The one true friend Who knew her innermost thoughts
Her poignant confidences Deeply touched her readers
Hidden in the Achterhuis On her journey within
Perceptive chronicler Frank and honest observer
Of her small stage Of a world at war
Learning about life And adolescence's pitfalls
Indomitable and vibrant Yearning for release
Striving to be a positive force For her world and people
These letters to Kitty Her legacy
Through which speaks An intelligent and courageous girl
Her words unforgettable Their impact will last
Juliette van de Mheen/stardustraven lives and works in Amsterdam, The Netherlands. She has worked at the University Library of Amsterdam, where she worked partially for the Rare and Early Printings Project), and she now works at the Municipal Archive. In June a poem about Kristallnacht was published at Poetic Medicine, and another poem under the nickname "stardustraven" was published at Naturewriting.com."
Rosh Hashanah: The Echoes of the Shofar
By Shoshanah Weiss-Kost
Through the tunnels of the Shofar
Comes a wailing and an inner moaning from the depths of our souls.
My heart beats faster when I stand and listen.
I enter a mild meditation as the sounds reverberate against the walls of the synagogue and back into my ears.
Listening to the the Tekiah and the Shvarim and the Teruah they enter my heart.
Like waves coming into the shore of the ocean.
Tears stream down my face as I think of how I got to this particular point in life.
Tears of joy mixed with tears of sorrow.
Each year we enter a new corridor of hope.
Grasping onto the branches of the tree of life.
Our prayers raise us up on wings of the angelic forces.
Braiding a crown on the head of the King.
We must grab life by its’ lapels and do what is our divine tasks.
Lift us up over the waters of life.
The echoes of the shofar help us to transcend,
So we can see and regain a perspective on our lives.
Reflecting on our year behind and setting goals for our year ahead.
There is so much to accomplish.
No time to waste.
The Shofar breaks the opposing forces.
It breaks apart our individual serenity.
It shakes us to our core.
The sounds release angst about life’s challenges.
It is time for renewal and growth.
We are being given another chance on the scales of life.
Shoshanah Weiss Kost has a B.A. in Political Science and a minor in Jewish Studies from the University of Illinois in Urbana. She did post graduate work in Jewish Studies at Michlelet Bruria and Anne Blitstein Institue in Chicago. Shoshanah has published poems in a variety of poetry journals such as Horizons, The Deronda Review, and Poetica Magazine. Shoshanah Weiss-Kost currently gives monthly lectures for women on Torah topics for the Erica Neter Mayer Jewish Learning Division of Congregation Adas Yeshurun in Chicago.
HIGH NOON ON THE SCHOOLYARD
By Milton Ehrlich
The nightmare of childhood got played out in the schoolyard.
George La Rosa. the biggest guy in class was a bully, who had his way with favorite scapegoats.
La Rosa wore a swastika as a member of The Friends of New Germany.
His fascist father gave it to him to wear at the ‘39 Bundist rally.
He warned me Hitler was on the way to round up all the Jews.
As the only Jew in class, it enraged him that I didn’t go to school on Jewish holidays.
Not fair!, he would rant, you dirty kike, I’ll soon take care of you.
Father signed me up for Gold’s Gym Bicep Builder. I learned to box three rounds with kids my size and weight.
When he tried to push me down the stairs, I challenged him to meet me after school.
We squared off in the schoolyard with classmates cheering wildly.
After striking a brutal blow to my eye, he thought the fight was over and let down his guard.
Exploding with fury, I summoned all my ten year might to smash his nose with a pulverizing hard right.
I wore my black eye as a badge of honor.
His broken nose made him look like a Jew.
Milton P. Ehrlich was born in 1931. A psychologist, he began writing poems after the age of seventy. He has published numerous poems in periodicals such as the "Antigonish Review," "Toronto Quarterly Review," "Wisconsin Review," "Poetica Magazine," "Penwood Review," "Jewish Currents," "Christian Science Monitor," and the "New York Times."
By Michael Miller
the radiator sings
its sweet nigun
my home is blessed
By Michael Miller
the sky is wet with ink
as I fumble for my keys
but one haphazard glance
and my eyes fall straight up
to stars so near I duck my head
and beauty turns to fear
here, face to face
with a distant creation
like a crystal sphere shattered underfoot
at some cosmic wedding
but it is mine
and it has come too soon
too soon to lift the veil
too soon, too soon
my fingers say as they claw the doorknob
for it is a majesty
and a greatness
and a presence there behind a veil
that I cannot lift,
not here. not now.
Michael Miller is the editor of High Coup Journal, an e-journal for snarky haiku, and his poetry has been published in Four and Twenty, Short Fast and Deadly, and the Boston Literary Magazine, amongst others. He currently writes poems up in an attic about 40 miles and 130 years from where Emily Dickinson did the same thing.
By Martin C. Rosner, M.D.
Lamentations, lamentations fill The temple of my mind, Plangent with grief. Not for me, not for me, Nor even for my friends Who limp their painful way Along the steep descending road, But for the voices in the winds Of history, all the nameless Sufferers who came before, Now stifled in obscurity, Their torment unrecalled.. I never knew them, although I feel they were my kin. Now their reproaches, bleeding Through the centuries, Assail me to exhort For recollection, justice, sorrow And compassion, while the deafened Ears, the small dry selfish minds Refuse to hear their cries. Thus I must mourn For they will not.
Dr. Martin C. Rosner has 5 published books of poetry, his last described at his website: www.thedoctorinthenight.com His poetry has been published in numerous magazines and newspapers including 17 poems in "The New York Times" and is currently part of the course in modern poetry at American International College.