[Pages 625- 626]

The Last Action

By Malka Milchtajch- Lorber Z”L

Translated by Blima Rajzla Lorber

The Last Action

I

In the Ghetto of Chelm nobody remained.
The inhabitants were taken during dawn,
under an intense rain, like animals, to an unknown place.
They were nude and barefooted.
The lines were huge,
they crawled slowly and also slowly they prayed while walking.
The day went away and also did the night.
A new day was breaking.
Their feet and their bones seemed to be broken.
They could not walk anymore.
Even so, they did not surrender.
They went on, they did not surrender.
What will happen, nobody knows.
There were old men, children,
parents carrying packages of sadness and bitterness,
together with the yellow strips around their arms.
Everything very painful.
They walked without rest, without bread nor water.
The streets were dark and it was cold and humid.
The sky cried rivers of tears.
In a low voice, crying, the Jews asked themselves: “What will happen to us?”
“It does not help crying,” they said.
They were pushed with weapons, but their strength was at the end.
Nevertheless, they were forced to walk.
“Our enemies are riding at our side.”
“Where will they take us?” They asked with their eyes, crying.
Mothers held their children, hugging them strongly.
They remained silent, but their hearts protested:
“How did we let them take us like animals to die?
We cannot suffer anymore! Whatever will happen needs to happen.”
When somebody was late, he was shot.
The second, the third… the hundredth and in their lips words of fear and anger burned.
Nobody saw anything in the darkness.
They only heard shots.
Old men and young men just like trees fell down.
If someone was left behind, a tremor went through his body.
From the ones that were behind, few remained.
A mother shouted: “Please, what was our sin? Pity! You stepped on my little child.”
They were no more silent and they heard a cry:
“Do not kill my child! Only kill me. It is better to kill me.”
The weapons went on shooting.
The soldiers beat people with their weapons.
There was no more salvation.
The S.S. soldiers ran and with rage they screamed:
“Here, your unfortunate ones, you are blamed for your own misfortune.”
Again, a child cried and was still being dragged.
“Father, I am not able to go on anymore! I stay here in the forest.”
The father begs: “Be strong, a little more. Do not stop, walk my son!“
And he was already looking his only son, a child, being eaten by dogs.
One more day went away with a lot of suffering.
What will tomorrow bring?
Will the Germans will still be alive?
“If parents and children do not die tomorrow,
still these unfortunate Jews will be free,” the soldiers screamed.
The hearts beat afraid.
Oh God, soon life will end.
With range and dark the night fell again.
It rained, rained and rained.
A sharp wind blew: the end will be very sad.
And it turned dawn.
In the forest, a plain.
No, it was not imagination, the last hour beat.
We cannot waste time and we should say the last prayer.
The hole was big and fresh.
It will shelter people's sadness.
A soldier's voice was heard: “Get to the edge of the hole.”
Suddenly, an aged hand raised and turning the face to the bandits,
with the his fist closed the old man spoke:
“Innocent blood spilled will never remain silent.
Put an end to this fight, you will not win.
My curse will get to you like a strident blitz.”
With all his strength the old rabbi screamed:
“Look at me, I will jump first in the hole.
Do not be afraid, because when one cannot live, death is also beloved.”
Shots began to be heard and a voice recited “Schmá Israel….”
Everything was quiet.
No screams were heard anymore.
The earth covered all of them, hiding deep inside the last pain.

To where?

II

If I still will be able to return.
Destiny I will take me back to my country.
Who will listen to my first cry ?
The one who comes in front of me will give me a warm hand ?
Who will wait for my return from so far ?
Whom will I hug, crying, embraced at his neck, whom ?
The streets were destroyed by the enemies' hands.
Shots were like hail.
The streets I knew so well.
They will be ashamed!
The houses destroyed , in ruins. Broken homes.
The tough stone roads painted with blood and human insides.
In front of me there are graves and shrouds
that will call me for a saint revenge –“They will pay!”
Sometimes, I will not find not even shrouds.
Other times there will not be signs of human bones.
My return is horrible.
The feeling is what will I find.
I will find the tombstones in ruins,
written with the martyrs' blood,
who in Eternity will remind what the murderers did.
All decapitated. No one remained!.
I will neither find my mother nor my father,
nor sisters or brothers, nor friends or relatives.
My town is a desert.
It seems a cemetery, after a gale has destroyed everything.
I will be depressed and pain and suffering will wake up my sadness.
It can be that in Majdaneck crematorium
I will need to seek for a rest of ashes,
in plantations as fertilizer, in Treblinka.
Or to seek in a third death camp or can it be in the tenth.
No powder remained from these of my people who had fallen.
I will not see any writing, tombstone or sign.
To whom will I ask when sadness comes?
So weak and nobody to console me.
I swallow my rage.
They who took everything of good from the martyrs
With a hateful look and with all my anger I can now spit.
As a flame which illuminates the way of the wanderer,
Strong it will bind. Poor wanderer!
For my youth's sad and bitter years,
I will again have to leave my destroyed old home.
From the one who dreamed to return soon.

The Young–Old Man Ballad

III

He was together with thousands of people,
waiting to be taken to the gas chambers.
He felt his mother's hand pressed his warmly.
“See, soon they will take you for the sad action.”
He did not see nor listened to anything.
He was feeling his mother's tremor.
“Oh God, we didn't deserve such a death!”
The look was pale and embittered.
“Show us a miracle, we do not deserve such a punishment.”.
Mindless, her lips murmured:
“Worse than death is the mother's suffering.”
The voice was suffocated.
He opened his shirt.
Only destiny wanted to play a game on him.
“Oh, bad luck! Do not separate us both now!
Oh, foolish boy! You still have a lot to suffer.
Mother, may we not be separated before death.”
Glances of envy accompanied him.
“Why was he luckier than the others?”
But his fate did not bring him happiness.
Inside of him, tears burned as fire.
He was nineteen years old,
with the impulse of youth.
The head, a brown forest.
And the eyes aimed at dreams in the sky.
He knew how strong he was,
he hoped to be a great man.
The only child, he was his mother's pride
and she believed the world would hear from him.
A vigorous body,
firm hands as tree branches.
The chest inspired with energy.
He could not see anybody to be harmed,
he could not silence.
Now, he was feeling as thousands of them.
Fear was on his face.
It is more difficult than death, more difficult!
He felt so depressed with the executioners.
They ordered him and two other boys to go to the place of the slaughter
in order to select and to organize clothes
so that they could be transported in the wagons.
The three friends made a pact.
When the wagons were full,
they, at night, would enter quietly and there, amid the clothes, they would hide.
The train left fast as a ray and in a wagon, hidden, three hearts beat together.
The eyes shone in the darkness, burning.
The way for the station was getting shorter.
A deep sound, cutting as a handsaw, could be heard.
The wind blew the night breeze,
The faster they fled from death's claws.
With thousands screams, the quiet night calls.
He was the first one to jump.
Just as the roar of a shot at night.
The two other ones also fell,
for the prison guards were taking care wagons' roofs.
The train swallowed the night's noise.
It was already dawn.
He walked silently.
He was cleaning up his mouth when he came to and he felt like reborn.
He was alive and the earth his feet stepped on was free.
He approached the two boys and saw them wounded.
“You, friends, can not stay here, because the day is breaking.
Look, I am well and healthy and I will take you both with me.”
It is as soon as he said that he felt he would not be embarrassed,
and the swollen eyes started opening up, a pain groan kept silent.
“Oh!”, both of them said at once.
They looked at him but they did not recognize the old man
They jumped all of a sudden and looked at him.
“You are well and healthy, you said! Oh, Schmá Israel!
In one hour you got old.”
Without believing in that, he pulls some hair off his head.
“Oh, Great God, my brown hair is white as snow.”
At the age of 19, in blooming of youth, the youngster became an old man.

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