On a dark night they came.
They tore me from my
Sanctuary where I was posed
In silent prayer.
My prayer shawl singed
By their evil flames.
They, with their
Brown suits and
Red swastika armbands,
Pushed and pulled my old
Fragile frame,
Beating me without mercy.
Members of my congregation,
Violated in the streets,
Reaching out to me
For help.
I wished I could reach
Out to them,
As I always have when they
Seek my teachings
In the temple.
My people,
Those I grew to teach,
Those who it is my
Goal to lead and enlighten,
Desecrated before me.
And then I am on fire.
My great age, my teachings,
Will be lost in this blaze.
My final thought is of the Shema,
That same prayer I had taught so many
To place on their doorways, foreheads, arms
As my scrolls and wooden limbs burn
And my ashes reach to heaven.
