Finding Life: On Holocaust Trauma

Woman praying with head in hands

The worst was not the fire
Or the long mile that blurred the line between living and dying.

The worst was the pause.
And the realization that the worst had not, in fact, been done.

But was creeping into all our blank spaces and sweet freedom after.
Make us victors of circumstance.

And menders who fight persistent maiming.
Let us grab hold of our present.

And let our existence be for Life
Above the past and all else.

Poem

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