Last night, I went to the Erev Yom HaShoah service at my synagogue. This might sound a little silly in hindsight, but I truly did not expect it to be so moving and so very hard to get through without getting upset. Obviously, not being born into Judaism and having had the chain of Jewish experience broken in past generations of my family, I don’t have the direct connection with the Shoah that others have. So I thought as I stood up at the beginning of the service, this will be interesting. I had no idea.
Our service included lighting the 6 candles, 6 minutes of silence, readings by members of the congregation and an extremely haunting solo performance, accompanied by violin. There was prose and poetry, honouringof our Czech scroll and remembrance of the lost community to whom it once belonged. There was also remembrance of those family members of our synagogue who were lost in the Shoah, including one member’s parents (he escaped via the Kindertransport). And the reminder of that fact was what totally tested my composure. I had known about his parents dying, but I was absolutely unprepared for how it would make me feel last night.
I would like to share a poem that was read last night – it chilled me to the bone.
Death Fugue – Paul Celan
Black milk of daybreak we drink it at evening
We drink it at midday and morning we drink it at night
We drink and we drink
We shovel a grave in the air there you won’t lie too cramped
A man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
He writes when it grows dark to Deutschland your golden hair Marguerite
He writes it and steps out of doors and the stars are all sparkling
He whistles his hounds to come close
He whistles his Jews into rows has them shovel a grave in the ground
He orders us strike up and play for the dance
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
We drink you at morning and midday we drink you at evening
We drink and we drink
A man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
He writes when it grows dark to Deutschland your golden hair Marguerite
Your ashen hair Shulamith we shovel a grave in the air there you won’t lie too cramped
He shouts jab this earth deeper you lot there you others sing up and play
He grabs for the rod in his belt he swings it his eyes are blue
Jab your spades deeper you lot there you others play on for the dancing
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
We drink you at midday and morning we drink you at evening
We drink and we drink
A man lives in the house your goldenes Haar Marguerite
Your aschenes Haar Shulamith he plays with his vipers
He shouts play death more sweetly Death is a master from Deutschland
He shouts scrape your strings darker you’ll rise then in smoke to the sky
You’ll have a grave then in the clouds there you won’t lie too cramped
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
We drink you at midday Death is a master aus Deutschland
We drink you at evening and morning we drink and we drink
This Death is ein Meister aus Deutschland his eye it is blue
He shoots you with shot made of lead shoots you level and true
A man lives in the house your goldenes Haar Margarete
He looses his hounds on us grants us a grave in the air
He plays with his vipers and daydreams
Der Tod is ein Meister aus Deutschland
Dein goldenes Haar Margarete
Dein aschenes Haar Shulamith
