hand on his shoulder.
As you lie on your side, suddenly two small hands in the center of your spine— you gasp, and pour out all that you didn’t know you too were holding in the belt of muscles between your shoulder blades— and the room continues to dance.

The entire room is leaning on the floor, leaning on the space between each other. You see the weaving of the web:

from the echoes of sorrow
from the echoes of love.
The song has ended but one has spontaneously continue to sing the tune, and you continue to sing the tune
and the whole room is a hymn.
Voices split into high and low
and the whole room is a harmony.

And you look up for a moment and see for the first time:
Bodies surrendered to gravity, and the floor being the only thing that won’t fall underneath us. Some on their knees swaying. And the lone elder, dancing between the bodies.

And the whole room is a hymn
the whole room is a rhythm.
A communal mourning is born,
a stunning dancing shiva
in unification, synchronization.

And it is only us in the room
but the room becomes the entire world,
the room becomes the entire country,
and there is no you, no me
the entire room is we.

Have you ever held the hand of a man and a woman whose names you didn’t know? One squeeze means, “Thank you for being present, existing with me.” Another squeeze means, “Peace be upon you and now I roll away.” And the material between us starts to separate. Fingers release one, by one, by one. Touch the palm of her hand. Her fingernails. Our hands ebb and flow from wrist to elbow, not quite ready to part.
And we love what is.
And we are what is
without resistance.
And the song fades away. It had no beginning and no end.
And this is what it means to dance the dance of the human.

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Confession: Seven years ago I was supposed to perform spoken word at the Open House. It would have been my first time sharing a poem on stage that explicitly addressed my bisexual identity. But then I punked out. I also completely stopped performing spoken word. If I couldn’t keep it real, I had nothing to say at all. Tomorrow, for the first time in seven years (outside of the comfort of Poets of Babel), I’m performing spoken word for The Jerusalem Open House at First Station at 20:00. 🎤🏳️‍🌈 Event link in bio & my story ✨

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In passing, during an outdoor concert Geula had invited me to at Hansen House, I said “Let’s do a creative writing workshop together!” Back then, it was just a seed. We took our sweet time, waiting until inspiration hit for a topic that gave us goosebumps, one that we’d want to do ourselves.

That is how “Dear You, Dear Me: A Poetry and Creative Nonfiction Workshop on Letters” was born. It’s a thought-child of pure love and enthusiasm. And it was a blast to facilitate. I’m so grateful, first of all for a fantastic partner, Geula. I don’t think I’ve ever worked with someone with more ease, joy, & professionalism all in one. We discovered in each other a natural flow of complementary strengths. Also, she brings the good snacks.

Secondly, I’m deeply thankful for the awesome participants, whose presence was a present, bringing the workshop into existence. They showed up ready to dive into juicy texts and wrote delicious blitzes to the writing prompts. Here is some of the lovely feedback:

“Overall, this was a fantastic workshop, with great texts, interesting insights, and a good balance of generative writing and close reading. The interplay of Geula and Shoshana worked well and helped foster a supportive, creative environment. You both put a lot of thought and effort into this and it showed. Thank you!”

“I enjoyed the workshop very much. Thought the selection of materials was well done. The time flew by. Great division of presentation and participation.”

“I thought that you and Geula did an amazing job of introducing writers and firing our imaginations in the process.”

“This was the best writing workshop I’ve ever been to!”

“I really enjoyed the workshop. We got a lot done and it didn’t feel rushed. It was energising and touched on so many important points and we it was a very safe space.”

“Every first Friday of the month!”

Apparently we’ll have to do it again 😉

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Poets of Babel

28th Feb 2023

Reading in your mother tongue 🫶🏽

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Part 1 : intro to Poets of Babel in Muiz, CT

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