Spring’s Challenge in Conflictual Times

Spring Flowere breaking through the snow as winter goes into Spring
Yellow Crocuses, Spring Awakening By Fotozick on Canva

A New Beginning and Hope

A Personal Awakening

The Trip

The Reconnection and Realization

Iren’s Poetry

Nineteen Forty-Four — On the Ides of March

Gendarme boots rumble on the streets of Varad

Up, up, Hungarians — they shout — Line up

Stand behind us — to search after Jews.

Bring together, big and little,

Rich, poor, infants and mothers,

Old and young, sick and aged

No trace should remain for those who may multiply.

The bell rings — even Heaven is shaking

Jewish children run out of their homes Shema Yisrael — they shout — and the echo spreads

To thirty thousand Jews waiting for their fate.

Their homes devastated, desecrated, orphaned…

The Jew is public prey — taken prisoner by evil

Robbed, deprived, naked pariahs

Miserable orphans, bleeding

from a thousand wounds.

Awakening, the Message, and Hopefulness


The Hungarian does not need him anymore who fought for him,

His ancestors gave their blood for the fatherland,

Not even a hundred marchers, passed

When Jew and Hungarian marched together.

In the great. Freedom Fight all who fell

Came in a common grave — they are still resting there

They were not asked about their origin

He was a patriot who bled for the fatherland!

Why has the world turned upside-down?

Was there no Hungarian who would have resisted?

Why, whom I was a milk-sister. in the same bench of the school

Is laughing at me lashing with her whip?

Bursting into our house, benumbing our blood

He shouts: Move, Jew, we have no time for you!

Into the Ghetto! Fast! Leave everything behind!

You will not need any such things anymore!

Everything I loved, became the gendarme’s prey

Memories attached trampled into the gutter

But my proud lips did not open to implore

Until he broke the picture of my parents!

Mister Gendarme! Hungarian gentleman! I implore you

Give back my mother and father!

I fell to his feet, I kissed his boots,

Finally, he kicked the picture to me.

I broke the frame with my hand, also its glass,

I put the sacred picture into my bosom.

It became bloody when I looked at it,

I do not know, my hand or their heart was bleeding?

Let’s go, Mister Officer, my feet start

My heart’s pain is aching

Nest of my happiness, my little home

Will I see you again? No, no, I do not know.

My spouse, my love! Where will I find you?

The heaven or hell will be the place I will wait for you?

My dearest brethren who were all with me,

You shared my happiness, so as my grief.

We meet again behind the ghetto walls,

Hungry, Thirsty, worried, hidden together

And all our prayer goes toward each other

That we should move hand in hand towards our aching fate.



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