Echoes of Sorrow and Resilience

To my Grandma Miriam, the most generous person who never smiled

In the shadow of history’s long night,
Women’s cries echo through time’s corridors.
From Ukraine’s fields to Israel’s shore,

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The pogrom’s horror rises once more.

October’s sun, once warm, now cold,
Witnesses terror unfold.
Hamas’ rage, a familiar foe,
Brings memories of long ago.

Jewish daughters, in anguish torn,
Bear wounds their grandmothers have borne.
Tsvetaeva’s pen, Akhmatova’s verse,
Could they capture this ancient curse?

In kibbutz gardens, children’s toys lie scattered,
Blood-stained photographs and broken glass shattered.
The cycle of violence comes around again,
As sirens wail through morning’s crimson rain.

From 1905 to 2023,
The cost of hatred, we still see.
Ancient sorrows in modern form appear,
Generational wounds cut just as clear.

Silent trauma, passed through years,
In furtive glances, unspoken fears.
Grandmothers’ whispers, mothers’ sighs,
The weight of history never dies.

Modernized souls, stripped of the old,
Found themselves naked in the cold.
Progress promised a brighter day,
Leaving them vulnerable to hate’s sway.

Upward mobility, a double-edged sword,
Cut ties with traditions long adored.
New Soviet Jews, forging ahead,
Carried unseen wounds, left unsaid.

Fleeing pogroms, fleeing shame,
Seeking new life, a different name.
But the past follows, an ever-present ghost,
In sleepless nights, it lingers most.

Oh, when will this long night end?
When will these broken hearts mend?
In each generation, the story’s the same,
Different actors, but always this pain…

Let the world hear, let history know,

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From ashes of violence, new life can grow.
Where bullets fell, memorial candles burn bright,
Women’s voices rise, turning darkness to light.

In face of hatred, they stand tall,
Their memories honored, they answer the call
To build, to love, to remember, to heal —
A testament in flesh that hope is real.

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