Lekh-lekho
And now Blimele, dear child,
Stop—stop playing now.
No time for that.
We can be called at any minute
To leave our poor home
—A lonely boat on an island of sand—
And be hurled into the midst
Of a naked furious sea.
Outside the first groups already
Are dragging themselves on the trek
Women, men, old people; on their backs
Heavy burdens, in their…
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Related Guide
Holocaust and Post-Holocaust Fiction and Poetry
1939–1973
Jewish literature developed individual rather than collective voices, as postwar Jewish identity was transformed by the forces of modernism and assimilation.
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Over the wall, through holes, and past the guard,
Through the wires, ruins, and fences.
Plucky, hungry, and determined
I sneak through, dart like a cat.
At noon, at night, at dawn,
In snowstorm…
Birds Are Drowsing
Birds are drowsing on the branches.
Sleep, my darling child.
At your cradle, in the field,
A stranger sits and sings.
Once you had another cradle
Woven out of joy.
And your mother, oh your mother
W…
The Martyrdom of the 93 Beit Ya‘akov Girls
We cleansed our bodies and we are pure,
We cleansed our spirits and are at peace.
Death does not frighten us,
We shall meet it calmly.
We served God with…
Black Flakes
Snow has fallen, with no light. A month
has gone by now or two, since autumn in its monkish cowl
brought tidings my way, a leaf from Ukrainian slopes:
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Census
Dense crowds proceed at dawn
Through Theresienstadt’s still empty streets
Five abreast curving around corners into squares.
The beast checks if anybody has stumbled.
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I Have Never Been Here Before
I always thought
I had been here before.
Each year of my patched-up life
I mended the fabrics
of my decrepit, tattered world.
In memory I recognized faces and smiles,
even my father and mother…