The Number the Brand

When I met her , a very old lady she was , yet inside lay a frightened child . I felt my heart cry , I felt as if I was touching history itself , as I made this older lady, child, chai . I remember the day , and so many tears I have cried I have cried before she and I met As a child , so many tears, left confused inside . Not understanding Why , and how could we stand by and live our lives as if this never happened ? It happened , we are left in dismay of the movies seen the accounts taken of History My self ..I have caught stereotyping the very people whom did this to she , the rest of her Family erased . The white candles we light , we try and forgive , or just simply block this pain out completely. It occurs , over and over , as it has been said History will repeat . When thinking of my children , when I think of that little girl losing , cold and scarred , feeling only defeat . There is a lesson here and I pray , that all whom have been taken from life , have no pain and are gifted spirits throughout eternity . May they be warmed with love, and reunited with the ones they lost . The first time I met her , her old hand I took and warmed it with mine , I held it for a long time . You could not, but notice ..the Evil imprinted on skin , the Evil only to remind. This very old Soul , in her eyes you could see . The child that once lived , so innocently free, not aware yet, of the Hostility . I speak of a Little girl, I speak of a old woman , I speak of a Jewish, chosen Religion. There as I held her frail , old hand , a brand , a number stamped in Evil a long time ago . In 1945 , once in our distant, yet Frightening past . We should never forget , never forget it happened , never forget all the names . If we do , we have learned nothing , A World living in Shame . " Etta Babooshka Kofman "