My mother has no history,
Only labyrinths of possibilities,
radiating from junctures in time.
“What if, on the causeway ,
we had pulled Hensche with us,
and piled her a mound of gravel on which to stand,
propping her between our shoulders,
pinching her when the officer neared
to stand erect.
She might have lived.”
But instead my Mother and her sister sent her to the other side
to the children huddled about their Mother.
They said, she will help Mama, so the little ones won’t make noise,
“We didn’t know, we couldn’t know.”
But even so,
Would fate have dragged Hensche from within the furnace
Or would she have plunged all three to oblivion.
For in a place where death is immanent,
And survival a chance occurrence
There is no surety, there is no surety,
And destiny tempted turns easily vengeful.
The paths not taken are not overgrown with green
but alleyways of blackest cinder
or burrows of swirling dusts,
barbed and spiny.
And when memory allows
my mother travels these passages
and bows her head against the raining blows.
Note: another apologetic for silence yet the need for the story to be told
The firstborn of Velvel and Feige Gruen was spared on Passover Eve 5704,
But all her brothers and sisters were killed.
The firstborn of Lipa and Masha Tarnowicz was spared on Passover Eve 57o4
But thousands of others exterminated.
Why the terrible deliverance of that night?
Why did the Angel of Death just stay, just stay
Was it that their prayers were whispered and not cried aloud.
Or that there was no hyssop in Auschwitz 1944,
And no blood,
Just ashes and smoke.
Note: The deportations from Ruthenia and Hungary began in Spring 1944 during Passover, the Jewish Holiday for redemprion. The Jews in Egypt had to bring the Pascal Sacrifice and paint their doorpost with the blood so as to spare the firstborn children from the Plague of Firstborns. Ironically Auschwitz the firstborns were often saved since they were the oldest shildren and able to work while the rest of the family destroyed. Mah Nishtana is the four questions asked at the Passover Seder - I’ve added a fifth.
I had wanted to bring a memento from Auschwitz
With which to remember those who died.
I picked up a fragment of brick, remembering that
Esther, a survivor had said, that if their mouths
Were not too parched,
They would moisten these,
to rub them on their cheeks.
The harsh ochre masking the pallor.
So I took this home.
It was the closest thing to life
That I could find there.
Note: From my trip to Auschwitz
We called him Pixieman
because his forehead sloped up in a funny way
and he laughed a lot.
His shoes had long thick shoelaces, so he could tie them
and the bows would flop on the ground.
When he did errands for his mother we would run after him yelling “Pixieman, Pixieman”,
But he would just smile at the attention.
When the Nazis marched us from the ghetto to the train station,
Pixieman was startled by the gnarling dogs
and bolted into the forest
A Company of soldiers was sent after him.
The rest of the town had to wait at attention facing forward
but out of the corner of my eye I saw him being dragged,
sobbing and shivering back into the line.
We continued on, Pixieman shuffling forward,
eyes lowered, his shoelaces caked in mud,
trembling.
His trembling stopped, with death,
a few days later, at Birkenau.
Note: Based on my aunt’s comment about how a mentally retarded child ran away
and was retrieved by the Nazis even though he would have died by himself
left alone.