Holocaust Memorial Day
As someone who is Jewish and was born in the United States in 1942 this day is both heart breaking and bitter.
The Butterfly The last, the very last, So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow. Perhaps if the sun's tears would sing against a white stoneā¦ Such, such a yellow Is carried lightly āway up high. It went away I'm sure because it wished to kiss the world goodbye. For seven weeks I've lived in here, Penned up inside this ghetto But I have found my people here. The dandelions call to me And the white chestnut candles in the court. Only I never saw another butterfly. That butterfly was the last one. Butterflies don't live in here, In the ghetto.
Pavel Friedmann 4.6.1942 The poem is preserved in typewritten copy on thin paper in the collection of poetry by Pavel Friedmann, which was donated to the National Jewish Museum during its documentation campaign. It is dated June 4, 1942 in the left corner. Pavel Friedmann was born January 7, 1921, in Prague and deported to TerezĆn* on April 26, 1942. He died in Oswiecim* (Auschwitz) on September 29, 1944.
*TerezĆn was a Nazi concentration camp.
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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 brotherās 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.
Alexander Kimel died Jan. 24, 2018 of complications from pneumonia. He was 91.
Mr. Kimel was born in Podhajce, Poland. As a boy, Mr. Kimel survived the Holocaust, mostly in the Rohatyn Ghetto, where his mother perished
I was born in Baltimore, Maryland, in October 1942 and grew up in the Bronx, New York City. My grandmother took me shopping to the local grocery stores, butcher shop, shoemaker, and pharmacy, among other stores I no longer remember. I cleary remember, like a photograph in my mind, the tattooed numbers scorched onto the forearms of some of those merchants.
Many years later, I worked in the Albert Einstein Department of Psychiatry, part of Albert Einstein Medical School, in the Bronx. My assignment was in the geriatric outpatient clinic. Among the psychotherapy patients I saw for psychotherapy were a few survivors of the Holocaust. The few I saw were traumatized but would not talk about their experiences. I provided supportive psychotherapy to these people.
I am 82 years old now, living in Boulder, Colorado, and still vividly remember those people and those days.
I submit these poems and brief essay to honor my people murdered in the Holocaust.
As one whose great-grandparents and *mishpokhe* were murdered by the Nazis, I am grateful that people like you (and I) can spread such reminders via the internet. At the same time, I am also saddened that others use the same internet to spread filth and lies in the form of Holocaust denial. Let us hope that art can triumph over misinformation, as your examples can attest.
I am in Boulder too. Growing up in Miami in the 50s and 60s, I remember a number of people with tattoos on their arms, on buses, on the street, at stores, and so on. It was always a stark reminder of the potential of human beings to encourage and elect a psychopathic leader to lead their nation. And it was a reminder of how people could be so self-centered and ignore the insanity that a regime was foisting upon the world. But out of this horrific human tragedy came many unsung heroes ā resistance fighters, spies, people who risked and lost their lives to hide Jews, and daring soldiers. I am fortunate enough to have met a number of these people, but it all remains so sad and senseless.
I studied the Holocaust period for fifty years and then wrote a book about a Holocaust survivor a good many years ago. It is called Remember Us.
"The things I saw beggar description," wrote General Dwight D. Eisenhower upon seeing Ohrdruf, a subcamp of the Buchenwald concentration camp.