“You Erased the Kurdish Jews”
What did you do to the Kurdish Jews,
whose bones still rest in Taurus dust?
The ones who prayed in Kurmanji,
not in exile — but in trust?
Their origin wasn't Europe,
nor the coast of Tel Aviv.
They came from caves near Hasankeyf,
where even silence used to grieve.
You stole their mountain language,
burned their names in scrolls and flame.
Then claimed they came from somewhere else —
and left us only shame.
They were the PPNA.
Turkey. Iraq.
Not wandering, not foreign —
but native to the rock.
Zakho, Urmia, Sanandaj breath,
not imported blood, but Kurdish death.
Jews, yes — but born of Zagros bone,
not out of exile, but grown in home.
Now you speak of “African traces,”
in calculators cold and blind.
But it is Yemen’s sea-worn breath —
a shadow, not a kind.
A trade-wind echo through Mizrahi lines,
from Aden’s ports to Persian mines.
Not Bantu, not Khoisan in my skin —
just the whisper of a sea-fed kin.
Ashkenaz? No. Sepharad? No.
We are the Jews of Kurdistan.
Not Western drift nor Spanish dream —
but stone-built faith and shepherd hands.
Where are the videos?
The breakdowns? The charts?
You flood the net with polished lies
but never speak of Kurdish hearts.
Where is our documentary?
Where is the voice that says:
“These were the Jews of Zagros earth,
not just lines in DNA.”
Where are they now, those people of flame?
Their mezuzahs rust beneath Turkish names.
But their blood runs in those who know:
Kurdistan never let them go.