Literature Friday June 12 Shema by Primo Levi

Literature Friday, June 12

Shema by Primo Levi You who live secure In your warm houses, Who return at evening to find Hot food and friendly faces: Consider whether this is a man, Who labors in the mud Who knows no peace Who fights for a crust of bread Who dies at a yes or a no. Consider whether this is a woman, Without hair or name With no more strength to remember Eyes empty and womb cold As a frog in winter. Consider that this has been: I commend these words to you. Engrave them on your hearts When you are in your house, when you walk on your way, When you go to bed, when you rise. Repeat them to your children. Or may your house crumble, Disease render you powerless, Your offspring avert their faces from you.

https: //www. youtube. com/watch? v=zg-d 6 fk 41 PU

Written in Pencil in the Sealed Freightcar by Dan Pagis Here in this carload I am Eve With my son Abel If you see my older boy Cain son of Adam Tell him that I. . .

https: //www. youtube. com/watch? v=b 1 ey 70 is. P 44

Heritage by Haim Gouri The ram came last of all. And Abraham did not know that it came to answer the boy's question- first of his strength when his day was on the wane. The old man raised his head. Seeing that it was no dream and that the angel stood there - the knife slipped from his hand. The boy, released from his bonds, saw his father's back. Isaac, as the story goes, was not sacrificed. He lived for many years, saw what pleasure had to offer until his eyesight dimmed. But he bequeathed that hour to his offspring. They are born with a knife in their hearts.

https: //www. youtube. com/watch? t=77&v=cwf. TCb. Hq. JBA

Psalm by Paul Celan Noone kneads us again from earth and loam, noone evokes our dust. Noone. Praised be you, noone. Because of you we wish to bloom. Against you. A nothing were we, are we, will we be, blossoming: the nothing's-, the noonesrose. With its pistil soulbright, its stamen heavencrazed, its crown red from the purpleword that we sang over, o over its thorn.

The Butterfly by Pavel Friedman The last, the very last, So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow. Perhaps if the sun's tears would sing against a white stone. . Such, such a yellow Is carried lightly 'way up high. It went away I'm sure because it wished to kiss the world good-bye. For seven weeks I've lived in here, Penned up inside this ghetto. But I have found what I love here. The dandelions call to me And the white chestnut branches in the court. Only I never saw another butterfly. That butterfly was the last one. Butterflies don't live in here, in the ghetto.

https: //googlingtheholocaust. wordpress. com/tag/i-never-saw-another-butterfly/

First They Came For The Jews by Martin Niemöller First they came for the Jews and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew. Then they came for the Communists and I did not speak out because I was not a Communist. Then they came for the trade unionists and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak out for me.

Journal Prompt Write a poem or create another piece of art that captures the spirit of a Jew in a concentration camp. (No required length)