I Remember….

by Avraham Zak

Translation by Daphna Brafman
Coordinated by Tilford Bartman

 

I remember little towns in Lita*
planted, scattered here and there little houses, torn, bending,
somewhere rose a green tree or garden.

*

Poor houses- blackened by the rain broken chimneys-
bricks became dark, small windows- and no glass,
and from the crib comes a sad cry.

*

Little windows made green by time,
and the glass reflects gloomy poverty.
A machine is sewing and girls are singing.
Sour daughters are singing to the brides.

*

The machine is sewing-
thread is stretched on a bright summer's day.
Pale are the faces- bright are the eyes.
Something in the heart yearnings will rise.

*

And from one window-
a toddler's voice is heard said a father, children!
Say as is written, the rabbi teaches children the Gemara**
but joy of youth shall go without return.

*

And further the synagogue;
beit midrash-hassidim bath and chimney- almost falling down
mud in the market- narrow streets
- windmill - crumbling fence.

*

Church in every corner; Catholic- Provoslavic,
domes clasp high in the sky, and further the end of town-
pasture, peacefulness a field- smells of rumianek (?)-
A village, in the name of the living.

*

On one side- a Christian cemetery, grass and statues
on the other side- a peaceful Jewish eternal home
to the first they come with songs and flowers
the second knows sighs and pain.

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*Lita- part of old greater Lithuania

**Gemara- The Talmud or oral Toah

 

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