Several Holocaust Poems.

(The Ghetto Wall in Krakow, Poland)

I had another episode last night and today, where I felt overtaken by spirits who wanted to be heard. Out if this experience, came several new poems, which I have included in this blog. I will let them speak for themselves.

The (Un)natural Law of Race
10-11-10

The genetic tree
Has twisted roots
Driven deeply into the past.
Social Darwinists
Dig out the rot
They believe have effects that last.

Eugenic science –
Imposter beliefs –
Guide the policies of the state
Cleansing of the blood,
Curing the ailments of her people.
In hopes that it is not too late.

Misguided in thought,
Manipulated,
The Germans complied,
And after these thoughts
Were carried out,
Millions had died.

The slippery slope
Eugenics led
Had great long-term effects.
It had at its core
The lofty goal of
Eliminating all defects.

Purity of blood,
Racially pure,
This was Hitler’s call
And then in the end,
Policies led
To Germany’s fall.


(the former killing center of Belzec, in Poland)

ABCs of Death
10-11-10

Auschwitz and Appell
Belzec
Chelmno
Dachau and Dehumanization
Einsatzgruppen and Experimentation
Fear.
Ghettos
Hitler, Himmler, and Heydrich
Ideology
Jews
Kapos
Lagers and Lebensraum
Mengele and Monsters
National Socialism
Ordnungdienst
Piles of corpses.
Queues of prisoners
Rations of Bread
Schutzstaffeln and Selections
Transports
Unterwertige, the Undesirables
Vaterland
Weltanschauung
“X”ecutions
Yiddish prayer
Zyklon B



(the Memorial at Dachau, outside of Munich, Germany)


Life Unworthy of Life
10-11-10

Hadamar, Hartheim, Sonnestein,
Places of horrors past,
Those whose images last,
Now mingling and blending through time.

Here the victims took final breath
Never to rest in peace,
Whose suff’ring never cease,
Immortal pain, even in death.

Euthanasia was the label,
Justifying killing,
Victims went unwilling
To their deaths upon the table.

Injection, pill, or starvation,
Perhaps a whiff of gas,
Is how their deaths would pass,
All to further Hitler’s nation.

“I’m not guilty,” all would argue,
Another bears the blame,
For this genetic game,
"For Hitler’ Reich these deeds I do."

So if the perpetrator’s role
Eliminates their guilt,
Their argument was built
Upon their victims’ loss of soul.

If not the doctors, then, I ask,
Who therefore bears the blame
In Master Race’s name,
To carry out this evil task?

Perhaps we all should share the weight,
For euthanasia’s cast
For generations past,
Whose crimes of hate will not abate.

For who decides the worth of man
And who is better dead,
When valued life is led,
Or whose whole future we should ban?

When mortals play the role of god,
And choose the path of fate,
An evil incarnate
Over the human streets shall trod.


(Shoes taken from concentration camp inmates)

An Affirmation

(the historical map that hangs over my home desk)

Yesterday, I had a totally affirming moment with a student after my last class of the day.

The interchange validated what I do on a daily basis, and it made me feel like I was flying.

Yesterday, we were discussing the Armenian Genocide of 1915 (which did, in fact, take place) and the modernization efforts of Mustafa Kemal in the emerging Republic of Turkey in the post-war years.

After class, one student came up to talk to me. He is from Somalia, originally, and his family fled when he was just a child to avoid the violence there.

His first comment was, "I really am enjoying this class very much. I appreciate that you let us discuss things and voice our opinions and come to our own conclusions. I'm a senior, and I had been avoiding my history requirement, because I dreaded taking it. I thought it was going to be like high school, where you just threw a bunch of facts at us."

And I knew, in that moment, that I am doing what I am supposed to be doing in this life.

I am opening young minds to the possibilities.

I am charging them to become independent thinkers, to use evidence to draw their own conclusions, and to follow through on their thoughts with actions.

He went on to say that he is committed to making the world a safer place, so that things like this can not take place ever again.

He has a police background, and is working to go into full-time law enforcement.

He told me that as they were fleeing from Somalia, he asked his mother why people do such horrible things. He said, "How can this happen?"

She replied, "All that is necessary for evil to occur is for good men to do nothing." (a very famous quotation, by the way, from Eleanor Roosevelt).

And he told me that is why he is determined to go into law enforcement.

I told him we need more people like him in our world.

This thoughtful, intelligent, determined young man is going to leave his mark on our world. I can see that very clearly.

And he let me know, in no uncertain terms yesterday afternoon, that I have left my mark on him.

I feel honored.

And I flew.

Headlong into the wind....

(our newly remodeled home office)


If you have been reading my blog, you know that I've had a rough time of things regarding my career. This year marks my last year at my current institution, and I admit that I am facing the beginning of the year with a great deal of trepidation.

It will not be easy.

Let's face it, it will be an extremely stressful situation, to go in every day with a smile pasted on my face, pretending that I have not a care in the world. Just thinking about going back has had me sleepless or with nightmares for weeks now.

Meanwhile, I need to figure out where I go from here.

That's not to say that I don't have ideas, or haven't been thinking about options.

Believe me, I have.

Life, however, must cooperate with my dreams. So this year, I need to be extra sensitive to the opportunities that avail themselves to me, and grab for the golden ring. In fact, one particular opportunity made itself known to me just this week, as if a sign from above. I will be following up on that avenue, rest assured!

I know that I will overcome this bump in the road.

And I know this, because I have the greatest support system in the world, waiting for me at home.

And this is how I will make it through this year.

With a newly remodeled home office space, to make working pleasurable!



And with these smiling faces and warm cuddly bodies to help make the world disappear, if even for a few hours each night.

Our sweet, adorable Miss Scarlett...


And our old man, Monte, who I swear is at least 50% cat himself...




(and our two elder cats, who remain a bit camera shy....Sulu and Lucy).

I will endure. I will survive.

And I will thrive.

Thanks to the ones who've got my back. Oh, and of course, most of all to the best warm cuddly body of all, who can always make me smile.

Hana's Story

(my sketch of Hana)


This must needs be a multiple part post. It's a bit unnerving to me, to write about Hana, because it is so close to my soul. She is so much a part of me, that it is like exposing myself when I write about her.

But I promised, so here goes.

Hana's story is complex.

I have written here before about my Holocaust dreams, dreams that started when I was a child of only about 4 years old. Over and over again, I dreamt horrible things, images of the atrocities of the Holocaust. When I began to have these dreams, I had no idea what the Holocaust was, or what any of the dreams meant. I only knew they frightened me, and that I felt as if they were not merely dreams, but memories.

But how could they be memories?

As I grew older, I began to understand what I had been experiencing. It was not until I was in my mid-30s, however, that I comprehended their full significance.

I was having dreams from a past life.

The first past life that I fully uncovered was that of Rachel, a Russian Jewish woman, who was killed in a pogrom in Russia in the 1890s. She was married to a man named Yakov, and they had a beautiful daughter, Sarah, who also perished that day in the pogrom, despite Yakov's efforts to save them.

As I began to delve deeper into my past life experiences, I re-discovered Hana.



(The town square at Kazimierz-Dolny)

Hana was a 10 year old little girl, from the town of Kazimierz-Dolny in Poland. This was a quiet market town, about 2 hours outside of Krakow. She had a lovely life before the war, adored her father and was the apple of her mother's eye. They had a small farm and her father sold milk and produce in the town square every week.

One night, as I opened myself up to her memories, a flood of names rushed at me. I believe that her last name was Skibiskova, or something similar. She also was very fond of a man named Pulli Eckstein, from the village, who served a grandfatherly role for her. Her father, Wladek played the violin, and her mother Elsabet was a strong woman with broad shoulders and a huge heart. Her maiden name was Rawkow.

Their life was peaceful and calm, until the Nazis arrived.

Her family was rounded up, along with all the other Jews in the area, and sent to the camp at Maidanek, where Hana would perish in the gas chambers. She was captured by two Ukrainian brothers, Anton and Marko Danilovich, who were aiding the Nazis with the persecution of the Jews.

Once in the transport, Hana was ripped from her parents, and she became frantic to find them again. At the camp, a female Nazi SS guard took Hana roughly by the hand and began to walk her down the Black Path towards the gas chamber. Hana had her red ball in her hand, but dropped it along the way and was worried about finding it again. Inge, the guard, distracted Hana, singing songs and telling stories, and promising that Hana would find her parents once more at the end of the walk.

Instead, Hana found blackness.

Hana would perish, along with about 100 other young women, in a gas chamber at the back of the camp.

The dreams I had, starting with age four, were all various versions of Hana's memories. Most of them revolved around a huge door being shut on me, and my screaming in fear at the guards who were closing them. I also had repeated dreams about dying inside the gas chamber. This is most likely the source for my claustrophobia.

All of these memories came to me, repeatedly, before I made my trips to Poland and to the camps. Once there, especially at Maidanek and at Kazimierz-Dolny, I felt Hana everywhere. These experiences only solidified my conviction that I was Hana. Over and over again, I saw what she saw, felt what she felt, experienced what she experienced. And, ultimately, as I stood on the grounds of Maidanek, I knew when, where, and how she perished.

Her story has come out in bits and pieces, in the form mostly of poetry, which I will share here on this blog. And more of her story will also emerge, as I haltingly begin to let the memories tell themselves here.

Please help me remember Hana, and all the Hanas of the Holocaust, to ensure that such tragedy may be prevented from ever happening again.

Past Life Musings

I was cleaning this past week, and came across a poem I wrote in June of 2007, after I returned from one of my trips to Poland. As I reread the poem, a flood of memories and emotions flooded over me, and I was awash with psychic sensations that I had managed to "tuck away" for so long. So I figured it was time to write a post about this particular episode, and its significance for me.

I've written here, a little bit, about my past life experiences with Hana, the little girl who died in the gas chamber at Maidanek.

In 2007, I was preparing to go to Poland again, for a conference on the Holocaust. I had been having some Hana dreams, which was to be expected, since I was going to be immersed in the history of the Holocaust on my trip.

What I was not prepared for, however, was a series of OTHER dreams, very vivid and haunting, that would connect me to a different past life.

In these dreams, I was a young man, with fair hair and a light beard, dressed in tights and a tunic, with a sword at my side. I/He was searching desperately in the depths of a castle - A building I knew with all of my heart, but also had never physically seen before. These vivid images came to me repeatedly in the two weeks before my trip.



Staunchly, I put them out of my mind (well, at least I ignored them), and prepared for my trip to the camps. I spent 2 weeks in Poland, in a very emotional, turbulent tour of four of the former Nazi killing centers. I felt Hana over and over again. I was overcome by these Holocaust images and memories.





And yet, it did not stop there. We returned to Krakow, and I had a free day before I was to return home. So, I spent it as a "normal" tourist, and decided to visit Wawel Castle.

THIS I felt I could handle. This was normal history, revolving around power and glory and land. So I walked to the castle from my hotel, and set out to tour it.

Before I even entered the gates, however, I realized that I knew this place. I knew it in a way that was beyond the realm of the everyday. Though I had never physically been to this castle before, and did not know its history, as I walked in the gates, I KNEW it.



Sensations began to overtake me. I heard voices and saw images. I was transported in time and became part of the earlier events.

I found my way to a bench in the courtyard, out of the way, so that I could record these sensations and try to make some sense of them. I made notes in my journal, and sat, still, listening and absorbing, for almost an hour.

Then I got up and walked around the castle. And I came to a tower, and a wall, that hit me like a ton of bricks (sorry, no pun intended there). And I knew that this was the place from my dreams, and suddenly I knew what had transpired in this place.

When I returned home, I penned the following poem, born out of the images I saw at the castle.

Castle Siege, 1267
6-23-07

Amidst chaos and confusion,
My soul struck out,
Searching,
Penetrating the dark bowels of the tower.
Iron keys dangled from my hand,
their metallic taste
Lingering in my mouth
From the moment I clamped them there
To free my hands.
Darkness swallowed the hall,
The doorways blacker holes
in the sea of pitch.
A faint torchlight glowed
in the distance,
And I made my way
to its timid embers.
Voices bellowed,
Men, women, and children cried out,
Bodies rushed in panic on the levels above.
I smelled charred wood and stone,
felt the rush of heat
from the flames that licked
the roof of the cathedral,
sending its tendrils
even down here, below ground,
in all its fury.
The siege is on,
Today men will die in defending our honor,
and I must make my way to you,
My love,
to be reunited,
even if it be in death.