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06/10/09 - (2)
Cemetery in the Sky
Last Friday afternoon, Nobel Peace Prize laureate and writer Elie Wiesel, Accompanying President Obama and Chancellor Merkel, On their somber, symbolic visitation to Buchenwald, Spoke sparsely, eloquently, metaphorically, elegiacally, About his return to the WWII concentration camp To which he and his frail, feverish father had been marched, From that dread deathtrap, Auschwitz, In snowy January 1945, And from which only he, sixteen-year-old Elie, left, alive. That he didn't die was a mitzvah, a benison, A tribute to all those who didn't survive the camps, A testimony to the few who did And to us, who, otherwise, Might never have known the depth of the barbarity. Journeying to Buchenwald, Wiesel said, Was "a way of coming and visiting my father's grave. But he had no grave. His grave is somewhere in the sky, Which has become, in those years, The largest cemetery of the Jewish people." Tonight, I gaze skyward. Each star is an everlasting ash.
06/10/09 - (2)
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