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ALEXANDER KIMEL - HOLOCAUST UNDERSTANDING & PREVENTION

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HOLOCAUST POETRY

WE WILL NEVER FORGET - AUSCHWITZ

by Alexander Kimel - Holocaust Survivor We will never forget the selections at Auschwitz, Where Black Jackals condemned millions to gas, Right - death, left - life, right death... death ...death. The black finger, surrounded with barking dogs, Works like the Angel of Death, creating living hell. Children are torn apart from the tender embrace Of mothers, clinging to their treasures. Babies wailing from hunger, Parents parting tearfully with their children. Fathers shaken with helpless rage. The condemned form a column of trembling fear. Soon the mass of fainting humanity Is lead to the clean foyer of death. Disrobe quickly, take a shower and you will be fed. Food! Food! The hungry mass of disoriented humanity Awakens runs and fights to get into the chamber of gas. The heavy door closes and the cyclone dropped. Soon the parents choke and turn blue, Later the children turn rigid with death The people become a twisted load, Of intertwined limps and heads glued with blood. When the human pulp is ready for the works, Sondercommando quickly pull, The bodies apart, peel the gold from the mouths. And the remains are taken to the open pit, Where the bones are cleaned with fire, And the fat drained for human soap. Six days a week the Jackals drink beer, And rejoice doing the Devil's work. Sunday is the day of rest, the day When the Jackals ride to the Church, to praise God And assure the Salvation of their pious souls. Deutschland, Deutschland Uber Alles! In this Kingdom of Evil, There is no peace for the Righteous. It is the wicked that inherited This tortured World, engulfed In the red, milky, cry-absorbing fog, Guarding the wilted conscience of man.

I C A N N O T F O R G E T

THE ACTION IN THE GHETTO OF ROHATYN, MARCH 1942. by Alexander Kimel- Holocaust Survivor.

Do I want to remember? The peaceful ghetto, before the raid: Children shaking like leaves in the wind. Mothers searching for a piece of bread. Shadows, on swollen legs, moving with fear. No, I don't want to remember, but how can I forget?

Do I want to remember, the creation of hell? The shouts of the Raiders, enjoying the hunt. Cries of the wounded, begging for life. Faces of mothers carved with pain. Hiding Children, dripping with fear. No, I don't want to remember, but how can I forget?

Do I want to remember, my fearful return? Families vanished in the midst of the day. The mass grave steaming with vapor of blood. Mothers searching for children in vain. The pain of the ghetto, cuts like a knife. No, I don't want to remember, but how can I forget?

Do I want to remember, the wailing of the night? The doors kicked ajar, ripped feathers floating the air. The night scented with snow-melting blood. While the compassionate moon, is showing the way. For the faceless shadows, searching for kin. No, I don't want to remember, but I cannot forget.

Do I want to remember this world upside down? Where the departed are blessed with an instant death. While the living condemned to a short wretched life, And a long tortuous journey into unnamed place, Converting Living Souls, into ashes and gas. No. I Have to Remember and Never Let You Forget.

THE CREED OF A HOLOCAUST SURVIVOR
by Alexander Kimel


I do believe, with all my heart, In the natural Goodness of Man. Despite the blood and destruction, Brought by one man, trying to be God, In the Goodness of Man, I do believe.

I do believe, with all my heart, That God gave man the blessing and the curse. Man can select the curse of envy, hatred and prejudices, Or the blessing of love, harmony and beauty. Despite the painful curses of the past, In the blessing of the Creator, I do believe.

I do believe, with all my heart, That God created a beautiful world, The sun and the trees, the flowers and the bees. And the best way to serve God, is To enjoy the fruits of His labor of love. Despite the painful memories from the past, In the joyful celebration of life, I do believe.

I do believe with all my heart, That God has created man in image of His own. And killing of man, is like killing of God. Despite the massacres in Rwanda, the cleansing in Bosnia, The folly of Muslim fanatics, and the cruelty of Pot Pol. In the love and compassion of the Creator, I do believe.

I believe with all my heart, That the Messiah and the Kingdom of Heaven will come; When man will conquer his destructive urge, And learn how to live in harmony with nature and himself. When all the preachers of hate will be silenced, And man will become his brother's keeper.

When man will stop killing man, in the name of God, And nation will not lift weapons against nation. When it will be, I do not know, but Despite all the signs to the contrary. In the dawn of a Better World, I do believe.

The Ghetto Prayer by Janusz Korczak.

Our Father who art in heaven. . .
This prayer was carved out of hunger and misery.
Our daily bread.
Bread.
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AFTERMATH by Evelyn Roman - Holocaust Survivor

Fifty years after the fact Painful memories intact Nightmares recurring, Nazis appearing. Must survivors remain At their altar of pain Forever enduring Unspeakable haunting? And will it subside On life's other side Or go on persisting Into the realm of night?

UNANSWERED....?
by DUNIO BERNHAUT

Will I always remember? Can I ever forget Or is the sentence perpetual and conclusively set? Will the memories dwindle? Can the torment subside Or is the cycle relentless as the flow of the tide? Will sadness release me? Can I ever know joy Or is fate still unfolding some merciless ploy? Will somebody know me? Can I be seen through the haze Or is the image evasive, an intricate maze? Will my life serve a purpose? Was it carefully planned Or is destiny adding one more granule of sand? Like shadowy visions concealing in fear Most answers elusive, opaque and unclear But these so translucent through a shroud of regret: Yes, I will always remember; No, I can never forget....

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GHETTO UPRISING-LACHVA, POLAND September 3, 1942 Evelyn Roman - Holocaust Survivor

The last September morning Without a miracle from above From his invisible being Or from the world below Abandoned, we were doomed Our ghetto was to be consumed. The sun rose bloodred that morning Ever faithful to its course Shamefully it went on shining While death was waiting at our doors That day of judgement Our fateful moment. Jews an uprising staging Germans caught by surprise Ghetto house blazing Eight Nazis killed Barbed wire stormed Few of us survived. All visions were ending Gone was all hope Cruelty was raging In unimaginable scope Good bye childhood dreams And times yet to be. The chaos this morning The murder of my kin When torment meant living Days cruel beyond words With no time for grieving While roaming the woods I often was heartened By the love they imparted Their piercing screams resounding Recurring in my brain Time can never heal The gnawing pain that I feel .

*Monument at Moriah
by Evelyn Roman- Holocaust Survivor

There stands a monument In memory of the innocent Children huddled together Rigid with terror Peering through the windows, They never can enter. Like devout processional Of a holy funeral The throng winds its way Bells suspend in the breeze Endless Kaddish prayers say. The oven doors were open wide, The world slept through this horrid rite. Forsaken, left to their own device A million children lost their lives. Through Spring returns year by year, From death new life can never rise. These hollow mute stone forms This courtyard now adorn, Their each and every size To sounds of bells gives rise "Keep your faith" they whisper "And thus avenge our demise." These bells toll for the living Reverberating through the head "As long as you go on remembering We shall endure as living dead, Make it your vigil now And pas it on ahead." * Inspired by the sculpture garden at the Moriah School in Engelwood, N.J., the work of an Israeli sculptor Edward T. Gordon. It is a monument erected in memory of the children who died in the Holocaust. It consists of 50 stone - bronze pieces, in various sizes, placed in a sunken courtyard. Each has a smooth interior window-heart containing a cast chime of a different size, form and tone.

The Archivist
hline.gif - 2.4 K Lois E. Olena

Note by note I type the awful history of the victims of the Third Reich. Misery like dirt under my fingernails plays out through my soft, safe digits; haunting violin tones fade away as the next song begins slowly sparingly luscious soft chords rock me, caress me... rock me, sway me... side to side like a cattle car fading into the distance. What is this caught in my throat? turnips? raw potatoes? black bread? No matter; move on, they're waiting. Hurry, finish. Pay your bills. Feed your face. Play your PC piano until weariness from the death march lays you gently down in the snow for your afternoon nap and you dream that the knock on your door is the UPS man come to take you away.

11/9/96, Based on the transcription work for the Gratz College Holocaust Oral History Archive

Behind the Monastery
Lois E. Olena

My fingers froze today when I stood in the rain behind a Polish monastery- cold wet arms heavy, shaking with fear and my allowed bundle. The light from the candles of my warm home followed after me like long shadows chasing, crying for my return. Front door agape gentile rape trucks at the gate goyische ants in a long line carrying off 600 years of history, tucking it lustily into their conscience-seared pockets. Bone wet I watch as Council members under rifle dig obediently and the earth opens up to swallow my rabbi and his sons. Mach schnell! I hear in my nightmare... and as I turn to leave, I notice that the earth still moves where they buried my heart.

12/11/96 Lois E. Olena -written in the midst of typing the survivor testimony of M.K. "My fingers did freeze, and I couldn't go on until I wrote about this." Lois Olena

Homeland
Lois E. Olena

It was Christmas eve and there was no room in the inn, the Oswiecim inn, so the Arrow Cross took the children, barefooted and in their nighties, out to the Danube and filled their little bellies not with bread but bullets flipping them like tiddlywinks into the congealing, icy river below. It was the Red Danube that night, choking on the blood of orphan Jews whose little Blue faces floated downstream touring even all of Europe until they washed up on the shores of Eretz Yisrael and came back to life, their little blue and white bodies raised high, flapping in the wind.

12/18/96 Lois E. Olena, based on the true account of a Hungarian survivor of the Holocaust.

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