We all leave our footprints on the golden sand
As we take our final breath from this land
Some leave their step close to the water
Some have wept over the death of their son or daughter
So the ones closest to the shore
Will be washed away by a wave
They'll drown and die without asking for more
And give up their final chance to be saved
But some people leave their final footprints further away
Just for a little while longer, they can admire the day
Then they'll see the rest of society drowning in their aquatic fame
Then ask themselves if they should've done the same
But you must leave your mark on this world
Or else you'll be washed away
And you have to live for yourself
Or this world will make you pay
Would you rather leave your mark, or pleasantly drown?
Would you rather leave this world by yourself, or your whole town?
Do you also want to wear society's sea-blue gown?
So when you swim, society will drag you down,
But it is up to you to make sure you don't drown.

We are but cadavers of memory,
                   cleansing the shore line


of word..

But sometimes we find
                that this shell will inexplicitly wash up again


more polished than before.

Ninety-Three Daughters of Israel
a Holocaust poem by Chaya Feldman
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

We washed our bodies
and cleansed ourselves;
we purified our souls
and became clean.

Death does not terrify us;
we are ready to confront him.

While alive we served God
and now we can best serve our people
by refusing to be taken prisoner.

We have made a covenant of the heart,
all ninety-three of us;
together we lived and learned,
and now together we choose to depart.

The hour is upon us
as I write these words;
there is barely enough time to transcribe this prayer ...

Brethren, wherever you may be,
honor the Torah we lived by
and the Psalms we loved.

Read them for us, as well as for yourselves,
and someday when the Beast
has devoured his last prey,
we hope someone will say Kaddish for us:
we ninety-three daughters of Israel.

Amen

In 1943 Meir Shenkolevsky, the secretary of the world Bais Yaakov movement and a member of the Central Committee of Agudas Israel in New York, received a letter from Chaya Feldman: "I don't know when you will get this letter and if you still will remember me. When this letter arrives, I will no longer be alive. In a few hours, everything will be past. We are here in four rooms, 93 girls ages 14 to 22, all of us Bais Yaakov teachers. On July 27, Gestapo agents came, took us out of our apartment and threw us into a dark room. We only have water to drink. The younger girls are very frightened, but I comfort them that in a short while, we will be together with our mother Sara [Sara Shnirer, the founder of the Bais Yaakov Seminary]. Yesterday they took us out, washed us and took all our clothes. They left us only shirts and said that today, German soldiers will come to visit us. We all swore to ourselves that we will die together. The Germans don't know that the bath they gave us was the immersion before our deaths: we all prepared poison. When the soldiers come, we will drink the poison. We are all saying Viduy throughout the day. We are not afraid of anything. We only have one request from you: Say Kaddish for 93 bnos Yisroel! Soon we will be with our mother Sara. Signed, Chaya Feldman from Cracow." Keywords/Tags: Holocaust, poem, Chaya Feldman, daughters, Israel, washed, cleansed, pure, purified, immaculate, 93, ninety-three, death, God, prayer, heart, covenant, Torah, Psalms, Kaddish

Virginal linen
Clean sheets that are washed of sin
Unsoiled by past loves

Collect me like raindrops,
     For I will always fall to you.

Never shall I dampen your resolve,
    But invigorate you.
Never to see a shower,
      But a moment that never falters

Instead of just a thousand words
                With no voice.
Only A moment
where you are cleansed
                    with a thosand waves
Washing you clean of sorrow.