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An Old Poem, in Honor of Holocaust Remembrance Day (Yom HaShoah)

Authors note: this poem was written when I was 16 years old. Therefore, please do not mind the amateur vocabulary or grammar. When I was younger, I wanted to submit this to Yad Vashem but never got around to it. I never thought I would have my own blog to publish it on. Well, here it is. In loving memory to all those who passed away, including family. Please say a Psalm or do a good deed in their honor. Hashem Yinkom Damam.

Holocaust_Memorial
Holocaust remembrance at the JCC of Clifton NJ.

trudging through ghetto street
hollow stomach, heavy feet
words telling, ‘you have to move’
searching for a scrap of food

I can’t go home empty handed
a child of eight had already abandoned
the innocent childhood, way of life
weighed with adult burdens and strife

a blood boiling, burning sensation
the posted words bolded: Liquidation
shoving us into those cattle cars
like a criminal behind jail bars

pulling us off one-by-one
I try to scram, but my body’s numb
mother said they are Jew-haters
but some of them, were Jewish traitors

it felt like unlimited amount of time
standing like dummies in a long line
those who couldn’t bear, would simply fall
as they went through our daily roll call

after that blow, came yet another
shocking separation from baby brother
I saw few teardrops in his eye
never a chance for final goodbye

huddling like herded horses in a barn
as though it were but thread and yarn
they chopped away our strands of hair
oppressive shame hovered in the air

robbing us of something so sacred
stripping our bodies, stark naked
soap provided made of human flesh
can such a shower make one feel fresh?

numbered prison clothes for our bare backs
ordering us out, toward the train tracks
day and night my bones would warily toil
for more blood to shed on German soil

napping on wood planks with 20 neighbors
was the break for us, poor tortured laborers
lucky if you got but a stale piece of bread
those were our ‘meals’, that’s what was fed

hunted as a youngster, I frequently did hide
other girls my age–ended life with suicide
some had no strength to put up their defenses
and ended their lives, on barbed wire fences

those alive then, developed a temporary maim
of forgetting in the moment, what’s normal? what sane?
some days—were no feelings, awfully strange
yet on others, every fiber was bursting with rage

unknown to us, was decreed a cruel resolution
as we struggled for a path, out of brutal confusion
filthy hands would naturally mask the eyes on our face
desperately avoiding truth, shielding vulnerable disgrace

withering slowly with each passing season
we were fewer and fewer…for we were the reason
that the world was drowning in its pollution
thus was Hitler’s, “Final Solution”

mercilessly murdering, is his claim to fame
for his deepest desire was to proclaim: Judenrein
a nation made of souls so determined to survive
showed him the answer would not be genocide

Dr. Mangele’s wavering finger, pointed to the right or left
the infamous man was granted, to choose on life or death
I miraculously endured the unspeakable possible dangers
of being sentenced to expire in those evil gas-chambers

surmounting trauma, in each survivors brains
witnessing wind fighting with furious–fiery flames
the thickening clouds, of the blackest black smoke
inhaling and exhaling, but trying not to choke

denied of any hope left, shattered anticipation
they continued their process of mass extermination
a complete population, group raped and mutilated
the whole Jewish people enslaved, to be annihilated

to the almighty lord, some turned to with tears
praying hard that g-d, not establish their fears
mothers cried for lost babies in their wombs
other hearts were broken over the myriads of tombs

after those few elongate, but bloody murderous years
it seemed that heaven opened its previously deafened ears
by word of ear, out there…new lives have begun…?
rumors began spreading of promising…freedom?!

overwhelming flow of emotions express jubilation
we tasted our first breath of liberty and salvation
it was true, true at last! The moment has arrived!
the allied forces tore down, ‘Big Germany’s’ Pride

no SS guards over you, stationed to control
there wasn’t any swastika positioned to patrol
away went uniforms, polished and pressed in starch
gone was a way of death that formed into a march

we could now eulogize all those that perished
new lives were to begin and children to be cherished
we were really free, the pleasure could burst
we lived beyond disease, starvation and thirst

maltreatment was a wicked technique that was used
our bodies had to heal for they were physically abused
each and every one of us weighed as light as a feather
in those moments we learned, time serves as a mender

as my mouth watered, the stomach butterflies sang
a country full of citizens, with a throbbing hunger pang
unfortunately at the sight of food, some people splurged
nevertheless, healthiness had gradually surged

regrettably, so many were left with scars bodily painted
hundreds of thousands were psychologically tainted
shrunken hearts were broken, and our spirit was tattered
from young to old, we looked exhausted and haggard

constant looming shadows gaze back at my stares
all alone in the dark with unending nightmares
survival is a skill, we had to work on each day
striving to do the best, in our own unique way

dealing with everything, from mental health to nutrition
made the battle to healing, an excruciating mission
withdrawn from feelings, that were forcefully suppressed
would make any normal being, miserably depressed

yet Life from that day was about reaping fresh seeds
and awakening those dormant, childhood memories
sometimes I can’t trust that I was of the few that escaped
and for all those that died we have a day to commemorate

all the recollections of tragic days in the bitter winter’s cold
and the soldiers scornful laugh when our heads were shaved bold
each and every corpse, so impossible to “just get over”
remembering remains evaporate from the chimneys crematoria

how can anyone describe, an immeasurably deep hurt?
or the stench of incalculable persons, bodies being burnt?
the terminology of this world, cannot express infinite pain
or portray engulfing sadness as my brethren’s ashes…fell as rain

Holocaust_Hand
Memorial Hand in The Garden of Meditation: “The Sculpture of Love and Anguish” at the Miami Holocaust Memorial

Photos by Rivka Bauman Photography

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Woman-Friendly Haggada

The Haggada you choose will make or break your Pesach Seder. A poor translation, or a book with no commentaries, will leave you with a missed opportunity. Many women go through a meal devoid of the female take on our history and heritage. The text of the Haggada has very little to say about women, except for the fact that we are still obligated in joining, since we too were saved.

The Haggada I grew up with was The Family Haggada, which was adequate. It had clear instructions, good translation, but aside for that, it is not the one for me. Aside from not being Chabad (which obviously is not an issue for everyone), the commentaries are lacking. If there is a lull in the meal, you have no great reading to turn to. If someone asks a meaningful question, you have no book to rely on. It is not an expensive purchase if you need multiple, at around $3 a piece, but not the one I’ll be using this year. Again, as the average Haggada goes, it’s all about the guys.

TheFamilyHaggadah

When I was in Hevron, I picked up the most beautiful Haggada I had ever laid eyes on. The Katz Passover Haggada illustrated by Gadi Pollack, is one that you will not regret buying. On every page is a detailed and intricate depiction of life in Egypt. It is not for young children, due to some of the sad and violent pictures. Sometimes we forget the horrors of the life of a Jew during our slavery, with this book, we are reminded. Sometimes we forget the brutality and terror of the plagues, but this book is not afraid to illustrate the might with which they were punished.

KatzPassoverHagaddah

One picture stuck into my mind, such a sad picture, but so telling. It is an image of a woman crying out to Hashem, after the loss of her child. The commentary says, “As a woman named Rachel and her husband were mixing mortar, she gave birth to a child. The infant fell [] The woman’s anguished screams pierced the heavens [] On that night (one year later) Hashem destroyed all the firstborn of Egypt” (Chait 107). This was the first time I had heard about the plight of a Jewish woman in Egypt. The first time hearing about the strength of our prayers. The first time I saw such loss on a woman’s face. This was also the first time that I really knew that our cries are heard.

This is only one of one hundred pages. Every page has another wonder, from slavery to the crossing of the sea. Artwork has a power that words cannot always capture.

The book that I will be using this year is The Slager Edition of the Haggada. With clear instructions, great translations, and very clear font, I have enjoyed reading from this book for the last three years. It is laid out like the Gutnick Chumash, with basic questions as well as deeper chassidic teachings explaining the entirety of the evening.

SlagerEditionHaggadah

There are a few things that I found to be very meaningful as a woman reading at the seder. During the time of our slavery, women were oppressed worse than the men in many ways. According to the Arizal, women were kept from Mikva by the police (Miller 84), the women were exposed to such a spiritual “annihilation” that it was worse than the boys’ drowning (87)!

Even the more basic explanations are inspiring. Why do we keep the smaller piece of the middle Matza on the table? To remind us that if we can only see the “small piece of Matza” in our life, we should know that there is a bigger piece of the puzzle that Hashem is waiting to give us (8).

One of the most ignored themes of the Haggada is loss, the loss specifically interconnected with being in Galus. Each of us has experienced our form of loss, be it a financial loss, loss of innocence, or loss of a loved one. We only have the small piece of our “Matza” in life, we all feel a piece missing, but with a strong cry that will break the doors of heaven, we can bring the peace and joy that Hashem brought us during the Exodus of Egypt.

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Et tu, Brute? – Repetitions of History

“For Brutus is an honourable man; So are they all, all honourable men.” (Quote Act III, Sc. II)

While reading Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar with my mother this past Shabbat, I realize that somewhere our society went in the wrong direction. Instead of spending time reading together, laughing together, we spend time quietly, each on our own gadget. Shakespeare’s comedies and tragedies are still largely enjoyed, but his history plays present themes that are still discussed in modern times.

Looking at the commoners in Julius Caesar, watching them fawn over their leader, cheer for him, and idolize him, I see Americans fawning over their president. As the play progresses and Caesar is killed, the people are convinced that his ways were evil. Easily convinced one way or the other, confused into submission, never told the whole story. Doesn’t this sound familiar?

FileBrutusand_theGhostofCaesar

On the news we are only given part of the story, the most important bits are left out, we are lead to believe falsehoods, and support false ideals. We see pictures taken in Syria slapped with the title “Gaza.” Numbers from different sources do not match up. People are told conflicting reasons as to why things are happening, and who is at fault. Political leaders have to choose sides, making alliances. None of this is new.

Two thousand years ago, when Caesar was murdered by ‘friends’, no one knew whether or not this was the right thing to do. Were they saving a republic? Were they overcoming a tyrant? People picked sides not really knowing.

Pick up a Shakespeare play, rent a movie, or see it live. Do you see the same modern connections? The wording style may be different, but society is the same.