Awaken to the Years

In the footsteps of my ancestors,

my way is paved in broken concrete,

made from stolen tombstones,

taken from Europe’s Jewish cemeteries,

as if a generation’s culture could be ground

into smithereens, hiding its very existence.

Yet, the heaven’s shed tears of mercy,

in order to water the earth with renewal.

Chassidic communities sprung up again,

some in Israel, some in America,

and some even in Ukraine.

Now, with the invasion of Russia,

again, the Ukrainian Jews have had to flee,

reminiscent of flight during the Shoah,

that some elderly survivors recalled,

from their harrowing youth.

What a joy to the soul,

and warmth to the heart,

to see them landing in Israel.

Lifted upon the wings of eagles,

and set down upon the ancient soil

of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

2.

And my own kindred,

not even given the opportunity

to be mourned by loved ones,

thousands of miles across the Atlantic,

where my great grandfather Hirsch Wolf,

strived to raise a family, in a distant land,

with hues of grey, and sounds of cacophony

in the busy streets of Brooklyn.

His brothers’ families remained,

and still rest in the earth,

7 kilometers outside of Bolekhiv,

in the forest of Taniawa,

where a memorial plaque,

marks a mass grave.

Yet, like Moses,

who was not permitted to enter

the land promised to the Israelites,

they will greet the righteous

in the Promised Land

of Olam Haba.

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earthweal prompt

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Ukraine Blues

The surrounding countryside of Kiev, and other cities, such as Lviv, and even my own ancestral hometown, Bolekhiv, are quiet in the night, while the Russians prepare their next attempts to maneuver their positions, to be in alignment with their next forward march into the fray. By now, they know that they will continue to meet with resistance from the Ukrainian defenders. These are not nationalists, like the propaganda espoused by the Putin regime would have it known; rather, these are loyal citizens of a country that has been trying to gain its complete freedom for decades. True, it was Ukrainian nationalists in the midst of WW2, who were no friends of the Jewish population in Bolechov, Poland in 1939, when the Soviets retreated. However, the current generation of Ukrainians are not responsible for the sins of their ancestors.

After WW2, my ancestral hometown fell in under the new lines of demarcation, designating the city as Bolekhiv in the newly established boundaries of Soviet Ukraine. And, now, 58 years later, and, incidentally, fifty-eight miles south of Lviv, I wonder how far the smoldering torches of war have receded, or perhaps impeded upon the place where the graves of my ancestors rest. Of course, most of them, were actually buried in either one of two mass graves. The first, 7 km outside of Bolechov (now, Bolekhiv) in the Tanaiwa forest. The other, hastily made grave in the actual cemetery. This cemetery is the best preserved Jewish cemetery in Europe. I have always wanted to visit, since I “found” my ancestors through genealogical research. And, now, How am I to do so? Ultimately, if am able to do so in the future, will I be entering an independent Ukraine, or Soviet-controlled Ukraine?

My ancestors souls,

transcend earthly boundaries,

knowing only peace.

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dverse prompt

Butterflies

Amongst the fields of sunflowers,

dreaming in the winds of change,

butterflies roam, partaking of the nectar.

Sweet dreams interrupted by a shift

in the pleasant breezes,

accompanied by dark clouds.

Nectar runs dry, and petals wilt,

as the resting places

of the fragile two-winged creatures,

disappear from the fields.

How many Ukrainian refugees,

who have taken flight,

from the devastation,

will be blessed with a new beginning,

in faraway places, where safety resides,

miles away from their homes?

—– —– —– —–

My ancestors, with prescient insight,

migrated across the Atlantic Ocean,

before the flames of the Shoah

engulfed Bolechov, and took the lives

of those who remained in the shtetl.

Ghosts of the past cry out,

Release me, into the wind,

so that our memories

will not be forgotten.

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Past Memories, Current Events

My heart is overflowing,

teeming with complex emotions,

and my pen, figuratively speaking,

is writing (typing out) words again,

in response to the internal reservoir,

of all that remains to be said.

My muse? Ineffable, for He Knows all,

and is above and beyond all muses.

So, redeemed, is each word that I reckon,

as not my own, rather, from deep within,

a pool of reflection, tinged with a conscience,

and a consciousness, stemming

from the part of mankind’s soul,

that is connected to the Divine.

Additionally, I do not even know

how I can factor into the equation,

that Bolekhiv, my ancestral hometown,

is fifty-eight miles south of Lviv,

where several dozen of my relatives

were buried in mass graves,

during the Shoah.

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Reverberations

Poems for Ukraine

Cold railing on platform,

separates us, as tears flow,

behind window of train.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Debris, scattered everywhere,

as if a fanfare of wind and tempest

blew through the city, proclaiming

the acharis hayomim.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

No one is here to witness,

the empty streets, and silent buildings;

while we shelter beneath the earth,

huddled together in blankets.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

In the not-so-distant past,

we were deported for our faith,

endless tracks led nowhere.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

In the not-so-distant tomorrow,

we will be praying for the light of redemption,

when darkness covers the land.

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