She welcomed the end of summer’s oppression,
the pressure under, over, everywhere
having cooked her from within.
In summer, the sun weighed down, disheartening from dreams,
while the wandering, distracted mind meandered
wished to be someplace else,
wished to be free, somewhere else
where she was listened to, was esteemed,
someplace else where she never had to fear being suspect
for being something less than ideal
a place she wanted to welcome on hot skin
like a perfectly cool breeze.
Searching in cities, walking aimlessly,
looking for the past, she breathed in
remembering what she used to be,
believing, supportive, free.
Scanning faces futilely, she braced herself
for the realization that they really
weren’t the same faces though they appeared to be.
The ghosts haunting her wouldn’t easily
be excised, the torture of what could have been
will always continue to stay within.
When you think it can’t,
that it won’t come
with nothing in sight,
just night in front of you,
it do, it do come through,
the smallest strand
of light in darkness
just barely enough
to see you through.
Fairies and fireflies, a neon garden of delight,
a spinning vortex circling till the end of time.
How my youth was wasted with all the stupid rules
as admins laughed while I stood nodding like a fool.
In the battlefield of right and wrong,
matters not whose weak, whose strong.
Truth has its own strength,
tougher than ignominy, harder than steel.
Immutable rules govern our world such as the law that no matter the time or space in which it occurs, evil committed by humans against other human beings leaves its mark, and that regardless of the amount of time it takes, the truth will always surface. These ideas, as well as others, are explored in depth in Richard D. Bank’s I Am Terezin.
With meticulous historical research and great care, Bank has painted a vivid picture of the people and personalities associated with the events that took place at Theresienstadt during the Nazi Holocaust. I Am Terezin is a revolutionary memoir – unlike others, it is written from the point of view, not of a person but, of a physical entity, the camp itself – an omniscient narrator. The voice of the camp comes alive to relay the ominous reality of itself, and it tells the reader what Theresienstadt really was, a concentration camp and not the paradise ghetto for elderly Jews the Nazis claimed it was.
The changing tone and perspective of the omniscient voice is compelling. The voice of the camp takes on many roles – a caretaker in one moment, a silent observer in another. It can be argued that the voice of the camp is none other than that of a lamenting God, unable to intercede in the world of human atrocities and forced to watch insidious actions play out. No matter the tone or perspective, the abuse, injustice, and crime which occurred at Theresienstadt is resurrected for the reader, and the reader comes to learn intimately about the lives of innocents who were forced to be bound within the walls of Terezin. Each word and sentence of I Am Terezin is written with great care, paying homage to the many who lost their lives at Theresienstadt. In taking part in the arduous undertaking of researching and telling the story of those at Terezin, Bank has completed the ultimate labor of love in tribute to his grandparents, Ludwig and Sophie Frank, who were imprisoned at but subsequently survived Theresienstadt.
Bank is masterful in his knowledge of the history of Theresienstadt, and I Am Terezin is a must read for scholars of the Holocaust, as well as those interested in bettering the human condition. Reading this book will help the vigilant to reaffirm the oath of never again. Never again should sadism be allowed to hide behind laws and systems meant to dehumanize. Never again should humanity allow the atrocities of genocide to occur. Never again should any people be persecuted for the faith they follow or for the way in which they worship the Divine.
I Am Terezin is published by Auctus Publishers (www.auctuspublishers.com) and available at Amazon and Barnes and Nobles.
As the water dries from disillusioned eyes,
something else emerges,
the other self I’d submerged.
She takes her chance to seep all the way in,
flourishing, allowing me release.
What good did being good get me but grief,
that woman has long enough grieved.
Where being good drowned me,
she helps me breath
standing to give me peace
protecting me from hereon in
a sheltering self,
tough enough to face the world’s ignominy.
Maybe, one day, I’ll allow you reprieve
but not now, dear. I’ll hold you close
watching you as you rest after trying your best.
How I love to see you sleep
while I grow strong, the bad seed.
You can trust the misfits more
than people who are cool,
the ones who always fit in,
able to change skins
like chameleons on catwalks.
Saturday’s ritual is discourse and diners,
when we talk while walking to
our regular hangout, The Green Kitchen.
We exit the pressure cooker
as worries are left at the door.
Forgetting brimming calendars,
we find a space of solace
where it’s just you and me,
fresh silverware and an easy cup of coffee.
Now protected within peaceful parameters
the havoc halts as we talk and laugh and breathe.