Mengele often awoke from dreams sweating and su
Jessica Merkling  Dittmar

When Van Gogh cut off his ear
It was for reassurance that the rest of him could disappear

That illusion of ownership that nerves create
Should have faded with each baby tooth I lost
It didn't though, contrariwise I worried I would extend
Into roads or trees and then feel the tire's friction or the elm's blight

Empathy is a bitch of its own
I pray I never wake up with a Siamese twin
I'd have to care, lest we lapse into mutual sadomasochism
That hilarious territory of bored lovers

The Thalidomide kids might get a kick
out of feeling new arms attached to other people
but that's the exception that proves the rule

After the Vietnam war, some men believed Agent Orange
Had followed them home, alive in newly discovered nerves
Now what odd god must be behind that shit!

Mengele often awoke from dreams sweating and sure
That his patients would learn a trick to generate biological anesthetics
He needed the feedback of sound to really understand the human body
“Prayer or pleading” he used to say with a wink to his bartender after work

Sometimes I worry that my nervous system
Might have a Mengelian agenda of its own

That I am woven into a potential torture chamber seems clear
but then I remember that I can always pull the tooth or cut off the ear

Mengele offered a welcoming wing -
Chris D Aechtner
Chris D Aechtner
Mar 10, 2012

The Lobotomizer honed his dark art,
by using great patience and a cold heart.

First, he earned a fancy Masters degree,
a quite secretive, hush-hush diploma,
in psychological advertising.
Then, covertly sponsored by Henry Ford,
the Lobotomizer flew overseas,
where he became good friends with the Nazis.
Mengele offered a welcoming wing -
when it came to experimentation,
the Angel of Death, was the reigning king.

After the Allied Forces came on strong,
the Lobotomizer slipped further east,
becoming a student of the Red Beast.
The iron-curtained, cold-war, Frankenstein,
taught the Lobotomizer many tricks,
including high-frequency hypnotics,
how to travel through electrical lines,
and even surf the waves of satellites.

Yet his travels were not close to finished,
for the Lobotomizer knew no bounds,
and his appetite was insatiable.
He bounced around the globe for many years,
gaining more insightful experience.
He passed through many laboratories,
leaving behind countless horror stories;
leaving behind legions of empty minds.

Finally, in the fall of Sixty-Nine,
the Lobotomizer returned back home,
returned to the land of the brave and free,
to commence his lobotomizing spree.
By the hundreds, thousands, millions and more,
the Lobotomizer plied his ill trade,
beaming himself via optic fiber,
satellite dish, cable, and antenna,
right between the eyes of his audience,
until the nation's vast majority,
was left drooling, dull-eyed, slack-jawed and blank.

Nowadays, nearly the whole broken globe,
can feel his dark probe in the frontal lobe.
The blue light flickers off the walls at night,
as most people have given up the fight,
trading in their brains for mere empty dreams.
But the Lobotomizer isn't done,
for he pushes his trade even further,
to the final frontier of the jungles.

Narrative written in 10 syllable lines,
to add to the snore-fest of it all :D
skeletons, so that it would be easy for Mengele to choose candidates for the crematoriu
βέƦẙḽ Dṏṽ

chapter seven: blizyn




We women who had been chosen for work that day were put in trucks and taken to Blizyn.  This was an arbeitslager, a labor camp, near Radom.  When we arrived, we were again taken to showers.  They gave us decent clothes here because they had a lot of the dresses, shirts, and underwear from the people that they had already killed.  The guards brought us the clothes in piles from the lumpiarni.
When we arrived in Blizyn there was already a large group of Jewish people imprisoned there.  These people were for-tunate.  The Germans had let them bring packages and possessions from their homes.  Things like pillows, blankets, and clothing.  They had been held there, in the barracks, for some time.
But when we arrived, we didn’t have anything except the clothes they gave us and the preczes, the wooden bunks, with straw pillows and straw mattresses.  The barracks were built without foundations and were filled with rats.  It was difficult to sleep.  At night, when I ran to the low barrels to urinate, big rats jumped up at us like cats.
The day after we arrived, we were sent to work.  I was put in a factory to make and fix uniforms for the Nazi soldiers.  Some girls mended shoes.  Some worked in hospitals.
One hundred women slept in a block, fifty women up, and fifty women down.  I was in block one, with Sonia and Elka.  Everybody knew that Elka, Sonia, and Sara were close friends, like the three musketeers.  We fought for our lives with masks of faith, hope, and courage.  We prayed to G-d, and shared with each other our pain, our misery, our fear.
We started as three beautiful, young, strong, and healthy girls, but the Nazis destroyed our minds, and our bodies.  We lost weight from starvation and overwork.  Although I, too, was de-pressed and hungry, I told them, "Don’t give the Nazis the satisfaction.  Don’t make it so easy: be a fighter, be strong.  Don’t lose your hope and with G-d’s help, by a miracle, we’ll survive." Just as my father had told me.
One day after work, as I left the factory building, from a distance I recognized a friend of my brother Moishele.  We hugged, both happy to see a familiar face.  I asked him if he knew what had happened to Moishele and my father.  He said that the day that I was taken, when they needed 150 seamstresses, they also needed 150 tailors.
“I told them that I was a tailor and they picked me.  But your brother said, ‘I don’t know how to put a thread in a needle’. Today, they take the tailors.  Tomorrow, maybe they’ll need me-chanics or engineers."
My poor brother, Moishele, was waiting for a next day.  But with the Germans there was no next day.  If you were needed, you had to go immediately.  If you didn’t go, you didn’t survive.
“You have to run from death to life,” I thought.  You can never wait for tomorrow, because tomorrow may never come.”  Moishele lost his young life to the Nazis in Auschwitz.  He perished with so many others.
Hearing this, I was destroyed.  Moishele—too too young, too innocent—I had hoped he had survived, but it was only a dream. He was just a memory, like the rest of my family.
My life was not worth a penny, but I pulled myself together and fought anyway.
In Blizyn, it was hard to survive.  You had to have a strong heart and a will to live.  If you gave up, you were finished.  The delicate died immediately, broken hearted.  I would be strong.
At Blizyn, they lined us up twice a day.  We awoke early in the morning to wash our bodies with ice water.  Then we stood in the lines to be counted.  And after they counted us we were sent to work.
Young women lost their periods from malnutrition.  Many died from boils on their bodies.  I had big boils under one arm.  Another prisoner cut open my boils to let out the pus.  My body was weak and it took a long time to heal.
One morning, the Nazis sent two barbers to shave off the women’s hair with a razor.  This was supposed to stop sickness.  When I saw the beautiful women after they’d lost their beautiful hair, I was scared and sick.  The young women, after their hair was shaved, put towels over their heads.  Their heads were cold without hair.  So I put a towel over my hair as if it was shaved.  By now my hair was past my waist.
The Germans starved us so that a crust of bread was like a million dollars.  Everyday, the hunger became worse.  I was lucky because I still held my mother’s fifty-gram gold chain inside me; I’d never told anyone about it because I didn’t want it stolen.
When I discovered that there was a small black market, I asked some men, “If somebody had a golden chain, what could she get for the chain?”  They said, “She could sell it and  get 500 zlotys.”
With such money, you could buy a slice of bread and a piece of onion.  I didn’t tell them that the chain was mine.  I told them that I would get it from my friend.  When I brought over the chain, they gave me the zlotys, which I slipped into the bottom hem of my skirt.
Every time I was hungry, I took out a couple of zlotys to buy an extra piece of bread.  I ate in the middle of the night when no one could see me.  When I slept I kept my skirt with the “zlotys” under my head.  If anyone knew, they would take everything from me.
The men also worked in the factories.  They would sit at the sewing machines, working on uniforms.  Most were half dead from hunger.  When one fainted, others working nearby tried to revive him to keep him alive so the guards wouldn’t notice.
I often gave them pieces of bread.  They were so weak that they didn’t even have the strength to say thank you.  With a little piece of bread I could save someone’s life.
Some of the men were so hungry that they ate the skins of the potatoes from the garbage.  If the German commander caught the Jews in the garbage, they put the guilty person against the wall and whipped them with a whip, 50 or 100 times until their body was covered with blood or until they fell down almost dead.
I don’t think you can understand what the Nazis did.  They were without souls.  They were murderers who should never have grown up.  It would have been better if they’d died in their mothers’ bellies.
I had the Polish zlotys from my mother’s chain for a while, but eventually I ran out so I couldn’t buy any more bread.  I had helped many and shared with the unfortunate.  But now I had to figure out a way to get more bread, and a way to survive.
There were a lot of Ukrainians working in the camp, guarding us so that we could not escape.  Many times in the evening after work I took a chance and talked to one of the guards in a very nice way.  I tried to win his heart by telling him he was a very charming young man, that he was good-natured.
“If you help me with a piece of bread,” I said, “you’ll help a human soul to survive.  And if you do, I pray to G-d to bless you with a long life and everything that you desire."
The young man was won over, and he said, “Of course.  I’ll bring you a piece of bread.”
Not all of the guards were good, but he was  He was spe-cial and, for a while, he would help me and bring me pieces of bread.
A while after I’d been in Blizyn, we received very bad news.  An epidemic of lice had broken out in the camp.  Our young men and women were working in the factories to fix the old German uniforms and socks, and these clothes were full of lice.  That’s how the epidemic started; people were falling like flies.  They had very high temperatures, like 104 degrees Fahrenheit.  
The wooden stretchers in the camp hospitals filled up quickly with two girls on each stretcher while many more slept on the floors.  There were no more beds for them, no more places to sleep.  I too became ill with the fever.  I was put on the floor between another young woman and a stretcher.  My temperature was 105.  I only drank water.  They gave us rancid coffee which made us vomit, more ill than before.  They called the disease shlecht typhus.  We were afraid to drink unboiled water.  The water would cause stomach typhus.
The sickness killed you eventually if your temperature lasted for seven days without going down.  We were between death and life.  If the temperature went down you’d survive, if not, you’d die.  My temperature retreated on the eighth day and I miraculously survived.
When I left the hospital I couldn’t walk. I was so weak that I lost my memory, though it returned, slowly.  When I finally returned to work, I was still weak and more hungry than before.  When I ate, I was still hungry.  I knew that if I didn’t do something soon I would die from hunger alone.  I wanted to survive, so I set to planning.
I again met the young prisoner Karl.  We started to talk.  I told him I was hungry, and that if I didn’t have food I would die.  He had talked to a farmer outside the camp while working, and said that if I could bring some shamattes, some clothing to him, he would wrap them around himself, hiding them, and trade them with the farmer for food.  If I gave him clothing, he would bring me bread, a hard boiled egg, and a piece of onion.
This sounded like a feast to me, but I told him that I didn’t have anything to give, that I only had what I was wearing.  But then I had an idea and decided to take a chance with my life, but the only chance I had.
One day, when I was free from work, I went over to the lumpiarni, the place where the Germans kept the clothing of all the people that they’d killed in the concentration camps, where we’d received our clothes when we arrived.  I stood around and watched the woman who worked there.  When I saw her go away for a second, I ran in, grabbed some clothes, hid them so that nobody could see, and I ran away.  When I found the young man, Karl, again, I gave the clothing to him.  The next day he brought me a piece of bread and some onion with a hard boiled egg.  It was like he was giving life back to me.
For a while after that, I took many chances and brought him dresses, socks, underwear, anything I could take.  Karl also took chances for me and we became friends.  One day he told me to stop taking these chances.
"Don’t go to the lumpiarni anymore, because it is very dangerous.  If they catch you, they’ll kill you.  I like you very much and I don’t want anything to happen to you."
From that time on, he shared anything he got from the farmer with me.  Every time he had the opportunity, he brought me a little package with the bread, hard boiled egg, and onion.  For me, this was a miracle.  He told me that if by some miracle we survived, we would stick together and we would get married. I was about eighteen years old and Karl was in his twenties; I liked him very much.
Karl brought more than enough food so I could share it with my girlfriends, Sonia and Elka.  Whenever we had some-thing, we shared it amongst ourselves.  We couldn’t be selfish at a time like this.  You’re not only supposed to take care of yourself, but you have to help somebody else, too.  I’ve never forgotten this.
One time, Sonia, Elka and I sat down on the bunk that Sonia and I shared, eating the food Karl had given me.  He had brought two pieces of bread, two eggs, and a bit of onion.  We were sitting, eating our little feast and I took the shell off one of the eggs and put it down next to me while I peeled the other one.  When I went to pick up the first egg, it was gone.  I couldn’t be-lieve it.  Then I saw a huge rat running away with my food.  He was so big and so hungry.  The rats always watched you, and this one stole my egg.
One night a rat bit Sonia’s little finger.  The rats even slept with us.
The next time I saw Karl, he gave me a hug and a kiss.  We talked for a while and then he said, “If we survive, we will never be apart.”  He was so good to me and I started to like him even more.
In Blizyn I was staying alive, fighting to survive all of the misery, hunger, pain, and fear, that I forgot for a while that the Nazis had destroyed, shot and burned my family, my dear father and my dear mother, my brother, my uncles, my aunts, and my cousins.  I missed them so much, my close, loving family.  So many times I sat down in a corner and cried and cried and nobody was there to hear me.  I wished I was with them, I was so lonely, so miserable.  Then I would say to myself, “Sara, you have to survive.  You have to be strong and have hope, pray to G-d and not give up.  Don’t quit.  Somebody must survive and tell the world what the German Nazis did to our people.”
The misery in Blizyn lasted almost a year.  It was so wretched, but we survived because it was not a wernichtungslager, a death camp, it was an arbeitslager, a work camp.  There was no radio and no newspaper, but the rumored news was always the same: pain, horror, and fear—until one morning when we heard that the Russians were too near to Blizyn and had the Nazis worried.








chapter eight: auschwitz




That same morning we heard about the Russians, as we stood in line, the commander told us to be ready because they were taking us to another camp.  That day they took the men and the women and separated them into different trucks and took all of us to Auschwitz.
Auschwitz was like Majdanek, a wernichtungslager, a death camp.  All around the camp was electric wire so that if someone tried to run away, he was electrocuted.  And, the camp was divided by electric wire too, the women on one side and the men on the other.
Not long after we arrived, I went to this fence by the men’s side, looking to see if, by a miracle, I could see my good friend Karl, who had brought packages and food to me, and who had saved my life and had fallen in love with me.  Yes, I saw him from far away, and he saw me, and he came closer to the fence by where I stood.  I began to cry; tears ran from my eyes were like rivers.  He cried also.  We couldn’t get too close because we had to be careful of the electric wire.  He said that he loved me very much and that I should be strong and not give up, that as long as our eyes were open there could still be a miracle, that we could survive by G-d’s will.  He threw me a kiss from far away, and his sad eyes spoke to me.
“Goodbye my darling, my love.”
I never saw him again in Auschwitz.
Auschwitz was a new place with new troubles.  New hor-rors.  New fears.
Again, I was in barracks number one with a lot of women from Blizyn, including my ‘sisters’ Sonia and Elka.  In these bar-racks, the bunks were attached with boards on which the girls slept--ten girls in a line like sardines, without mattresses, pillows or blankets.  We went to sleep hungry, broken, and miserable, wondering if we would see another morning.
Everyday there were new problems.  Again, the Nazis made us stand in lines three times a day to count us.  All of us were weak, but if you have the will to pull through, a drive for life, you can make it.  On certain days, you can become strong like iron or like an animal.  You’ll steal anything, even from your friends, so long as you could survive Auschwitz.
The Nazis expected the impossible from us.  There was no soap, but we had to be clean; no clothing, but we had to look decent; no food, but we had to be strong.  They picked some of the stronger women and made them managers, police women.  And the rest of us were busy with surviving.
Sometimes, when we were very hungry and miserable and blue, we’d sit down on the bunks with Jetta, one of our friends.  She had a sweet, beautiful voice and we would sing together; the melodies swept us away for a moment from the hunger and misery.
On the other side of the electric wire, near the entrance, was the ampe, the train station where new transports arrived from Europe.  Once, I saw a train arrive from Budapest, with families.  Jewish men were walking with the Nazis.  The officers told the men to take away all valises and bags from the people, to take away all of their belongings.  The people panicked and started screaming, not knowing what to expect.
The Germans wasted no time separating the men, women, and children, putting them into lines.  They started to pick through them, to “select” them.  There was a line for those who would survive, to go into the camp, and one for those to go into the crematorium.  Immediately after the transports had arrived, the beautiful blue skies turned to black shadows of smoke.  Many vomited as they breathed the charred remains of their loved ones.
The women with me in Auschwitz, in the lager, were hungry like beasts.  Another day when the transports came, we went over to where the men were on the other side of the fence.  They were unloading supplies, the food and clothing for the camp.  We screamed and begged for a piece of bread or for whatever food they had.  We didn’t care so much about clothing at this point, we wanted just a piece of bread so we could survive.
Some of the men had sympathy and when the German commander went away, they threw over bread and sardines for us.  Everybody was scrambling to catch a piece, and one girl lunged too close to the electric wire and was electrocuted and died before she got her piece of bread.
Auschwitz was not a working camp.  It was a death camp, and everyday that passed, that I survived, was a miracle from G--d.  The guards gave us very little food, because they didn’t care whether or not we survived.  They wanted to make us into musselmen, skeletons, so that it would be easy for Mengele to choose candidates for the crematorium.  Skeletons were easier to burn and bury.  Why waste bread on the dead?
One day a chill went through us.  Mengele was supposed to come to our block soon.  To even mention his name was terri-ble.  He was an Angel of Death.  I was very aggressive.  I was trying only to survive, to do whatever I could to make it out alive.  You had to look good, because if you looked very skinny and pale, you were a candidate for Mengele to take you and incinerate you.
The food that they gave us was not enough to live on, so I was always thinking about where I could get some more.  One day I saw a woman carrying pails of soup to the barracks.  I found a rusted can and hid myself in a corner and when she went away, when she passed me, I ran back and pushed the rusted can into the barrel, took some soup, and ran away very quickly.
If they’d caught me, they would have killed me.  I had to take chances, because life was not worth a penny there anyway.  If I died from hunger or I died from incineration, it was the same thing.  I had to look for some way to survive.
I took the soup and sat down in a corner like a dog, so that nobody saw me, and I ate.  For a while, I was plunging the rusted can in the barrel of soup every chance I could, and I didn’t tell anyone.  Then the woman told the guards that someone was stealing soup.  The next time I went, there were two guards by the door.  The woman was in the front, and the guards were in the back.  No more soup for me; no more soup for Sara.
One day, in the morning, we heard that Mengele, the murderer, had arrived in our block; the smell of fear and death spread around us.  It seemed like the last minutes of our lives had arrived.  We were numb and couldn’t talk; the blood froze in our veins.  Before our eyes, Mengele told the commanders of our block to line up all the women.  When the girls were ready and standing in the lines, Mengele came forward.
He looked tall and handsome in his uniform.  He wore white gloves.  He was handsome on the outside, but inside he was rotten and festering, without a soul, without conscience or pity for another human being.  He was the worst thing you could imagine.
He stood near the lines of the women and pointed his white-gloved finger, “You and you, come out from the line.”  With these people that he selected, he made a different line, a death line.
A few of the younger girls had mothers with them.  This was very sad, because Dr. Mengele first looked for the older, mid-dle-aged women.  The young women covered their mothers with their own bodies hoping somehow to protect them.  Of course, he made special efforts to take these mothers out of the lines.  Then he pointed at the undernourished girls who were pale and sick.
I stood in the back of the line this time, shivering with fear; as far away from him as possible.  I didn’t want to face him, didn’t want to see his hateful face.  I pinched my cheeks to have some color and not look pale.  I needed to look healthy.  I prayed every second to G-d that He should protect me from the Nazi murderers.  A little voice spoke in my head and said, “Sara, do anything to survive.  In a crisis G-d will be with you and protect you from the murderers.”  I repeated this and Mengele went away, and I stayed alive.
One morning, not long after Mengele’s visit, one of the commanders told us that they needed to choose women to send to work in a munitions factory.  It was hard to believe them but we didn’t have a choice.  Me and my friends, Elka and Sonia, were among the women chosen to go.  They told us to be ready for the transport the next morning.  Liberation from the death camp was the best thing that happened to us.
Before we left, I met a landsman, someone from my hometown named Zelig Plutt.  I was so happy to see him and he was happy to see me too.  He was working on the other side of the electric wires, unloading supplies from a transport that had just arrived.  I asked him if it was possible to get a pair of shoes for me, because the next morning we had to leave for the factories and I was wearing broken wooden shoes.  
He told me to wait, then risked his life for me.  He brought over a pair of shoes, looked around to see that nobody was watching, and threw them over to me.  I was so happy to have the shoes to cover my feet, I thanked him so much.  I wished him good luck, that he should survive, and that we should see each other in better times.
But my happiness with my shoes did not even last until the morning.  When I went to sleep, I took off my shoes and I put them under my head.  This was a big mistake, for when I woke up in the morning and I went to put them on, my shoes were gone; they had been stolen overnight.  I was so upset that I cried and couldn’t help myself.  I nearly broke down.  By a miracle, I got my old broken shoes back (someone must have heard my cries), put them on, then went over to the transport.
It was cold that morning and the women were already huddled together in lines waiting for the train.  The trucks came and they loaded us in and took us away to Czechoslovakia, they called it Sudetenland.  The name of the town was Crazow.
When we arrived in Crazow, they put us in barracks where we slept through the night, seven to ten of us in a bunk.  The next day we went to work.  They lined us up (three girls in a line) like soldiers, with two women commanders in the front and two in the back, armed with whips and guns, taking us to craft ammunitions in the huge menacing factory.
There were many men working in this factory from all over.  Someone came to show us what to do, working on the wheels of the tanks.  Elka welded and Sonia and I picked the wheels up.  The wheels were very heavy for us, even for two peo-ple.  I also had the job of drilling holes in the wheels and the work was very complicated.  Once the drill caught on a piece of iron, it became very hot and broke off into two pieces.  I was afraid to tell the foreman because, if I said that I broke the drill, they would say that it was sabotage.  If they suspected you of sabotage, you were a traitor.  They would kill you in an instant.
The drill broke a few times.  The first couple of times there were replacements, but the last time it broke I became scared to death, crazy.  But, I had an idea.  Near my workplace was a Frenchman who worked as a welder.  I went over to him, even though I couldn’t speak French, took the two pieces of the drill in my hand, and showed them to him.  I dragged my finger across my neck to show him that if he didn’t help me they would kill me.  He smiled and nodded his head.  He was very nice to me; he took the broken drill and welded it together for me.  I was so happy, and thanked him very much.
Because of poor nutrition, I became weaker and weaker--and everyday it was harder to pick up the tank wheels.  After a while, they became too heavy for me.  One day, I went over to the German foreman and I took a chance.  I told him that I worked very hard and that it was difficult to pick up the drills and the wheels.  I told him that he should give me a little more soup.
It was another miracle—he listened to me!  He gave me a piece of paper to show in the kitchen that said I should receive more of a soup ration.  It was like winning a lottery, a one-in-a-million-chance.
Some of the women found a room in the basement of the factory near where the bathrooms were.  They opened the doorto find a root cellar full of potatoes and carrots.  They stole the potatoes, hiding them in their brassieres, in their dresses, in their bloomers.  Later that night, in our barracks, we ate the raw pota-toes with the skins still on them.  The German commanders caught the women who were stealing the potatoes, and whipped them until they fainted.
So much hell we went through, so much pain.  The only thing we had was hope.  One girl kept the other girl alive.  We told each other that the end of this horror was coming soon, that we couldn’t give up, that we would be free again.  And this kept us alive, caring and sharing; one young woman to another.  This kept us going.

This is my mother, Sara Lew's, memoir. I published it for her 85th birthday. Today is the 3rd anniversary of her passing.
In loving memory. We miss you mom!
Sara Lew, 1922-2010
       זכרונו לברכה
Zikhrono LiVrakha

Please read her entire memoir:

Sara: From Bialystok to Brooklyn, A Survivor's Memoir (Chapter 1-3/My Family-Bialystok)
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/sara-from-bialystok-to-brooklyn-a-survivors-memoir-chapter-1-3my-family-bialystok/

Sara: From Bialystok to Brooklyn, A Survivor's Memoir (Chapter 4-6/Nazi Occupation-Majdanek)
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/sara-from-bialystok-to-brooklyn-a-survivors-memoir-chapter-4-6nazi-occupation-majdanek/

Sara: From Bialystok to Brooklyn, A Survivor's Memoir (Chapter 7-8/Blizyn-Auschwitz)
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/sara-from-bialystok-to-brooklyn-a-survivors-memoir-chapter-7-8blizyn-auschwitz/

Sara: From Bialystok to Brooklyn, A Survivor's Memoir (Chapter 9-10/Liberation)
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/sara-from-bialystok-to-brooklyn-a-survivors-memoir-chapter-9-10liberation-1/

Sara: From Bialystok to Brooklyn, A Survivor's Memoir (Chapter 11-End/Brooklyn)
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/sara-from-bialystok-to-brooklyn-a-survivors-memoir-chapter-11-endbrooklyn/
Mengele, Mussolini and Adolf Hitler
Tommy Johnson

Winnie the Pooh is trying to think
As are Plato and Socrates
While The Little Rascals get rambunctious
And The Marx Brothers cause calamities
Jim Jones stirs the Kool-Aid
And Georgie Porgie makes his move
Bo Peep and Miss Muffett start to blush
Red Ridding hood just swoons
The Muffin Man does a deal
With Johnny Apple seed
These beings and people our real
In our Surreal Reality

Pollock lets the paint splatter
And Moses parts the sea
Belushi buys an eight-ball
Bruce is on trial for obscenity
Rorschach is on the case
Right behind Sherlock Holmes
John the baptist goes for a swim
Along with Brian Jones
Jack and Jill meet Hansel and Gretel
They're hungry, they're thirsty
These figments of imagination do exist
In our Surreal Reality

Rasputin was so evil
As bad as Captain Hook
Now was it Ho Chi Minh or Nixon
Who said "I am not a crook?"
Mao Zedong looked at Stalin
With a shared murderous grin
Booth stormed the Ford theater
And shot President Lincoln
Kennedy and King we're both casualties
Of the process of the deciphering
Of our Surreal  Reality

Zeus said to Aphrodite
"Wow, you look real good tonight"
And Handel says "Hallelujah!"
As the Wright Brothers take flight
Baby Face Nelson
Teams up with Dillinger
Moe, Larry and Curly
Mengele, Mussolini and Adolf Hitler
Three bears, three little pigs
Along with three blind mice
Sit together, while Maurice Sendack
Cooks them chicken soup with rice
Charlie Bucket had a buy out
Wonka gave up his factory
Fiction or nonfiction it's all a apart
Of our Surreal Reality

Chicken Little tried his best
To warm The Little Red Hen
Of the sly trickster
They call Rumpelstiltskin
Rimbaud applauds Leonidas
And his 300's final stand
Da vinci  paved the way
For both Newton and Edison
Folklore and war heroes
And those with intellectual mentality
Are all just pieces
Of our Surreal Reality

Wee Willie Winkie's scream
Wakes up Rip Van Winkle
But not Sleeping Beauty who's been asleep for thirty years
But has no acquired a single wrinkle
Caligula has lost his mind
And Nero's lost his fiddle
What does Beethoven's hearing aid
Have to do the March Hare's riddle?
Abbie Hoffman fights for civil rights
Thomas Jefferson for democracy
Products of the conceptual
In our Surreal Reality

Berryman writes an ode
To Washington's wooden teeth
Manson speaks of Helter Skelter
Neruda damns the fruit company
Charles Schultz frames the story
And Seuss gives it rhyme
Some where far, far away
Taking place once upon a time
And the villagers all had omelettes
Thanks to clumsy Humpty Dumpty
It's all food for thought
In our Surreal Reality

Santa brings us presents
And Cupid bring us love
But we can never get back
The members of the 27 Club
Warhol makes his movies
And Buddha meditates
Joseph Smith reads the golden plates
Mohammed and Jesus save
Theses figures bring people hope
In life's dualities
Trusting faith
And our Surreal Reality


Han Solo is in carbon freeze
Don Juan's preoccupied
Sinbad sets his sails
Simple Simon didn't get his pie
Caesar looked at Brutus
Brutus looked at Saddam Hussein
Hussein looked at L. Ron Hubbard
Who prayed to Eloheim  
Dionysus can out drink us all
We cringe at Achilles fatality  
As Ra soars through the skies
Of our Surreal Reality

Aristotle says to Shakespeare
"Well Billy you old bard"
Frodo trades the ring of power
To Fidel Castro for a Babe Ruth Baseball card
Biggie and Tupac write their lyrics on paper
Ted Bundy is put in jail
They're making another skyscraper
For King Kong to scale
Hemingway is too far gone
Kant's take on morality
Einstein says it's all relative
In our Surreal Reality

Churchill said victory
John Lennon said peace
Judas gave back the silver
Then hung himself in a tree
Tojo and Kim Jong-il
Wanna be as cool as Brando and Dean
George Carlin warned us all
Now Hermes leaves the scene
So do the butcher, the baker and the candle stick maker
Followed by Old King Cole and his Fiddlers Three
As they make their way to find
A sense or Surreal Reality

Odysseus pines for Ithaca
Paul Bunyan chops the trees
The Jersey Devil has not been found
Noah herds the animals by twos not threes
Anubis wraps the mummies
And Augustus leads Rome
Bugs Bunny laughs with Pryor
All at the expense of Job
So what can we all make of this
Is this all actuality?
Symbolism or nonsense?
Realistic Surrealism or Surreal Realty?

#poetry   #lyrics   #song   #surrealism  
a, auf wieder sein* and *Shalom*. Josef Mengele just walked in and is already complaini
βέƦẙḽ Dṏṽ

Scene: February 6, 1944. A cell at Plötzensee Prison near Berlin. Most of the prisoners here were sentenced by the Nazi People’s Court (Volksgerichtshof) as being ‘enemies of the state’. The play breaks the ‘4th wall’ as Josef Schwantz, sitting in his cell alone on the bottom mattress of a double-decker bed.

Schwantz:  (addresses the audience directly) I was minding my own business in the middle of cooking a scrumptious rat using my spit-polished glasses as a magnifier and the unhinged arm as a spit when, to my dismay, two new prisoners were bounced into my already crowded cell, occupied by me and half the starving rodents of Berlin. Whoever said there was ‘no free lunch’ knew nothing about the art of bait and capture. When that skill failed me I just put on the charm. When that failed me I just started stomping the floor until I heard a squeak and a death rattle. After we exchanged a few pleasantries about the weather and dead Jews, I told my new cellmates they will have to share the top bunk and I had dibs on the shmatah and pail. Then came the third degree…
Baker: What are you in here for?
Schwantz: The answer may be obvious to Arthur Koestler, Franz Kafka and the People’s Court, but I haven’t a fucking clue. And you?”
Baker: I was the Führer’s personal baker almost 20 years since he himself was a prisoner at Landsberg Castle and wrote his masterpiece, Mein Kampf. Last week, he downed a dozen of my pastries in one sitting and blamed me for farting in front of Goering at meeting with the Luftwaffe.
Schwantz: I predict that the pages of that schweinhund shit trainer will be a bestseller in the Arab work in 30 years!
Tailor: What’s the ‘Arab world’?
Schwantz: I predict the Arab nations are sitting on the biggest reserves of oil in the world, which will fuel the world’s transportation for the next seventy years. However, in 2020 cars will shift to sugar cane as their primary fuel and the global economy will be ruled by Haiti. And who are you may I ask?”
Tailor: You may.
Schwantz: And who are you?
Tailor: I was Hitler’s personal tailor for 18 years. Last week, after watching Charlie Chaplain’s The Great Dictator, the Führer went into a rage and threw himself on the rug in his office. But before he could take a good bite out of the antique Persian, his trousers split down the center. He blamed me, and here I am. Are you some kind of fortune teller, may I ask?
Schwantz: You may.
Tailor: Are you some kind of fortune teller?
Schwantz: Well, some people would say I have that gift. Unfortunately, most of those people have all been arrested. The others went into hiding.
Baker: Do you interpret dreams? I needn’t ask.
Schwantz: You needn’t ask, but it’s only polite, considering we’ve only just met at rehearsal.
Baker: I ask because the Tailor and I both had puzzling dreams on the same night before we were jailed. There is no one to help us understand their meaning. Perhaps,  you…
Schwantz:  I’ll give it a shot. Tailor, what was your dream?
Tailor:  I dreamed that I was sewing a red swastika armband on to the Führer’s right arm. The band was wide, but I seamed it with only three stitches. The Führer then raised his arm and saluted me.
Schwantz: It means in three days you will be released from this jail and get your job back as Hitler’s tailor. You are his right hand man, because without his costume and Nazi regalia, Hitler appears to be just another common thug with a bad haircut. And was your dream, Baker?
Baker: I dreamed I was I put three donuts in the oven. When the timer rang I opened the oven and the donuts were gone. There wasn't even a munchkin to be found.
Schwantz: I am sorry but I have bad news. The donuts, circular like clocks, represent days. It means in three days you will be released from jail, but you will disappear. Hitler has already ordered your execution.
Baker: Impossible!
Schwantz: Tailor, I have but one request. Should my interpretation come to fruition and you are released, please mention the unjustness of my incarceration to Herr Hitler. A kind word from his right hand man can make all the difference.
(Schwantz addresses the audience) Well, I hit both those nails squarely on the head. The tailor got his position back and the baker was put on a transport to Auschwitz.  I stood in jail another three months with only God and my rats to keep me company until, miraculously, Herr Hitler personally summoned me to his bunker.  I was kept in the dark, given no clue why I was there. When I stood before Herr Hitler, he was silent.
Schwantz: Herr Hitler, sir, perhaps you have been perturbed by some dream couched in exotic symbolism, an enigma wrapped in a riddle like the mystery meat in a burrito. I can help you. I will interpret your dream the aplomb of Fred Astaire and the finesse of Sigmund Freud.
Hitler: Freud! Did we burn that Jew’s books? Nonetheless, I have nothing to lose as all my psychics have left me empty. My tea reader said my dream meant the English Earl of Grey will die in our next blitz of London. My astrologer told me that it symbolized the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, filled with free love, long haired students and strange smoke. My Tarot Card reader disappointed me the most by saying I am on the threshold of a ‘great transformation’, but was at a loss for words when I demanded specifics. None of these sheisse interpretations resonates as true. These sycophantic frauds are either licking my ass or shoving their heads so far up my ass that only their boots hang out.
Schwantz: Please tell me your dream, Herr Hitler, and I promise I will be both frank and forthright.
Hitler: I dreamed I baked a perfect seven layer German chocolate cake using only the finest chocolate from Belgium, France, Holland, Italy, England, America and Russia. I brought it to a picnic to surprise Eva and when I bit into it, it tasted like rotting flesh. I vomited and from my putrid puke emerged seven giant ants which proceeded to consume my perfect cake. What does it mean?
Schwantz: It means that from now on you should leave the baking to Eva. Just kidding. I thought I’d toss in a little humor to brighten up the drabness of this bunker. Moving along, the seven layer cake symbolizes the Third Reich you meticulously built. The smell of rotting flesh represents the Nazi underbelly, its ruthlessness, the torture and the concentration camps. The picnic grounds are Europe. The seven giant ants are the armies put together by the Allies who have united to destroy your empire.
Von Rippentrousers: Treasonous talk. Let me take this traitor to the back and put a bullet through his head.
Hitler: No, General Von Rippentrousers, let him be. I admit it is indeed unpleasant to hear so grim a future being forecast, but it has the impartial ring of truth. The future is not written in stone. What do you suggest I do, Schwantz?
Schwantz: Try and stop these armies of the seven ants. I predict the Allies are now preparing an invading armada scheduled for June 6, 1944. They will be landing at Deauville St Vaast with secondary landings in Norway and Belgium.
Von Rippentrousers: What about Normandy?
Schwantz: Ahh, Normandy’s Omaha Beach is good for skinny dipping but has little strategic value for the Allies. The Allies will make a small landing there as a feint, a diversionary attack. Don’t be fooled.  If you want to defeat the Allies, focus on Deauville St Vaast, Norway and Belgium, not on the decoy they have spoon-fed your intelligence through calculated leaks.
Hitler: I like this guy. I see a future for you, Schwantz. Here, please take this ring from my hand. With it I hereby bestow upon you the title of…
Schwantz: Tzafnat Paneach?
Hitler: No.
Schwantz: Sorry, I’m great at augury, counting cards and dream interpretation. I suck at second guessing. You were saying, Herr Hitler.
Hitler: I hereby bestow upon you the title of Psychic General of the Third Reich.
Schwantz: I’m so honored, Herr Hitler. Not only will I cherish it, I will put it to good use by melting it down and casting it into two gold teeth to replace the ones your guards accidentally knocked out of my mouth with a shovel at Plötzensee Prison. If we’re done here, Herr Hitler, gentleman, I’ll just grab my hat and coat and take a little shpatzir in the park. I’m pale as a ghost after spending two years in a dark cell.
Hitler: Not so fast, Schwantz. You will stay here with me in the bunker. General Von Rippentrousers, please inform Field Marshall Goering to evacuate his room but to leave behind the Da Vinci’s drawings on his refrigerator. Then, be so kind as to show the Reich’s new Psychic General to his accommodations.
Schwantz:(addresses the audience directly) Needless to say, over the next few months I diverted most of Hitler’s troops away from the successful D-Day invasion at Normandy. He eagerly took my misdirection on dozens of other strategic decisions that accelerated the end of his regime of terror. When the Allies came into Berlin, Hitler committed suicide. The last words he ever spoke were to me asking, “Josef, will I be forgotten?” I answered, “No, Herr Hitler. The History Channel will celebrate you and your Reich for a thousand years.” After I explained to him the future invention of television and its moving images on glass, interrupted every few minutes by commercials selling tampons and diet pills, Hitler shook my hand and eagerly bit into a cyanide capsule.
I craved neither notoriety nor celebrity. I did not want to be tried as a war criminal nor paraded as a hero, so I left Germany on a Vatican Passport for Buenos Aires. There, I married a lovely local woman, Maria, who bore me two beautiful children, Menashe, which in Hebrew means ‘to forget’, and Ephraim, which means ‘to be fruitful’. Those are the mandates we survivors must live by – to forget and to be fruitful. Today, Menashe is an Orhtodox Jew and successful businessman. Ephraim prefers to be a goy and teaches dance. I call my kids ‘Tango & Cash’ and they give me equal amounts of nachas and aggravation. That is the only recipe for a full life. We have six grandchildren, so far. Menashe breeds like a rabbit trying to replenish the Jews lost in the Holocaust. Maria and I own a bakery-café-bookstore on the bustling, tree-lined Plaza Armenia. You must try Maria’s crescent shaped medialunas. I predictyou will fall in love with her doughier version of the French croissant and it will add two inches to your waistline before returning home. My real name is not Josef Schwantz. It is Yoiseph Schwartz. So, my friends, I must bid you hasta la vista, auf wieder sein and Shalom. Josef Mengele just walked in and is already complaining that Maria’s medialunas are a day old. What chutzpah! Now where did I put my Luger? Aha, I have a hunch it’s under the German rye.

Please visit my related Hitler piece:
Achtung! Doppelgängerbangers!
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/achtung-doppelgangerbangers/

Joseph
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_(son_of_Jacob)

Dream interpretation
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dream_interpretation
.
#god   #dreams   #hitler   #pharoah   #jew   #nazi   #argentina   #beryldov   #joseph   #wikipedia  
ista, auf wieder sein and Shalom. Josef Mengele just walked in and is already complaini
βέƦẙḽ Dṏṽ

Scene: February 6, 1944. A cell at Plötzensee Prison near Berlin. Most of the prisoners here were sentenced by the Nazi People’s Court (Volksgerichtshof) as being ‘enemies of the state’. The play breaks the ‘4th wall’ as Josef Schwantz,sitting in his cell alone on the bottom mattress of a double-decker bed, addresses the audience directly.
Schwantz: I was minding my own business in the middle of cooking a scrumptious rat using my spit-polished glasses as a magnifier and the unhinged arm as a spit when, to my dismay, two new prisoners were bounced into my already crowded cell, occupied by me and half the starving rodents of Berlin. Whoever said there was ‘no free lunch’ knew nothing about the art of bait and capture. When that skill failed me I just put on the charm. When that failed me I just started stomping the floor until I heard a squeak and a death rattle. After we exchanged a few pleasantries about the weather and dead Jews, I told my new cellmates they will have to share the top bunk and I had dibs on the shmatah and pail. Then came the third degree…
Baker: What are you in here for?
Schwantz: The answer may be obvious to Arthur Koestler, Franz Kafka and the People’s Court, but I haven’t a fucking clue. And you?”
Baker: I was the Führer’s personal baker almost 20 years since he himself was a prisoner at Landsberg Castle and wrote his masterpiece, Mein Kampf. Last week, he downed a dozen of my pastries in one sitting and blamed me for farting in front of Goering at meeting with the Luftwaffe.
Schwantz: I predict that the pages of that schweinhund shit trainer will be a bestseller in the Arab work in 30 years!
Tailor: What’s the ‘Arab world’?
Schwantz: I predict the Arab nations are sitting on the biggest reserves of oil in the world, which will fuel the world’s transportation for the next seventy years. However, in 2020 cars will shift to sugar cane as their primary fuel and the global economy will be ruled by Haiti. And who are you may I ask?”
Tailor: You may.
Schwantz: And who are you?
Tailor: I was Hitler’s personal tailor for 18 years. Last week, after watching Charlie Chaplain’s The Great Dictator, the Führer went into a rage and threw himself on the rug in his office. But before he could take a good bite out of the antique Persian, his trousers split down the center. He blamed me, and here I am. Are you some kind of fortune teller, may I ask?
Schwantz: You may.
Tailor: Are you some kind of fortune teller?
Schwantz: Well, some people would say I have that gift. Unfortunately, most of those people have all been arrested. The others went into hiding.
Baker: Do you interpret dreams? I needn’t ask.
Schwantz: You needn’t ask, but it’s only polite, considering we’ve only just met at rehearsal.
Baker: I ask because the Tailor and I both had puzzling dreams on the same night before we were jailed. There is no one to help us understand their meaning. Perhaps,  you…
Schwantz:  I’ll give it a shot. Tailor, what was your dream.
Tailor:  I dreamed that I was sewing a red swastika armband on to the Führer’s right arm. The band was wide, but I seamed it with only three stitches. The Führer then raised his arm and saluted me.
Schwantz: It means in three days you will be released from this jail and get your job back as Hitler’s tailor. You are his right hand man, because without his costume and Nazi regalia, Hitler appears to be just another common thug with a bad haircut. And was your dream, Baker?
Baker: I dreamed I was I put three donuts in the oven. When the timer rang I opened the oven and the donuts were gone. There wasn’t even a munchkin to be found.
Schwantz: I am sorry but I have bad news. The donuts, circular like clocks, represent days. It means in three days you will be released from jail, but you will disappear. Hitler has already ordered your execution.
Baker: Impossible!
Schwantz: Tailor, I have but one request. Should my interpretation come to fruition and you are released, please mention the unjustness of my incarceration to Herr Hitler. A kind word from his right hand man can make all the difference.
(addresses the audience) Well, I hit both those nails squarely on the head. The tailor got his position back and the baker was put on a transport to Auschwitz.  I stood in jail another three months with only God and my rats to keep me company until, miraculously, Herr Hitler personally summoned me to his bunker.  I was kept in the dark, given no clue why I was there. When I stood before Herr Hitler, he was silent.
Schwantz: Herr Hitler, sir, perhaps you have been perturbed by some dream couched in exotic symbolism, an enigma wrapped in a riddle like the questionable meat in a burrito. I can help you. I will interpret your dream the aplomb of Fred Astaire and the finesse of Sigmund Freud.
Hitler: Freud! Did we burn that Jew’s books? Nonetheless, I have nothing to lose as all my psychics have left me empty. My tea reader said my dream meant the English Earl of Grey will die in our next blitz of London. My astrologer told me that it symbolized the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, filled with free love, long haired students and strange smoke. My Tarot Card reader disappointed me the most by saying I am on the threshold of a ‘great transformation’, but was at a loss for words when I demanded specifics. None of these sheisse interpretations resonates as true. These sycophantic frauds are either licking my ass or shoving their heads so far up my ass that only their boots hang out.
Schwantz: Please tell me your dream, Herr Hitler, and I promise I will be both frank and forthright.
Hitler: I dreamed I baked a perfect seven layer German chocolate cake using only the finest chocolate from Belgium, France, Holland, Italy, England, America and Russia. I brought it to a picnic to surprise Eva and when I bit into it, it tasted like rotting flesh. I vomited and from my putrid puke emerged seven giant ants which proceeded to consume my perfect cake. What does it mean?
Schwantz: It means that from now on you should leave the baking to Eva. Just kidding. I thought I’d toss in a little humor to brighten up the drabness of this bunker. Moving along, the seven layer cake symbolizes the Third Reich you meticulously built. The smell of rotting flesh represents the Nazi underbelly, its ruthlessness, the torture and the concentration camps. The picnic grounds are Europe. The seven giant ants are the armies put together by the Allies who have united to destroy your empire.
Von Rippentrousers: Treasonous talk. Let me take this traitor to the back and put a bullet through his head.
Hitler: No, General Von Rippentrousers, let him be. I admit it is indeed unpleasant to hear so grim a future being forecast, but it has the impartial ring of truth. The future is not written in stone. What do you suggest I do, Schwantz?
Schwantz: Try and stop these armies of the seven ants. I predict the Allies are now preparing an invading armada scheduled for June 6, 1944. They will be landing at Deauville St Vaast with secondary landings in Norway and Belgium.
Von Rippentrousers: What about Normandy?
Schwantz: Ahh, Normandy’s Omaha Beach is good for skinny dipping but has little strategic value for the Allies. The Allies will make a small landing there as a feint, a diversionary attack. Don’t be fooled.  If you want to defeat the Allies, focus on Deauville St Vaast, Norway and Belgium, not on the decoy they have spoon-fed your intelligence through calculated leaks.
Hitler: I like this guy. I see a future for you, Schwantz. Here, please take this ring from my hand. With it I hereby bestow upon you the title of…
Schwantz: Tzafnat Paneach?
Hitler: No.
Schwantz: Sorry, I’m great at augury, counting cards and dream interpretation. I suck at second guessing. You were saying, Herr Hitler.
Hitler: I hereby bestow upon you the title of Psychic General of the Third Reich.
Schwantz: I’m so honored, Herr Hitler. Not only will I cherish it, I will put it to good use by melting it down and casting it into two gold teeth to replace the ones your guards accidentally knocked out of my mouth with a shovel at Plötzensee Prison. If we’re done here, Herr Hitler, gentleman, I’ll just grab my hat and coat and take a little shpatzir in the park. I’m pale as a ghost after spending two years in a dark cell.
Hitler: Not so fast, Schwantz. You will stay here with me in the bunker. General Von Rippentrousers, please inform Field Marshall Goering to evacuate his room but to leave behind the Da Vinci’s drawings on his refrigerator. Then, be so kind as to show the Reich’s new Psychic General to his accommodations.
Schwantz: (addresses the audience directly) Needless to say, over the next few months I diverted most of Hitler’s troops away from the successful D-Day invasion at Normandy. He eagerly took my misdirection on dozens of other strategic decisions that accelerated the end of his regime of terror. When the Allies came into Berlin, Hitler committed suicide. The last words he ever spoke were to me asking, “Josef, will I be forgotten?” I answered, “No, Herr Hitler. The History Channel will celebrate you and your Reich for a thousand years.” After I explained to him the future invention of television and its moving images on glass, interrupted every few minutes by commercials selling tampons and diet pills, Hitler shook my hand and eagerly bit into a cyanide capsule.
I craved neither notoriety nor celebrity. I did not want to be tried as a war criminal nor paraded as a hero, so I left Germany on a Vatican Passport for Buenos Aires. There, I married a lovely local woman, Maria, who bore me two beautiful children, Menashe, which in Hebrew means ‘to forget’, and Ephraim, which means ‘to be fruitful’. Those are the mandates we survivors must live by – to forget and to be fruitful. Today, Menashe is an Orhtodox Jew and successful businessman. Ephraim prefers to be a goy and teaches dance. I call my kids ‘Tango & Cash’ and they give me equal amounts of nachas and aggravation. That is the only recipe for a full life. We have six grandchildren, so far. Menashe breeds like a rabbit trying to replenish the Jews lost in the Holocaust. Maria and I own a bakery-café-bookstore on the bustling, tree-lined Plaza Armenia. You must try Maria’s crescent shaped medialunas. I predictyou will fall in love with her doughier version of the French croissant and it will add two inches to your waistline before returning home. My real name is not Josef Schwantz. It is Yoiseph Schwartz. So, my friends, I must bid you hasta la vista, auf wieder sein and Shalom. Josef Mengele just walked in and is already complaining that Maria’s medialunas are a day old. What chutzpah! Now where did I put my Luger? Aha, I have a hunch it’s under the German rye.

Please visit my related Hitler piece:
Achtung! Doppelgängerbangers!
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/achtung-doppelgangerbangers/
ista, auf wieder sein and Shalom. Josef Mengele just walked in and is already complaini
βέƦẙḽ Dṏṽ

Scene: February 6, 1944. A cell at Plötzensee Prison near Berlin. Most of the prisoners here were sentenced by the Nazi People’s Court (Volksgerichtshof) as being ‘enemies of the state’. The play breaks the ‘4th wall’ as Josef Schwantz,sitting in his cell alone on the bottom mattress of a double-decker bed, addresses the audience directly.
Schwantz: I was minding my own business in the middle of cooking a scrumptious rat using my spit-polished glasses as a magnifier and the unhinged arm as a spit when, to my dismay, two new prisoners were bounced into my already crowded cell, occupied by me and half the starving rodents of Berlin. Whoever said there was ‘no free lunch’ knew nothing about the art of bait and capture. When that skill failed me I just put on the charm. When that failed me I just started stomping the floor until I heard a squeak and a death rattle. After we exchanged a few pleasantries about the weather and dead Jews, I told my new cellmates they will have to share the top bunk and I had dibs on the shmatah and pail. Then came the third degree…
Baker: What are you in here for?
Schwantz: The answer may be obvious to Arthur Koestler, Franz Kafka and the People’s Court, but I haven’t a fucking clue. And you?”
Baker: I was the Führer’s personal baker almost 20 years since he himself was a prisoner at Landsberg Castle and wrote his masterpiece, Mein Kampf. Last week, he downed a dozen of my pastries in one sitting and blamed me for farting in front of Goering at meeting with the Luftwaffe.
Schwantz: I predict that the pages of that schweinhund shit trainer will be a bestseller in the Arab work in 30 years!
Tailor: What’s the ‘Arab world’?
Schwantz: I predict the Arab nations are sitting on the biggest reserves of oil in the world, which will fuel the world’s transportation for the next seventy years. However, in 2020 cars will shift to sugar cane as their primary fuel and the global economy will be ruled by Haiti. And who are you may I ask?”
Tailor: You may.
Schwantz: And who are you?
Tailor: I was Hitler’s personal tailor for 18 years. Last week, after watching Charlie Chaplain’s The Great Dictator, the Führer went into a rage and threw himself on the rug in his office. But before he could take a good bite out of the antique Persian, his trousers split down the center. He blamed me, and here I am. Are you some kind of fortune teller, may I ask?
Schwantz: You may.
Tailor: Are you some kind of fortune teller?
Schwantz: Well, some people would say I have that gift. Unfortunately, most of those people have all been arrested. The others went into hiding.
Baker: Do you interpret dreams? I needn’t ask.
Schwantz: You needn’t ask, but it’s only polite, considering we’ve only just met at rehearsal.
Baker: I ask because the Tailor and I both had puzzling dreams on the same night before we were jailed. There is no one to help us understand their meaning. Perhaps,  you…
Schwantz:  I’ll give it a shot. Tailor, what was your dream.
Tailor:  I dreamed that I was sewing a red swastika armband on to the Führer’s right arm. The band was wide, but I seamed it with only three stitches. The Führer then raised his arm and saluted me.
Schwantz: It means in three days you will be released from this jail and get your job back as Hitler’s tailor. You are his right hand man, because without his costume and Nazi regalia, Hitler appears to be just another common thug with a bad haircut. And was your dream, Baker?
Baker: I dreamed I was I put three donuts in the oven. When the timer rang I opened the oven and the donuts were gone. There wasn’t even a munchkin to be found.
Schwantz: I am sorry but I have bad news. The donuts, circular like clocks, represent days. It means in three days you will be released from jail, but you will disappear. Hitler has already ordered your execution.
Baker: Impossible!
Schwantz: Tailor, I have but one request. Should my interpretation come to fruition and you are released, please mention the unjustness of my incarceration to Herr Hitler. A kind word from his right hand man can make all the difference.
(addresses the audience) Well, I hit both those nails squarely on the head. The tailor got his position back and the baker was put on a transport to Auschwitz.  I stood in jail another three months with only God and my rats to keep me company until, miraculously, Herr Hitler personally summoned me to his bunker.  I was kept in the dark, given no clue why I was there. When I stood before Herr Hitler, he was silent.
Schwantz: Herr Hitler, sir, perhaps you have been perturbed by some dream couched in exotic symbolism, an enigma wrapped in a riddle like the questionable meat in a burrito. I can help you. I will interpret your dream the aplomb of Fred Astaire and the finesse of Sigmund Freud.
Hitler: Freud! Did we burn that Jew’s books? Nonetheless, I have nothing to lose as all my psychics have left me empty. My tea reader said my dream meant the English Earl of Grey will die in our next blitz of London. My astrologer told me that it symbolized the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, filled with free love, long haired students and strange smoke. My Tarot Card reader disappointed me the most by saying I am on the threshold of a ‘great transformation’, but was at a loss for words when I demanded specifics. None of these sheisse interpretations resonates as true. These sycophantic frauds are either licking my ass or shoving their heads so far up my ass that only their boots hang out.
Schwantz: Please tell me your dream, Herr Hitler, and I promise I will be both frank and forthright.
Hitler: I dreamed I baked a perfect seven layer German chocolate cake using only the finest chocolate from Belgium, France, Holland, Italy, England, America and Russia. I brought it to a picnic to surprise Eva and when I bit into it, it tasted like rotting flesh. I vomited and from my putrid puke emerged seven giant ants which proceeded to consume my perfect cake. What does it mean?
Schwantz: It means that from now on you should leave the baking to Eva. Just kidding. I thought I’d toss in a little humor to brighten up the drabness of this bunker. Moving along, the seven layer cake symbolizes the Third Reich you meticulously built. The smell of rotting flesh represents the Nazi underbelly, its ruthlessness, the torture and the concentration camps. The picnic grounds are Europe. The seven giant ants are the armies put together by the Allies who have united to destroy your empire.
Von Rippentrousers: Treasonous talk. Let me take this traitor to the back and put a bullet through his head.
Hitler: No, General Von Rippentrousers, let him be. I admit it is indeed unpleasant to hear so grim a future being forecast, but it has the impartial ring of truth. The future is not written in stone. What do you suggest I do, Schwantz?
Schwantz: Try and stop these armies of the seven ants. I predict the Allies are now preparing an invading armada scheduled for June 6, 1944. They will be landing at Deauville St Vaast with secondary landings in Norway and Belgium.
Von Rippentrousers: What about Normandy?
Schwantz: Ahh, Normandy’s Omaha Beach is good for skinny dipping but has little strategic value for the Allies. The Allies will make a small landing there as a feint, a diversionary attack. Don’t be fooled.  If you want to defeat the Allies, focus on Deauville St Vaast, Norway and Belgium, not on the decoy they have spoon-fed your intelligence through calculated leaks.
Hitler: I like this guy. I see a future for you, Schwantz. Here, please take this ring from my hand. With it I hereby bestow upon you the title of…
Schwantz: Tzafnat Paneach?
Hitler: No.
Schwantz: Sorry, I’m great at augury, counting cards and dream interpretation. I suck at second guessing. You were saying, Herr Hitler.
Hitler: I hereby bestow upon you the title of Psychic General of the Third Reich.
Schwantz: I’m so honored, Herr Hitler. Not only will I cherish it, I will put it to good use by melting it down and casting it into two gold teeth to replace the ones your guards accidentally knocked out of my mouth with a shovel at Plötzensee Prison. If we’re done here, Herr Hitler, gentleman, I’ll just grab my hat and coat and take a little shpatzir in the park. I’m pale as a ghost after spending two years in a dark cell.
Hitler: Not so fast, Schwantz. You will stay here with me in the bunker. General Von Rippentrousers, please inform Field Marshall Goering to evacuate his room but to leave behind the Da Vinci’s drawings on his refrigerator. Then, be so kind as to show the Reich’s new Psychic General to his accommodations.
Schwantz: (addresses the audience directly) Needless to say, over the next few months I diverted most of Hitler’s troops away from the successful D-Day invasion at Normandy. He eagerly took my misdirection on dozens of other strategic decisions that accelerated the end of his regime of terror. When the Allies came into Berlin, Hitler committed suicide. The last words he ever spoke were to me asking, “Josef, will I be forgotten?” I answered, “No, Herr Hitler. The History Channel will celebrate you and your Reich for a thousand years.” After I explained to him the future invention of television and its moving images on glass, interrupted every few minutes by commercials selling tampons and diet pills, Hitler shook my hand and eagerly bit into a cyanide capsule.
I craved neither notoriety nor celebrity. I did not want to be tried as a war criminal nor paraded as a hero, so I left Germany on a Vatican Passport for Buenos Aires. There, I married a lovely local woman, Maria, who bore me two beautiful children, Menashe, which in Hebrew means ‘to forget’, and Ephraim, which means ‘to be fruitful’. Those are the mandates we survivors must live by – to forget and to be fruitful. Today, Menashe is an Orhtodox Jew and successful businessman. Ephraim prefers to be a goy and teaches dance. I call my kids ‘Tango & Cash’ and they give me equal amounts of nachas and aggravation. That is the only recipe for a full life. We have six grandchildren, so far. Menashe breeds like a rabbit trying to replenish the Jews lost in the Holocaust. Maria and I own a bakery-café-bookstore on the bustling, tree-lined Plaza Armenia. You must try Maria’s crescent shaped medialunas. I predictyou will fall in love with her doughier version of the French croissant and it will add two inches to your waistline before returning home. My real name is not Josef Schwantz. It is Yoiseph Schwartz. So, my friends, I must bid you hasta la vista, auf wieder sein and Shalom. Josef Mengele just walked in and is already complaining that Maria’s medialunas are a day old. What chutzpah! Now where did I put my Luger? Aha, I have a hunch it’s under the German rye.

Please visit my related Hitler piece:
Achtung! Doppelgängerbangers!
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/achtung-doppelgangerbangers/
a, auf wieder sein* and *Shalom*. Josef Mengele just walked in and is already complaini
βέƦẙḽ Dṏṽ

Scene: February 6, 1944. A cell at Plötzensee Prison near Berlin. Most of the prisoners here were sentenced by the Nazi People’s Court (Volksgerichtshof) as being ‘enemies of the state’. The play breaks the ‘4th wall’ as Josef Schwantz, sitting in his cell alone on the bottom mattress of a double-decker bed.

Schwantz:  (addresses the audience directly) I was minding my own business in the middle of cooking a scrumptious rat using my spit-polished glasses as a magnifier and the unhinged arm as a spit when, to my dismay, two new prisoners were bounced into my already crowded cell, occupied by me and half the starving rodents of Berlin. Whoever said there was ‘no free lunch’ knew nothing about the art of bait and capture. When that skill failed me I just put on the charm. When that failed me I just started stomping the floor until I heard a squeak and a death rattle. After we exchanged a few pleasantries about the weather and dead Jews, I told my new cellmates they will have to share the top bunk and I had dibs on the shcmatah and pail. Then came the third degree…
Baker: What are you in here for?
Schwantz: The answer may be obvious to Arthur Koestler, Franz Kafka and the People’s Court, but I haven’t a fucking clue. And you?”
Baker: I was the Führer’s personal baker almost 20 years since he himself was a prisoner at Landsberg Castle and wrote his masterpiece, Mein Kampf. Last week, he downed a dozen of my pastries in one sitting and blamed me for farting in front of Goering at meeting with the Luftwaffe.
Schwantz: I predict that the pages of that schweinhund shit trainer will be a bestseller in the Arab work in 30 years!
Tailor: What’s the ‘Arab world’?
Schwantz: I predict the Arab nations are sitting on the biggest reserves of oil in the world, which will fuel the world’s transportation for the next seventy years. However, in 2020 cars will shift to sugar cane as their primary fuel and the global economy will be ruled by Haiti. And who are you may I ask?”
Tailor: You may.
Schwantz: And who are you?
Tailor: I was Hitler’s personal tailor for 18 years. Last week, after watching Charlie Chaplain’s The Great Dictator, the Führer went into a rage and threw himself on the rug in his office. But before he could take a good bite out of the antique Persian, his trousers split down the center. He blamed me, and here I am. Are you some kind of fortune teller, may I ask?
Schwantz: You may.
Tailor: Are you some kind of fortune teller?
Schwantz: Well, some people would say I have that gift. Unfortunately, most of those people have all been arrested. The others went into hiding.
Baker: Do you interpret dreams? I needn’t ask.
Schwantz: You needn’t ask, but it’s only polite, considering we’ve only just met at rehearsal.
Baker: I ask because the Tailor and I both had puzzling dreams on the same night before we were jailed. There is no one to help us understand their meaning. Perhaps,  you…
Schwantz:  I’ll give it a shot. Tailor, what was your dream?
Tailor:  I dreamed that I was sewing a red swastika armband on to the Führer’s right arm. The band was wide, but I seamed it with only three stitches. The Führer then raised his arm and saluted me.
Schwantz: It means in three days you will be released from this jail and get your job back as Hitler’s tailor. You are his right hand man, because without his costume and Nazi regalia, Hitler appears to be just another common thug with a bad haircut. And was your dream, Baker?
Baker: I dreamed I was I put three donuts in the oven. When the timer rang I opened the oven and the donuts were gone. There wasn't even a munchkin to be found.
Schwantz: I am sorry but I have bad news. The donuts, circular like clocks, represent days. It means in three days you will be released from jail, but you will disappear. Hitler has already ordered your execution.
Baker: Impossible!
Schwantz: Tailor, I have but one request. Should my interpretation come to fruition and you are released, please mention the unjustness of my incarceration to Herr Hitler. A kind word from his right hand man can make all the difference.
(Schwantz addresses the audience) Well, I hit both those nails squarely on the head. The tailor got his position back and the baker was put on a transport to Auschwitz.  I stood in jail another three months with only God and my rats to keep me company until, miraculously, Herr Hitler personally summoned me to his bunker.  I was kept in the dark, given no clue why I was there. When I stood before Herr Hitler, he was silent.
Schwantz: Herr Hitler, sir, perhaps you have been perturbed by some dream couched in exotic symbolism, an enigma wrapped in a riddle like the mystery meat in a burrito. I can help you. I will interpret your dream the aplomb of Fred Astaire and the finesse of Sigmund Freud.
Hitler: Freud! Did we burn that Jew’s books? Nonetheless, I have nothing to lose as all my psychics have left me empty. My tea reader said my dream meant the English Earl of Grey will die in our next blitz of London. My astrologer told me that it symbolized the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, filled with free love, long haired students and strange smoke. My Tarot Card reader disappointed me the most by saying I am on the threshold of a ‘great transformation’, but was at a loss for words when I demanded specifics. None of these sheisse interpretations resonates as true. These sycophantic frauds are either licking my ass or shoving their heads so far up my ass that only their boots hang out.
Schwantz: Please tell me your dream, Herr Hitler, and I promise I will be both frank and forthright.
Hitler: I dreamed I baked a perfect seven layer German chocolate cake using only the finest chocolate from Belgium, France, Holland, Italy, England, America and Russia. I brought it to a picnic to surprise Eva and when I bit into it, it tasted like rotting flesh. I vomited and from my putrid puke emerged seven giant ants which proceeded to consume my perfect cake. What does it mean?
Schwantz: It means that from now on you should leave the baking to Eva. Just kidding. I thought I’d toss in a little humor to brighten up the drabness of this bunker. Moving along, the seven layer cake symbolizes the Third Reich you meticulously built. The smell of rotting flesh represents the Nazi underbelly, its ruthlessness, the torture and the concentration camps. The picnic grounds are Europe. The seven giant ants are the armies put together by the Allies who have united to destroy your empire.
Von Rippentrousers: Treasonous talk. Let me take this traitor to the back and put a bullet through his head.
Hitler: No, General Von Rippentrousers, let him be. I admit it is indeed unpleasant to hear so grim a future being forecast, but it has the impartial ring of truth. The future is not written in stone. What do you suggest I do, Schwantz?
Schwantz: Try and stop these armies of the seven ants. I predict the Allies are now preparing an invading armada scheduled for June 6, 1944. They will be landing at Deauville St Vaast with secondary landings in Norway and Belgium.
Von Rippentrousers: What about Normandy?
Schwantz: Ahh, Normandy’s Omaha Beach is good for skinny dipping but has little strategic value for the Allies. The Allies will make a small landing there as a feint, a diversionary attack. Don’t be fooled.  If you want to defeat the Allies, focus on Deauville St Vaast, Norway and Belgium, not on the decoy they have spoon-fed your intelligence through calculated leaks.
Hitler: I like this guy. I see a future for you, Schwantz. Here, please take this ring from my hand. With it I hereby bestow upon you the title of…
Schwantz: Tzafnat Paneach?
Hitler: No.
Schwantz: Sorry, I’m great at augury, counting cards and dream interpretation. I suck at second guessing. You were saying, Herr Hitler.
Hitler: I hereby bestow upon you the title of Psychic General of the Third Reich.
Schwantz: I’m so honored, Herr Hitler. Not only will I cherish it, I will put it to good use by melting it down and casting it into two gold teeth to replace the ones your guards accidentally knocked out of my mouth with a shovel at Plötzensee Prison. If we’re done here, Herr Hitler, gentleman, I’ll just grab my hat and coat and take a little shpatzir in the park. I’m pale as a ghost after spending two years in a dark cell.
Hitler: Not so fast, Schwantz. You will stay here with me in the bunker. General Von Rippentrousers, please inform Field Marshall Goering to evacuate his room but to leave behind the Da Vinci’s drawings on his refrigerator. Then, be so kind as to show the Reich’s new Psychic General to his accommodations.
Schwantz:(addresses the audience directly) Needless to say, over the next few months I diverted most of Hitler’s troops away from the successful D-Day invasion at Normandy. He eagerly took my misdirection on dozens of other strategic decisions that accelerated the end of his regime of terror. When the Allies came into Berlin, Hitler committed suicide. The last words he ever spoke were to me asking, “Josef, will I be forgotten?” I answered, “No, Herr Hitler. The History Channel will celebrate you and your Reich for a thousand years.” After I explained to him the future invention of television and its moving images on glass, interrupted every few minutes by commercials selling tampons and diet pills, Hitler shook my hand and eagerly bit into a cyanide capsule.
I craved neither notoriety nor celebrity. I did not want to be tried as a war criminal nor paraded as a hero, so I left Germany on a Vatican Passport for Buenos Aires. There, I married a lovely local woman, Maria, who bore me two beautiful children, Menashe, which in Hebrew means ‘to forget’, and Ephraim, which means ‘to be fruitful’. Those are the mandates we survivors must live by – to forget and to be fruitful. Today, Menashe is an Orhtodox Jew and successful businessman. Ephraim prefers to be a goy and teaches dance. I call my kids ‘Tango & Cash’ and they give me equal amounts of nachas and aggravation. That is the only recipe for a full life. We have six grandchildren, so far. Menashe breeds like a rabbit trying to replenish the Jews lost in the Holocaust. Maria and I own a bakery-café-bookstore on the bustling, tree-lined Plaza Armenia. You must try Maria’s crescent shaped medialunas. I predictyou will fall in love with her doughier version of the French croissant and it will add two inches to your waistline before returning home. My real name is not Josef Schwantz. It is Yoiseph Schwartz. So, my friends, I must bid you hasta la vista, auf wieder sein and Shalom. Josef Mengele just walked in and is already complaining that Maria’s medialunas are a day old. What chutzpah! Now where did I put my Luger? Aha, I have a hunch it’s under the German rye.

Please visit my related Hitler piece:
Achtung! Doppelgängerbangers!
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/achtung-doppelgangerbangers/
#love   #heartbreak   #dream   #poem   #poetry   #broken   #sad   #depression   #life   #heart   #girl   #eyes   #pain   #future   #haiku   #sadness   #death   #hope   #loss   #lost   #rain   #hurt   #nature   #friendship   #thoughts   #soul   #fuck   #me   #history   #hitler   #pharoah   #tailor   #penis   #trending   #nazi   #wwii   #argentina   #vatican   #jews   #berlin   #lew   #beryldov   #hebrew   #joseph   #fhrer   #baker   #josef   #schwantz   #interpreter   #medialunas   #shalom   #predict   #normandy   #channel  
a, auf wieder sein* and *Shalom*. Josef Mengele just walked in and is already complaini
βέƦẙḽ Dṏṽ

Scene: February 6, 1944. A cell at Plötzensee Prison near Berlin. Most of the prisoners here were sentenced by the Nazi People’s Court (Volksgerichtshof) as being ‘enemies of the state’. The play breaks the ‘4th wall’ as Josef Schwantz, sitting in his cell alone on the bottom mattress of a double-decker bed.

Schwantz:  (addresses the audience directly) I was minding my own business in the middle of cooking a scrumptious rat using my spit-polished glasses as a magnifier and the unhinged arm as a spit when, to my dismay, two new prisoners were bounced into my already crowded cell, occupied by me and half the starving rodents of Berlin. Whoever said there was ‘no free lunch’ knew nothing about the art of bait and capture. When that skill failed me I just put on the charm. When that failed me I just started stomping the floor until I heard a squeak and a death rattle. After we exchanged a few pleasantries about the weather and dead Jews, I told my new cellmates they will have to share the top bunk and I had dibs on the shmatah and pail. Then came the third degree…
Baker: What are you in here for?
Schwantz: The answer may be obvious to Arthur Koestler, Franz Kafka and the People’s Court, but I haven’t a fucking clue. And you?”
Baker: I was the Führer’s personal baker almost 20 years since he himself was a prisoner at Landsberg Castle and wrote his masterpiece, Mein Kampf. Last week, he downed a dozen of my pastries in one sitting and blamed me for farting in front of Goering at meeting with the Luftwaffe.
Schwantz: I predict that the pages of that schweinhund shit trainer will be a bestseller in the Arab work in 30 years!
Tailor: What’s the ‘Arab world’?
Schwantz: I predict the Arab nations are sitting on the biggest reserves of oil in the world, which will fuel the world’s transportation for the next seventy years. However, in 2020 cars will shift to sugar cane as their primary fuel and the global economy will be ruled by Haiti. And who are you may I ask?”
Tailor: You may.
Schwantz: And who are you?
Tailor: I was Hitler’s personal tailor for 18 years. Last week, after watching Charlie Chaplain’s The Great Dictator, the Führer went into a rage and threw himself on the rug in his office. But before he could take a good bite out of the antique Persian, his trousers split down the center. He blamed me, and here I am. Are you some kind of fortune teller, may I ask?
Schwantz: You may.
Tailor: Are you some kind of fortune teller?
Schwantz: Well, some people would say I have that gift. Unfortunately, most of those people have all been arrested. The others went into hiding.
Baker: Do you interpret dreams? I needn’t ask.
Schwantz: You needn’t ask, but it’s only polite, considering we’ve only just met at rehearsal.
Baker: I ask because the Tailor and I both had puzzling dreams on the same night before we were jailed. There is no one to help us understand their meaning. Perhaps,  you…
Schwantz:  I’ll give it a shot. Tailor, what was your dream?
Tailor:  I dreamed that I was sewing a red swastika armband on to the Führer’s right arm. The band was wide, but I seamed it with only three stitches. The Führer then raised his arm and saluted me.
Schwantz: It means in three days you will be released from this jail and get your job back as Hitler’s tailor. You are his right hand man, because without his costume and Nazi regalia, Hitler appears to be just another common thug with a bad haircut. And was your dream, Baker?
Baker: I dreamed I was I put three donuts in the oven. When the timer rang I opened the oven and the donuts were gone. There wasn't even a munchkin to be found.
Schwantz: I am sorry but I have bad news. The donuts, circular like clocks, represent days. It means in three days you will be released from jail, but you will disappear. Hitler has already ordered your execution.
Baker: Impossible!
Schwantz: Tailor, I have but one request. Should my interpretation come to fruition and you are released, please mention the unjustness of my incarceration to Herr Hitler. A kind word from his right hand man can make all the difference.
(Schwantz addresses the audience) Well, I hit both those nails squarely on the head. The tailor got his position back and the baker was put on a transport to Auschwitz.  I stood in jail another three months with only God and my rats to keep me company until, miraculously, Herr Hitler personally summoned me to his bunker.  I was kept in the dark, given no clue why I was there. When I stood before Herr Hitler, he was silent.
Schwantz: Herr Hitler, sir, perhaps you have been perturbed by some dream couched in exotic symbolism, an enigma wrapped in a riddle like the mystery meat in a burrito. I can help you. I will interpret your dream the aplomb of Fred Astaire and the finesse of Sigmund Freud.
Hitler: Freud! Did we burn that Jew’s books? Nonetheless, I have nothing to lose as all my psychics have left me empty. My tea reader said my dream meant the English Earl of Grey will die in our next blitz of London. My astrologer told me that it symbolized the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, filled with free love, long haired students and strange smoke. My Tarot Card reader disappointed me the most by saying I am on the threshold of a ‘great transformation’, but was at a loss for words when I demanded specifics. None of these sheisse interpretations resonates as true. These sycophantic frauds are either licking my ass or shoving their heads so far up my ass that only their boots hang out.
Schwantz: Please tell me your dream, Herr Hitler, and I promise I will be both frank and forthright.
Hitler: I dreamed I baked a perfect seven layer German chocolate cake using only the finest chocolate from Belgium, France, Holland, Italy, England, America and Russia. I brought it to a picnic to surprise Eva and when I bit into it, it tasted like rotting flesh. I vomited and from my putrid puke emerged seven giant ants which proceeded to consume my perfect cake. What does it mean?
Schwantz: It means that from now on you should leave the baking to Eva. Just kidding. I thought I’d toss in a little humor to brighten up the drabness of this bunker. Moving along, the seven layer cake symbolizes the Third Reich you meticulously built. The smell of rotting flesh represents the Nazi underbelly, its ruthlessness, the torture and the concentration camps. The picnic grounds are Europe. The seven giant ants are the armies put together by the Allies who have united to destroy your empire.
Von Rippentrousers: Treasonous talk. Let me take this traitor to the back and put a bullet through his head.
Hitler: No, General Von Rippentrousers, let him be. I admit it is indeed unpleasant to hear so grim a future being forecast, but it has the impartial ring of truth. The future is not written in stone. What do you suggest I do, Schwantz?
Schwantz: Try and stop these armies of the seven ants. I predict the Allies are now preparing an invading armada scheduled for June 6, 1944. They will be landing at Deauville St Vaast with secondary landings in Norway and Belgium.
Von Rippentrousers: What about Normandy?
Schwantz: Ahh, Normandy’s Omaha Beach is good for skinny dipping but has little strategic value for the Allies. The Allies will make a small landing there as a feint, a diversionary attack. Don’t be fooled.  If you want to defeat the Allies, focus on Deauville St Vaast, Norway and Belgium, not on the decoy they have spoon-fed your intelligence through calculated leaks.
Hitler: I like this guy. I see a future for you, Schwantz. Here, please take this ring from my hand. With it I hereby bestow upon you the title of…
Schwantz: Tzafnat Paneach?
Hitler: No.
Schwantz: Sorry, I’m great at augury, counting cards and dream interpretation. I suck at second guessing. You were saying, Herr Hitler.
Hitler: I hereby bestow upon you the title of Psychic General of the Third Reich.
Schwantz: I’m so honored, Herr Hitler. Not only will I cherish it, I will put it to good use by melting it down and casting it into two gold teeth to replace the ones your guards accidentally knocked out of my mouth with a shovel at Plötzensee Prison. If we’re done here, Herr Hitler, gentleman, I’ll just grab my hat and coat and take a little shpatzir in the park. I’m pale as a ghost after spending two years in a dark cell.
Hitler: Not so fast, Schwantz. You will stay here with me in the bunker. General Von Rippentrousers, please inform Field Marshall Goering to evacuate his room but to leave behind the Da Vinci’s drawings on his refrigerator. Then, be so kind as to show the Reich’s new Psychic General to his accommodations.
Schwantz:(addresses the audience directly) Needless to say, over the next few months I diverted most of Hitler’s troops away from the successful D-Day invasion at Normandy. He eagerly took my misdirection on dozens of other strategic decisions that accelerated the end of his regime of terror. When the Allies came into Berlin, Hitler committed suicide. The last words he ever spoke were to me asking, “Josef, will I be forgotten?” I answered, “No, Herr Hitler. The History Channel will celebrate you and your Reich for a thousand years.” After I explained to him the future invention of television and its moving images on glass, interrupted every few minutes by commercials selling tampons and diet pills, Hitler shook my hand and eagerly bit into a cyanide capsule.
I craved neither notoriety nor celebrity. I did not want to be tried as a war criminal nor paraded as a hero, so I left Germany on a Vatican Passport for Buenos Aires. There, I married a lovely local woman, Maria, who bore me two beautiful children, Menashe, which in Hebrew means ‘to forget’, and Ephraim, which means ‘to be fruitful’. Those are the mandates we survivors must live by – to forget and to be fruitful. Today, Menashe is an Orhtodox Jew and successful businessman. Ephraim prefers to be a goy and teaches dance. I call my kids ‘Tango & Cash’ and they give me equal amounts of nachas and aggravation. That is the only recipe for a full life. We have six grandchildren, so far. Menashe breeds like a rabbit trying to replenish the Jews lost in the Holocaust. Maria and I own a bakery-café-bookstore on the bustling, tree-lined Plaza Armenia. You must try Maria’s crescent shaped medialunas. I predictyou will fall in love with her doughier version of the French croissant and it will add two inches to your waistline before returning home. My real name is not Josef Schwantz. It is Yoiseph Schwartz. So, my friends, I must bid you hasta la vista, auf wieder sein and Shalom. Josef Mengele just walked in and is already complaining that Maria’s medialunas are a day old. What chutzpah! Now where did I put my Luger? Aha, I have a hunch it’s under the German rye.

Please visit my related Hitler piece:
Achtung! Doppelgängerbangers!
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/achtung-doppelgangerbangers/

Joseph
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_(son_of_Jacob)

Dream interpretation
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dream_interpretation
.
#god   #dreams   #hitler   #pharoah   #jew   #nazi   #argentina   #beryldov   #joseph   #wikipedia  
the Nazi regime, I still live with Dr. Mengele, with “The Angel of Death,” in front of
βέƦẙḽ Dṏṽ
βέƦẙḽ Dṏṽ
Oct 30, 2013      Oct 30, 2013

chapter eleven: brooklyn




Thankfully, we arrived in one piece.  We were thrilled to see the Statue of Liberty as we came into New York.
A delegation from the Jewish organization, Y.U.O., asked us if we had relatives in America.  Moses said he had an uncle named Sam Morosky. The organization found his telephone number and called him.  They let him know that his nephew had survived the Holocaust and was in America.  Moses’s uncle was very happy that somebody from the family had survived the Holocaust .  He rushed to the docks to meet us.
When he arrived, he hugged us and took us to his home with his nice, red car.  We went to Brooklyn, New York where he lived at 601 Midwood Street.
When we arrived at his apartment, we met our aunt and our cousins.  Moses’s uncle had one son, Joe, and two daughters, Esther and Jean.  Joe was going into the service and Esther was a teacher, she was married to a school principal.  The younger daughter, Jean, was working in an office.
They took away our loneliness.  We were happy to have family again.  After four weeks, we decided to look for our own apartment.  We found one at 570 Albany Avenue at the corner of Midwood Street near our uncle Sam’s apartment.  
It was a one-bedroom apartment.  Our uncle borrowed a truck to move us.  He bought a bedroom set for us and a small bed for Joshua.  Then he took us to buy some kitchen dishes and appliances.  Somebody gave me a crib for Mark.
We had brought a little bit of money from Germany, but it couldn’t last too long.  Moses looked for a job.  There was a Jewish Organization, HAYAS, which helped him with this.  It was difficult for Moses to get work because he had been a businessman in Europe and didn’t have a trade.  Besides that, he didn’t know very much English.
The first work they got him was a helper at a bakery, where he earned forty dollars a week.  It wasn’t much, but the people he worked for were so good to him.  They knew he had a family.  So every day, before he went home, they prepared a big bag for him.  In the brown bag was bread, cake, and cookies for the children.  It was a big help to the family.
Moses started to go to night school to learn English.  I took care of the two little boys, Joshua and Mark.  My aunt called Joshua “Charles.”  The name stuck, I was so mad!  Charles had finished the first grade in public school.  Mark was starting kindergarten.  I took Charles out of the public school and put him in a private school, a Yeshiva.  He did very well there.
I kept my promise to Sam and ran all over getting together the papers to bring him over from Germany.  In 1954, my brother arrived in the United States. I went to the ship with my two little boys to pick him up.  Again, it was a tearful reunion, we were so happy.
He lived for a while with me and my family, but it was not a good idea to live together.  He had changed a lot over the years.  He was not the same brother; he was sour and bitter.  Between the Russians and the Germans, they messed him up.  They destroyed his dignity and changed his personality.
I suggested that he get married.  When he came to America, he was handsome and still young.  He was 6 feet tall with beautiful dark, brown curly hair and blue eyes and it would have been easy for him to get married.
But when I mentioned marriage, he didn’t want to listen.  He always found fault with the women.  I gave so many telephone numbers for him to call, but he threw them all away.
But he didn’t want to listen to me.  He would say that it’s better to be by himself than to marry someone he didn’t like.  He got an apartment near us and lived alone.
After five years in America, I gave birth to another little baby boy.  I hoped a little girl, because I wanted to pass on my mother’s name.  I named him Bennet.
Since the family had become a little bigger, and we need-ed more money, Moses quit his job at the bakery.  He already knew more English and was ready to look for a business to start.  So we decided a grocery business would be ideal; everybody has to eat.
We had a friend, Izzy Lofer, who had been with us in Pocking.  He who became our partner.  The grocery store was located in the Crown Heights section of Brooklyn.  At 898 Nostrand Avenue.  It was a couple of blocks from Ebbets Field.  This was in 1958.
The grocery business was very hard.  We worked from six in the morning until ten at night, and there was barely enough money to make a living from.  After a while, Mr. Lofer decided that it was too little money for two families, and offered to sell his half of the business.  Moses and I put together a little money, and borrowed some more, and we took over the grocery store our-selves.
When Mr. Lofer left, I had to come in everyday to the store to help Moses.  It was very hard on me because I had enough work at home with two children in school and a six-month-old baby.  But we didn’t have a choice because there wasn’t enough money to hire a good man to help Moses; there was only a delivery boy to deliver the groceries.  We had to make a living and we did the best we could.
When the children would leave for school in the morning, I pushed the baby ten blocks to the store.  In the winter it was no pleasure.  Even in the snow, the wind, and the rain I pushed the carriage to the store.
When I had to leave the store for some reason, the deliv-ery boy took care of little Bennet.  He took Bennet in the carriage to a small park near the store, gave him a bottle, and diapered him.  The young boy was a big help to me because without family, without support, it’s very difficult to raise your family.
My children didn’t know what a grandmother or grandfa-ther was.  They had no aunts or cousins.  But my children were my future and my hope, my whole life, and I had to be strong.  When love is strong, it makes work easier.
Small grocery stores are like emergency stores; people don’t shop in them like they do in a supermarket.  They only run in for a bottle of milk or a stick of butter, only things they’d for-gotten or run out of.  It was a lot of work and only a little profit.
Some of the customers were impossible.  If they needed a loaf of bread, they would handle all the breads, and then tell you, “Here’s the bread.  Please cut it in half for me.”
Or they’d tell you they wanted some lox.  After half a lox was cut, they’d say, “Please give me a couple of slices from the middle.”
Some of the customers were awful and at first they made Moses and me crazy.  There were times when I thought I couldn’t take any more.  And there were times when Moses didn’t take any more and people went away insulted and stopped coming.
I was the one who had to go to them, apologize and beg them to come back.  I had a little more patience than Moses.  I told them that if they came back, I would take care of them and everything would be okay.  A customer is always right (especially when they are wrong), because when you have a small business, every customer counts.  I talked to them very nicely and they grew to like me very much.
One day a friendly customer came to the store and told me that her uncle had a stocking business and that he had just died, leaving a lot of stockings.  She asked if I wanted to buy some for my store at three dollars a dozen.  I said, “Yes, bring me a dozen stockings.  We’ll see how it goes.”
She brought me the stockings and they were all dark col-ors.  At that time the fashion was to wear very light-colored stockings, but I took the stockings anyway and put them on my feet.  I have a light complexion and when I modeled the stockings, they looked very nice on my feet.  I wore them in the store and everybody liked them.  I told everyone I’d sell them for very little.
Many of my customers put in orders.  Some of the cus-tomers wanted a dozen, half a dozen, three pair, so I called up the woman who I bought the stockings from, and asked her to bring me ten dozen stockings, in all sizes.  When she brought me the stockings, I sold them very quickly.  And then I bought another ten dozen stockings.  After a while, I sold all the stockings she had, about 60 dozen, and I made a little money from them.
The customers liked me very much; they told me to bring some light-colored stockings and they’d buy them from me.  They had to buy them anyway, so they’d buy them from me.  But I didn’t know where to go to get them.  A short time later when I went to have some shoes repaired, I noticed that the shoemaker sold stockings.  I asked him where he got them, and he told me the name of the store on Orchard Street, in New York City.
Orchard Street was full of wholesale stores for stockings, socks, and dresses.  I finally found the store that the shoemaker had mentioned and I bought all colors and sizes of stockings.  And I brought back to our store, and  they sold very well.  Moses was very happy because I had brought in some extra money to the grocery business, which was going badly.
One fall, when it was time to shop for winter clothes for the children, I went to Belmont Avenue, where there was a mar-ketplace.  It was like a flea market and everything was very cheap there.  I bought some clothes for the children and headed back home.
Along the way, I saw a line of people in front of a small store.  I went over to see what the fuss was about.  The vendor was selling slippers for a dollar a pair.  I stood to the side and watched the people buying the slippers and I thought that I might try to sell them in my store.
So I went to the storekeeper and asked him to make a deal; if I took a dozen slippers, would he sell them to me for 75 cents a pair?  I told him that I had a grocery store and that I’d like to sell his slippers in the store.  He agreed to the deal.  He said the slippers were from a fire auction.
At this time, I was not very confident.  I asked myself what I would do if I couldn’t sell the slippers.  I made sure that I took size nine, my size, so that if I didn’t sell the slippers I could at least wear them myself.
I bought the slippers and brought them to the store, cleaned them up, and put them in the window of the store.  When a customer came in, I looked at their feet.  If their feet were big, I asked them what size shoes they wore.  If they said size nine, I told them I had slippers for sale for $1.25.  Many people liked them because they were inexpensive and of good quality, and they started to ask for other sizes.
The next day I went to Belmont Avenue and bought a variety of sizes and colors, from five to ten, brought them to the store, cleaned them up, and put them in the window.  I sold them for $1.25 a pair, and on every pair I made a half a dollar.  I was very happy.  The slippers sold quickly and I was always going back for more.  But one day I found no more slippers.  The storekeeper had sold them all.
What could I do?  I did not know where to buy anymore slippers.  But luck was with me.  As I walked home, I passed a shoe store with all colors and sizes of slippers on display.  I was not bashful and I walked right into the store and asked the owner where I could get some slippers for wholesale.  I told him that I had a grocery store and my husband and I were having a hard time making a living and supporting our family.  I told him what had happened with the auctioneer, that I’d been buying from him, that he’d sold out and I didn’t know where to buy anymore slippers.
He asked my name and I told him.  When he invited me into his office, he offered me a seat.  We talked for a little while and he said he’d help me with anything he could.  He would send his salesman to my store the very next day and I could buy anything I wanted.
This man’s name was Max.  The next day Max’s salesman came to my store.  He said that Max had told him that I’d like to place an order.  He suggested that I take a variety of  slippers--women’s, men’s, and children’s of all sizes--and that it would be easy to sell them.  But before I gave him the order, I told him I’d like to talk first to his boss.  The salesman gave me his boss’ telephone number and I called him up.
The boss’ name was Shlamke and not only was he very nice, but was a survivor of the Holocaust too.  I told him that I only had a grocery store, not a shoe store, and that the business was not so good.  Plus, I had three children to support.  I told him about my try at selling slippers and that now his salesman was in my store telling me to take some men’s, women’s, and children’s slippers.  I told him that I was afraid to take so many slippers.  Afraid I might not sell them all.
He was very nice and encouraged me.  He told me that if I took all the slippers and didn’t sell them, he would take them back.  He suggested I even take some cheap sandals for the summer.  When I heard his reassurances, I became more confident.  He sounded like a very good person and invited me to stop by his business if I had a chance.
After the conversation with the owner, Shlamek, I gave the salesman a big order for all kinds of slippers and sandals.  Within two days, the slippers and sandals were delivered.  I paid part in cash.  The rest he gave me 30 days to pay.
I started to put the slippers and the sandals on the shelves, but I had to push the cans of food to one side to make room for them.  When customers came in, I asked if they needed some sandals or slippers.  I showed them what I had and let them try the merchandise on.   Everything sold very well.
Moses was very happy because money started to come in.  The first thing I did was put away the money for bills.  I paid the bill for the slippers before the 30 days was up so that I would have a good reputation in case I needed credit later.
A block from me was a shoe store where they sold expen-sive shoes.  Many of the women in the neighborhood couldn’t afford to buy the expensive sandals sold there, so they came to me.  I made a half dollar profit on everything; I didn’t want to become too rich all at once.  I wanted to go step-by-step.  The girls who bought from me, recommended me to their friends.  And other people started to come.  
The store became very busy, but it was still a grocery store, not a shoe store, and people were trying on sandals in the street.  Occasionally, there was even a line.  Business was very good and I started to buy more and more shoes, pushing the cans and food into a smaller space each time.  Eventually, I took over most of the shelves with shoes.
What a combination!  Shoes and groceries!  I began to worry about a violation from the Board of Health.
One day I made a little tour of Duane Street, looking around in the shoe stores.  I went from store to store to get a little experience and see which was least expensive.  At one place where I went, they had a batch of the same slippers that I sold.  He wanted half the price that I’d paid for mine because some of the slippers were a little dirty or had a small tear in the fabric.
  I bought a couple of cases from the man there (whose name also happened to be Max).  He was an older person and very charming.  He was very nice and offered me a ride with the cases back to my store in Brooklyn.  On the way, we had a chance for conversation.  He asked about me, and I told him about my life and he said that he would like to help me.  He told me that I should open a shoe store for myself, and that he’d help me with any advice I needed.  He made me brave.
Moses and I had been considering a new store, but Moses was afraid that it would be too much to pay two rents, one for the grocery and one for the shoe store.  But Max told me not to listen to my husband.  He said that after selling an extra couple of shoes, I would easily make my rent.
Just about that time, something happened.  Two doors from our grocery was a store where they had sold fresh chickens, and it had gone out of business.  The store was up for rent.  
The next time when I went to Duane Street, I stopped to see Max.  I bought some more slippers and told him about the store for rent.  He told me that I should not listen to anybody and that I should go ahead and rent the store.
The next day I called the landlord, who was also the landlord for our grocery store.  I told him that I’d like to rent his space and open a shoe store.  I asked him how much the rent was.  He told me $125.00 a month with a two-year lease.  I took the store.  I thought it was the best move--what I was doing.
I took the store, painted, and fixed it up.  I took all of the shoes, stockings, sandals--everything that I had that didn’t belong in the grocery, and I brought it over to my new store and made the place look nice.  
It was going well, but I needed someone to work in the store while I went out to buy merchandise.  A friend recommended a woman to help me out.  When the woman came over, I interviewed her and she was very sweet.  Her name was Dinah and she had a nice personality, warm and honest.  She became a big help to me and I liked her very much.
Business was very good.  The first day open, I doubled my sales.  I started to take in regular women’s shoes.  At the time they were wearing only pumps with small heels in conservative colors like brown, white, black, and beige.  Little by little, I developed the store into a regular shoe store.
I never knew what all those shoe sizes were--double E, triple E, B, and C.  What I knew were small, medium, and large.  Sizes like double E, triple E, B, and C, I’d never heard.  Many people who ran shoe stores learned from the previous generation, from their parents or grandparents, and then they took over the store.  I never knew anything about the shoe business, but I learned very quickly, because when you’ve got the will, there’s always a way to learn.
The thing that helped me the most was that my saleswoman, Dinah, was very good and was very nice to the customers.  And all the time she helped me make the store better and better.  I started to take the sweaters, and socks, anything to make a buck.  In the winter, I bought waterproof boots. (Thirty years ago the winter’s were full of snow.)  The store sold a lot of waterproof boots.
My store was going along very well, but Moses was alone in the grocery.  He had only the delivery boy to help him.  For him to run the store alone, it was too difficult because some of the customers were not honest.  They would shoplift and give him a lot of trouble.  And when Fall came, he was completely alone in the grocery; the delivery boy could only come in in the afternoon, after school, to help him.
One time a salesman came into the store and he had cheap housedresses from an auction.  I took some dresses from him and sold them.  But I got into a lot of trouble because next door there was a dress shop, with expensive dresses.  
The dress shop’s owner became very angry and jealous because my business was doing so well and I was making a nice living.  She went and told the landlord that I had taken in dresses and was competing with her.  She made a lot of trouble for me.  And so the landlord doubled my rent.  I said to myself, “It’s not the end of the road.  In fact, the road doesn’t end, so what can you do?”
Maybe the situation was for the best, because Moses and I had wanted to get rid of the grocery store and run a bigger store together anyway.  So I looked for another store to move into and, after a month, I found an empty space on the corner of Empire Boulevard and Nostrand Avenue that had been a restaurant.  
It was like two stores, with a small space where the kitchen had been in the back and a larger space next to it.  Some-body gave me the address of the landlord and I went to her and told her that I was interested in renting her store.  The landlord told me that she had a deposit from somebody else, but that they’d never moved in.  She wanted me to wait and get in touch with the man who’d given her the deposit.  If he didn’t want to move in, she would rent me the store.
A few days later, I called her again and she told me that I could have the store because the other party was no longer inter-ested.  I made an appointment with the landlady.  When we arrived at her house, she already had her lawyer, and we made a five-year lease for $200 a month.
I was still a little too green, and didn’t know that I should take a five-year option for $225 when she offered it to me.  I thought that five years was a long time and that I should wait and see what happened.  That’s when I made a mistake, because five years goes by very quickly; it runs away.
I moved into the store, fixed up the windows, put in lights, and made everything nice for Moses and me.  We sold all the groceries, and closed the grocery and the old shoe store, and opened up the new store at 347 Empire Boulevard.  It was two blocks away from where my shoe store had been, in the same neighborhood.  I took my saleswoman, Dinah, with me because she was such a good and honest and dedicated worker, and I loved her for this, and trusted her.
Moses and I worked side by side.  Mostly he took care of the paperwork and the money.  I took care of the buying and sell-ing.  He was never lazy.  He would work long hours to make a living for his family that he loved.  The customers’ respected him very much.
There was a lot of room in the new store, so I started to bring in dresses and blouses, sweaters--I made a small department store.  Later on, I even took in coats and raincoats.  I went to Seventh Avenue and bought a lot of dresses and suits and closeouts, odds and ends, and flawed dresses, which I fixed and cleaned.
After I was set up, I helped my brother Sam go into busi-ness with his own shoe store.  But his store was not in a good neighborhood.  He had good customers, but too many bums de-stroyed his place.  People were doing narcotics all around him.  When he was away from the store, thieves would take his mer-chandise.  He would come to work in the morning and think that he was going crazy, because things were missing and he didn’t know why.
He became frustrated and closed the shoe store.  I helped him and here was where I made a big mistake.  I should have told him to sell all of his shoes, if even for a nickel a pair, but I took his things and stored them in my basement so that we could sell them later in my store and he wouldn’t lose money.  But mensch trachten G--d lacht, men think and God laughs.  Because there was a flood in my basement and everything spoiled, and Sam became bitter and sour.
One evening, coming from my business, Moses and I stopped to see my brother. (I always carried keys to his house.)  When we came to the door, I rang the bell, but he wasn’t home.  So I took my key, opened the door, and we let ourselves in and waited for him.  When Sam arrived and I said "hello", he explod-ed, and told Moses and me that we should leave his house.
He didn’t tell me why, or what, only to leave.  And from that time on, for six years, he refused to speak to me.  Every time I saw him, he ran away from me.  I told him if I had hurt him in any way, I apologize. "We are not angels," I said, "we are only human beings.  But so long as we are alive, we can make up and live in peace and harmony."  But talking to Sam was like talking to a stone--he never answered.
But he is still my flesh and blood and I wanted to make up and I looked for anyway to do it.  My brother hurt me very much because he was the only one left from my precious family.  We are brother and sister--from the same parents, the same father and mother.  I always wanted to give him a helping hand, but he never let me; he never gave me a chance.  I prayed that things would change before it was too late.
During the time I ran my business, I started to go on vacations.  I would work the whole year, non-stop, and then take a vacation in August.
Moses never wanted to leave the business, but he didn’t use common sense and didn’t understand the need for rest.  Before he became sick with his heart he never went on vacation.  After he became sick, I made him go.  
“If you don’t go,” I’d say, “we’ll take you by the ears.  We have to have a little vacation.”
I started to go to the Catskills when I was young and when my children were young.  Everybody told Moses he should go too, because I was beautiful and maybe one day I wouldn’t come back.  But he wasn’t jealous and he said that a wife and a vexel, a note, always come back.
I told Moses that resting was a part of life, that we and the children needed to breathe fresh air.  I knew that we couldn’t afford expensive hotels, but I didn’t care as long as we all got to go, and as long as it was nice and clean.
Finally, he came and he enjoyed it very much.  He told the waiters that he couldn’t eat anything with salt, but even the food without the salt he enjoyed.  And I told him, “You see, you enjoy everything now.  Why did we wait until after you could no longer enjoy everything to its fullest?  Everything with the salt?”  He knew that I was right but it was too late.
From that time on, we went on vacations together and I was very glad that he enjoyed everything so much.  At night time they had shows and dancing.   I love dancing and I’m a good dancer.  I made Moses take dancing lessons before the childrens’ Bar Mitzvahs and he came to enjoy it also.  At the Bar Mitzvahs, we danced a tango and everybody was applauding, it was so beautiful, but afterwards he became sick, he couldn’t dance too much.  
One time on vacation in the hotel, I asked him to dance a little waltz with me and we danced a bit, but he fell down, was dizzy, and from then on we couldn’t dance together anymore.
But I love to dance and where there’s a will there’s a way.
So, I danced with women, or borrowed a friend’s husband.  I’m still dancing.  I love music and I love life.  I don’t care what kind of dancing: square dancing, line dancing, regular dancing.  So long as the music is playing and my body is shaking.  When I dance, I forget all my troubles and I’m in another world.  I relax my mind, it’s the best medicine, very good for you.  It keeps you in shape and makes you feel young.
I was so lively because the Nazis had stolen my youth from me.  I still love to write poetry, mostly about my life.  I like to sketch.  A lot of poetry I write is for the people I come in con-tact with.  It can be a doctor, an executive at a bank--anybody I like.  For each one, I write a poem and they love me for it.  This makes a special bond for me with these people and everybody is happy.
I bought all the merchandise for my business: shoes, dresses, and everything else that we needed for the store.  I came in contact with all kinds of manufacturers and most of the them were men.  I was an average woman, always clean-cut, and I liked to dress myself properly to make a good impression.  The men always paid me compliments, told me that I was an attractive woman, bright, with a good sense of humor and beautiful, bedroom eyes.
As I came to get to know some of them, we became friendly, joked around and talked to each other.  They would al-ways give me a break, cut the price of the dresses a little bit; recommend that I buy some closeout odds and ends, whatever.  And I listened to them and always made good money off their advice.
After a while, some of the men, not all of them, would ask me if I’d like to go out with them for a nice dinner.  The temptation was overwhelming for me, because Moses, G--d bless him, never had time to take me out to a nice dinner or show.  He was always too busy with the business.
Really if you want to make time, you make time.  You have to make time to take out your wife, take her out for a nice dinner and a nice show, that way, there is less temptation for her to go out with somebody else.  The temptation was strong, but my willpower was stronger.  I talked to myself and told myself that I know what I have but that I didn’t know what trouble I could get into.
I always refused the men, telling them, “I am a married woman and I can’t do things like this.  I can’t go out with you.”  I told them that if they wanted to take me out, that they should take me out for a nice business lunch.  Many of the wholesalers took out the buyers, men or women, for a nice business lunch.
I did the right thing by not going out with the men to the nice dinners and the Broadway shows.  That’s why I was married 43 years to the same man.  We had our 25th and our 40th wedding anniversaries.  I think I made the best choice, the best decision to stay with my husband and my children and enjoy my life to the fullest with my family and grandchildren.  Nobody can do to a person so much harm and hurt as a person can do himself.  “Watch for trouble, and think twice what you do.”
In business and in life, my philosophy was always to be nice to people, because it pays off.  If you give, you receive.  I always had a lot of patience with my customers.  I cared for them and always listened to what they had to say.  Sometimes, when they had problems, I would give them advice.  I made them feel good and never embarrassed them, so, they had confidence in me.  They became like friends.  Moses and Dinah were always in the store, but they preferred me because I always took special care of them.
Even when Moses didn’t know the prices of an item and he charged less for it than he should have, they still didn’t want to buy from him.  They’d say,
“I’ll come back and get it from Sara.”
If I said that the same item cost twice as much as Moses had asked, they would still pay me with pleasure.  They had so much confidence in me.
I worked very hard in the business.  We had to help our children get a good education.  My son, Joshua (Charles), graduated from City College and became a teacher.  He’s now been teaching for almost 20 years.
My middle son, Mark Bernard, finished Brooklyn College, and decided to try to go to medical school in Louvain, Belgium, even though he hadn’t taken pre-med.  He wanted to go with a friend and try for a year to see how he would do.  I told him not to go because it would be too hard to learn everything in French.  He didn’t want to listen to me, he said--
“If you don’t want to help me, I’ll run away and you’ll never see me again.” When I heard he really meant business, I told him, “If you want it so much, and it means so much to you, go ahead, go.  And good luck to you.  I’ll help you with anything I can financially, but you have to do the work.”
He went to Belgium, Louvain with his friend Tony.  He went only to try.  He wrote to me that the medical school didn’t want to register him for three months.  They wanted to wait and see what kind of student he was first.
But after three months, they registered him.  After he was there for a while, he wrote that it was very difficult to learn everything in French; and that he had to do experiments with dead bodies; and that many students couldn’t take this and flunked out.
They would become sick and couldn’t eat or sleep and they flunked out.  I wrote back to him and told him not to be a sissy.  “I didn’t tell you to go to school there, but now that you’re there, don’t be a sissy.  Don’t quit.  I pray to G--d that He should give you the strength to continue to become a good doctor!”
He listened to me and continued his education and graduated from Louvain Medical School.  He was there about seven years.  Now he is a good doctor, a pediatrician, a children’s specialist, and is very dedicated to the sick children he treats.  G--d bless him.
My youngest son, Bennet, graduated from Brookly Col-lege and received a Masters in Philosophy and a Masters in Theater and Art.
Thanks to the Almighty for helping me to educate my sons to become decent and good people for the society, for their parents, and for themselves.
One day my girlfriend Fanya introduced me to her neigh-bor.  His name was Louie Levine and he lived two blocks away from our house.  He was in his late seventies and his wife had recently passed away.  I went to visit him one day.  When I came, he was sitting by the piano and playing beautiful songs.  I admired him and applauded and said that I wished I could play the piano a little, that it would bring me joy.
I was really just joking, but he said that if I really wanted to, he could teach me, that I could learn.  It was up to me.  He didn’t want money for lessons.  I looked at the musical notes and got scared because I’d never played an instrument before.  I was almost sixty years old; I was not a young girl.
But the temptation was overwhelming and I tried to take lessons.  Everyday, after work, I would first stop to take my les-son.  My fingers were like wires, but I liked it.  Every lesson I took, I liked more and more, because it was like therapy for me.  I forgot about the store, about the troubles and aggravation.
He first started teaching me the right hand, then the left, and he gave me lessons to make my fingers more flexible.  After a while he told me that I played nicely and he was proud of me.  And he said that if I really wanted to continue, I should buy a piano.
Moses bought me a piano for my sixtieth birthday and I practiced everyday and loved it.  It is the best therapy; it makes me feel good.  I learned some nice songs and I play a lot.  My children are very proud of me.
I continued to stay in my business and it was good.  I worked very hard, and I made a living.  But after a while every-thing changed.  And upstairs, above my store, some very low class people moved in.
Some of them were drunks and took narcotics, and they made a lot of trouble.  They started to break into my store and break the windows.  They would watch for when the merchandise came into the store and then break in and steal it.  They broke in maybe 13 times.  It was terrible.
One winter, I bought a lot of merchandise to sell for Christmas.  The shipment came in late in the afternoon, and I  didn’t have time to take the things out the boxes, so I put them on the shelves.  It was late and I had to go home.  We closed the doors and the gate and we left.
The next day when I opened the store there was a night-mare.  They had taken away all of the boxes with the merchandise and destroyed the whole store.  Everything from the shelves was all over the floor and destroyed, in ruins.
I couldn’t take anymore.  I became a nervous wreck; when I was home, I couldn’t sleep.  All the troubles in the business followed me around and made me nuts.  I told Moses it was time to get out of the business, because I couldn’t take anymore.  I’d had enough.  I told my customers what had happened with the hoodlums and that I was going to sell the business.
The customers were such nice people, so good to me.  They were not really customers, they were like good friends.  They told me,
“We love you, Sara.  Don’t go out of business.  Be strong and the Almighty will give back everything to you that He’s taken away.”
They really gave me the strength to go on.
But my children told me to get out the business, that it was time to get out, time to retire.
I decided to take another chance and stay a little longer while I tried to sell the business, but the store was very difficult to sell.  I didn’t have a lease and I’d lost a lot of money.  There was a new landlord and the rent had nearly doubled.  My customers continued to give me support, but I was already tired and exhausted and I really wanted to get out of the business.  I told myself that there is a limit to everything and it’s better to get out a half hour early, than ten minutes too late.
I tried harder to sell the store but, without a lease and with such high rent, it was almost impossible to sell.  A few of my customers were interested in the store, but the rent scared them away.  The neighborhood was not so fancy, but the rent was very fancy and people didn’t want to pay it.
Eventually, I met a gentleman and told him that I had a good business that I needed to sell because I was retiring; I had dependable customers and somebody could make a nice living by the place.  He told me that he had a daughter who was looking for a place.  I gave him my address and telephone number and told him to send her over to speak to me.  
The next day the daughter called me and came to the store and we met.  Her name was Bobbie.  She was divorced with two children, and she needed something so that she could make a living.  She was very nice.  I said, "If you buy the business, you’ll make a very nice living.  I’ll stay with you for a couple of weeks and show you where to buy and teach you anything you need to know."
She had confidence in me and decided to buy the business.  She didn’t have too much money but she was getting some together, and her father was going to lend her the remainder of the money.  In the meantime, she came everyday and I took her and showed her where to buy everything and I showed her how to take care of customers.  She was very pleasant with the customers and that made me feel good about leaving the store with her.
When her father gave her the money (I didn’t ask too much for the store), I gave Bobbie the key and I retired.  After almost twenty years, that was the end of Sara’s Shoe Store and Ladies Apparel.
When I retired and sold my business, I took the money and I bought myself a nice car, a Cadillac.  I drove all over and I enjoyed it very much.  But nothing in life is the way you would like it to be.  Moses had two heart attacks and he couldn’t get out too much.  I love to travel, but for him, it was too hard.  Sometimes, I took him to see his grandchildren--we both loved them so dearly.  He said that the grandchildren kept him alive.
Before I sold the business, some of my friends told me that after so many years of working, selling the business would be a mistake, and that I would miss it and feel uncomfortable.  But it wasn’t true.  I told them where there is brains and common sense and wisdom, you always find a substitute to fill your days.
I became involved with charitable organizations, trying to help poor and orphaned children.  There were raffles and dona-tions and dinners.  I say that G--d gives two hands, and not so that we can grab everything for ourselves.  With one hand, we should help ourselves, and with the other hand, we should help others.  We should keep it open for people in need.
My philosophy is that when you light up somebody else’s life, you light up and warm your own life and you are blessed with health and a long life.  And when the time comes to go, you can’t take anything with you except the good deeds that you collect over the years.  Happiness and love bring peace of mind.
I joined an organization called Ideal Weight, founded by Ron Rothstein.  He is a delightful person, affectionate and warm, with a sense of humor.  He always has an open hand for people in need.  I went there because I like to keep my weight under control.  I went three times a week for aerobic exercise and it made me feel young and good.  Ron had a radio show on WEVD and often I was a guest of his show.
My three sons are married and I have gained three beauti-ful daughers-in-law, and I respect and love them.  People say that if you have sons-in-law or daughters-in-law, you should keep your mouth shut and your pocketbook open.  But it’s not true.  You always have to give to receive.  All of them, together, brought me five beautiful bundles of joy into the world.
Charles and Eileen had a son, Jarret Keith.  He’s hand-some and sweet.  Mark and Jackie had two little girls, and they are the sunshine of my life.  Bennet and Allison had a little boy, Jesse David, and a girl, Chelsea Meryl, now my shining stars.  I love my children, but my grandchildren, they are my joy and my life.  They are the dividends of my life and I should live to see a lot of joy from them.
The Almighty was good to me for giving me a chance in my life to see a second and third generation.  You should have hope and faith and  you will survive and have a sweet life.  It’s important to turn everything so that you are sweet and good and cheerful.  And as long as you breathe, it’s never too late.
My beloved husband, Moses, passed away on the sixth of September, 1990, at the age of 83.  The whole family misses him very much.  He should rest in peace.
Moses was a quiet man.  He had his own means of enjoy-ment.  He loved his wife, his children, and grandchildren very much; and he loved his synagogue.  For the last twenty years of his life, he was a member of the Glenwood Jewish Center.  Every member of the shul loved him for his knowledge and his wisdom--including Rabbi Drillman, whose lectures he would attend religiously every Sabbath afternoon.
In his eulogy Rabbi Drillman revealed that Moses had confided in him that he would have to take as many as four nitroglycerine pills under his tongue to stop the pain he had in his heart during his walk to the shul.
Moses loved to cook.  I taught him how to cook when he retired.  He made matzoballs, chicken soup, and kreplach (ravioli).  He baked challahs.  He kept the freezer well-stocked so that there should always be food handy if the children and grandchildren arrived unexpectedly.  His new interest in cooking and baking helped him pass his days after retirement.
Life runs away quickly.  When you’re retired you want to enjoy life, the golden years, but you become busy in a different, way, running from one doctor to the other.  You have so little time to enjoy those precious, remaining years.
A friend of ours, George, a businessman, always said, “I’m working very hard now, but when I save up enough money and retire, I’ll take my wife on trips all over the world.  Then, I’ll enjoy myself.”
That was not true, not to be.  George never even collected his first social security check.  He died suddenly of a heart attack at sixty-four.  People should not put off tomorrow what they can do today--because tomorrow is not in our hands.
Moses always said we must never be envious of others.  Envy can ruin life and make you unhappy.  We should love everybody, especially embittered people who you may believe are least deserving of love.  One of the greatest joys in life is sharing.  We must be sensitive to the need of others.
I miss my husband very much, may he rest in peace.  But you have to go on with life, and I continued to take vacations.
This past summer (‘91) I took a little vacation in Browns Hotel in the Catskills.  I enjoyed it very much with all the different activities provided for entertainment.  Of course, I like the dancing best, but I also enjoy swimming in the morning and afternoon.  The atmosphere at the hotel was very pleasant.  I am a very flexible and sociable person; very outgoing, that’s why I make a lot of friends.  My philosophy is to love all kinds of people, old and young.  It doesn’t cost a penny to be nice and when you give love to people, you always receive love back.  Most of the guests were warm and affectionate and lovable.
Before I go on vacations, I always make up my mind that nobody will spoil my time.  I try to be nice to people and people are nice to me.  But not everybody has the same attitude and per-sonality.  Some people are sour and bitter and look to fight, but these people are punished from the Almighty and we should overlook their anger.
This type of person needs the most love, but they don’t get it because everybody runs away from them.  I always go over to this type of person and hug them and say nice words and try to make them feel good.  And it makes me feel very good.
You are fortunate if you are blessed with a good personality.  That’s why you should help other people in need.
When Moses passed away I was very lonely by myself.  My three children were married and out the house.  My house was in Brooklyn, in the Canarsie section of Brooklyn.  Moses and I lived in the house for almost 30 years.  It was a two-family house.  A big house.  I loved it.  But when Moses passed away the house felt empty, lonely; cold without him.
To stay in the house by myself was no pleasure.  You have too much time to think, it’s not good for your mind.  One morning I woke up and said, “Sara, it’s time to take care of yourself.”  I had plenty of nice clothes to dress myself with, so I started to go out.
The first thing I did was go to the synagogue every Saturday.  And there I made good friends.  And then somebody told me it would be nice to go to the Senior Citizen’s Center.  So I went and they had music and dancing, the things I like.  It took away my loneliness, and, I even met a nice gentleman there.  His name was Victor.  I keep company with him.
In my house I had a tenant, but he moved out.  And the neighborhood, it began to change too.  Then I took a vacation, and when I came back--my house had been broken into.  I almost fainted.  This was the last straw.  My children told me to sell the house.
I purchased a house with my youngest son, Bennet, who had found a house in Woodmere, Long Island, the suburbs.  He suggested that we build-out a small section if the house for privacy but with access to the house to share. will in the house for me so that I could have privacy yet  where I could have my own privacy.  He said, “The most important thing is that you won’t be lonely.”
I had to think about it.  It was a hard decision.  I told him I would let him know.  I had lived in Brooklyn 47 years; it was my home.
And then my friends told me, "If you move away, Sara, what will you do with your friend?"
I told them, “When a man cares for a woman, and wants to see her, he’ll find a way.”
So I moved to Woodmere.  And Victor spends time with me.  I have a guest room.  He comes and visits and we are both very happy.  It was wonderful to be with Bennet and, of course my grandchildren, Chelsea and Jesse.
In Woodmere I joined the Sons of Israel synagogue.  I go every Saturday with Victor.  We enjoy our cantor and our rabbi very much.  Every Saturday afternoon there is a lecture on the Bible and Jewish law.  I also recite poetry at the synagogue.  And, I have made new and wonderful friends there.
Victor and I took long walks together.  We enjoy it.  And I pray to G--d, the Almighty, everyday for a long and healthy life for me, my family, and everybody’s family.  We all should live in peace, harmony and love--for we are all God’s children.
After my liberation, after I went through so much pain, hunger, panic, and anxiety--I was even afraid of my own shadow.  I had horrible nightmares.  I screamed in the middle of the night.  Night after night.  My husband shook me to wake me up, I was in such a sweat.  I was dreaming, hearing the voices from the Nazis, the camps, and the screams from my parents.  My dreams continued for twenty years.  For twenty years after the liberation I continued to have nightmares of the Nazis taking my children from me; away.
The Holocaust left me with a lonely soul.  I can never forgive the Nazis for what they did, for the horror they brought to my family.  After I went through so much hell with the Nazi regime, I still live with Dr. Mengele, with “The Angel of Death,” in front of my eyes.
Day after day when I put my key in the door, it’s when I miss my family so much.  I want to call out their names: “Mother, Father--are you home?”  But no mother, no father to answer me.  I’d love to talk to my brothers’ Jacob and Moshele, since I never saw them after the Nazis took them away.  The Nazis left me with a big hole in my heart which can never be healed.  I cry for them.  My precious family who the Germans’s slaughtered; something which no one should ever forget.  I have no pictures of my family, but the pictures are framed in my heart.
My last words, my last prayer is for those innocent fathers, mothers, and Jewish children.  They have no tombs; their cemetery is in the clouds; in heaven—or better yet, in our hearts.



Appendix  yizkor


Sara’s speech to various Jewish groups, delivered 1985.

Dearest Bialystok Sisters and Brothers:

We are the bare surviving branches
Of once vigorous and verdant trees.
We, the survivors, who have remained alive
Through the most awesome of miracles,
On us lies the vast responsibility
To assemble as a single light
And kindle a candle for the survivors
Who’ve departed to the Kingdom of G-d.

We have survived not by chance, but by choice.
Chosen to pass on to our dear children
This wretched tale of shameful horror,
Indelibly etched into our enfeebled hearts.

When the Germans, cursed be their name,
Marched into our blameless village,
A dark foreboding seized us all.
Thursday, Friday, and on the Sabbath
They made their savage selections.
These brutes tore from us our young men-folk
And extorted on us a tax:
So much coin and so much gold
Would the Judenraat extract,
Or else our hostage young
Would be killed!

Our fathers, our mothers, our children,
And through the linked chain of our blood,
They tore the rings raw from off our fingers.
They seized us from the guarding grasp
Of our families, who could not be redeemed
At any price.

These beasts pillaged us of our gold,
Raped us of our life,
Led us to the solitary edge of despair,
Gnawed mercilessly at our waning spirits,
Then annihilated our people in the uncountable
Millions

As long as we can lift our weary eyes,
As long as a thunderclap can pierce our ears,
We shall on this misfortune shed
Tears of fire to char our bloodless cheeks.

Over forty years have passed.
Millions of us were buried and silenced.
But not forgotten!
Years pass like the beads of cold sweat,
Drowning us every hour of the day
When we remember our loved ones
Who like the fallen trees were swallowed
In the stormy waves of the River Buk.

We cannot help but wonder
How different the world would have been
Had the unborn children of our loved ones
Lived, and laughed, and loved, today.

Yes, indeed the years pass quickly.
Kaddish is spoken for the fallen.
From the windblown ashes of desolation
There now stands on firm soil, the Land of Israel,
At once a sanctuary and a reminder
To the decimated Diaspora or Europe.

Dearest Bialystoker Sisters and Brothers:

We who have suffered the Nazi terror,
Who have wrung oceans of blood
From our shattered bones and spirits,
Don’t forgive the murderers.
No price can be paid for suffering.
None for the millions who were sacrificed.

Today, we sit silently in our torment,
With few to hear our bitter tale.
We are risen corpses
From the death camps of Germany and Poland,
From where there still creeps a murderous hand.

Today, we proclaim we are not alone.
We who have endured untold suffering
Stand strongly united as a single light,
We shall always remain,
Even in death,
The survivors!

-Sara Lew
translated from the original Yiddish by Beryl Dov Lew


Ashes: Auschwitz-Birkenau, September 9, 1944
Mother's cheeks were rouged with clay
painting youth on her deathly pallor --
'Beckelach vie raiteh pomoreintzen'.[1]
Chocking back her cough and dysenteric bowels with bated breath,
she stepped skittishly across the rain soaked yard --
'Fiselach vus betten zich tzu tanzin'.[2]

I ran like a shadow in front of her
trying to shield her emaciated body with mine,
trying to conceal her flesh, sinewy as barbed wire.
A scythe gloved in white pointed left to 'disinfection'.
She turned and waved to me, her helpless shadow,
and bravely threw kisses as she would at a railway station.
That was the last time I saw my mother.

The crematoria rained ash all afternoon.
I lifted my palms to the blackened sky
to catch what was left of her.
I cupped ash across my cheek,
recalling her tender touch;
I stuck it in my ears,
listening for her reassuring words ---
but there were none.
I asked God,
"What Providence lay in the fall of this sparrow?
What higher purpose has been served by the stilling of this heart?"
I fell to the ground and kissed the ash,
fragile as the dust of butterfly wings,
and heard her sweet voice.

She said, "Live."

Covering the ash with clay,
and chocking back the tears,
I lived
to become a mother, grand mother, great grandmother,
to become the sacred vessel of her memory --
which I now pass on to you.
- Beryl Dov Lew

"Live."





[1] 'Beckelach vie raiteh pomoreintzen'  -- Yiddish, for 'cheeks like red pomegranates'
[2] 'Fiselach vus betten zich tzu tanzin'  -- Yiddish for 'feet that beg to dance'
   - from a Yiddish folk song

This is my mother, Sara Lew's, memoir. I published it for her 85th birthday. Today is the 3rd anniversary of her passing.
In loving memory. We miss you mom!
Sara Lew, 1922-2010
       זכרונו לברכה
Zikhrono LiVrakha

Please read her entire memoir:

Sara: From Bialystok to Brooklyn, A Survivor's Memoir (Chapter 1-3/My Family-Bialystok)
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/sara-from-bialystok-to-brooklyn-a-survivors-memoir-chapter-1-3my-family-bialystok/

Sara: From Bialystok to Brooklyn, A Survivor's Memoir (Chapter 4-6/Nazi Occupation-Majdanek)
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/sara-from-bialystok-to-brooklyn-a-survivors-memoir-chapter-4-6nazi-occupation-majdanek/

Sara: From Bialystok to Brooklyn, A Survivor's Memoir (Chapter 7-8/Blizyn-Auschwitz)
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/sara-from-bialystok-to-brooklyn-a-survivors-memoir-chapter-7-8blizyn-auschwitz/

Sara: From Bialystok to Brooklyn, A Survivor's Memoir (Chapter 9-10/Liberation)
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/sara-from-bialystok-to-brooklyn-a-survivors-memoir-chapter-9-10liberation-1/

Sara: From Bialystok to Brooklyn, A Survivor's Memoir (Chapter 11-End/Brooklyn)
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/sara-from-bialystok-to-brooklyn-a-survivors-memoir-chapter-11-endbrooklyn/
 
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