As the train stopped, we saw flames rising from a tall chimney into a black sky.
We stared at the flames in the darkness, and left behind our illusions.
Human being were being burned, children thrown into the flames.
The smell of burning flesh was in the air.
The child I was had been consumed by the flames.
They consumed my faith forever.
They turned my dreams to ashes.
Thick smoke had poisoned my soul.
It had been invaded—and devoured—by a black flame.
The desire to live had transformed into smoke,
And it disappeared over the horizon forever.
Were this fire to be extinguished one day, nothing would be left but the dead.
Anguish on their faces, and hate in their eyes for all eternity.
To this infernal hell for all eternity we were condemned.
Hate lit the fire that was the beginning of the end.

I could let myself go.
I would be shot.
But it would be over.
Since I had lost my faith in god
I did not know where I would go
But I know I would not be in heaven
Good lord I know.
I cursed his name,
When I cried out in pain.
And even when faced with death
I tell myself that my god was to blame.
I could just stop running.
And a bullet would end my march.
My run. My trek.  
My endless march.
This snowy march.
Frostbitten feet.
I knew they were blue.
But of pain I couldn’t speak.
I did not speak,
Because I could not feel.
I was numb to all that was real.
Or maybe it was just the cold.
A medical reason that i could not feel.
Or had my mind been made so numb,
So that I could continue on this fate I’ve won.
This fate of earned by following faith.
Faith in a god who alone is the very reason I am in this place.
The fact that I could no longer exist,
It fascinated me.
I could just stop running.
I would cease to be.
This thought enveloped me.
Shocked me.
Stuck to me like glue.
The idea of dying, itself, was nothing new.
It’s just never something,
I thought I would wish upon myself so soon.
I could just give up.
And end my pain.
But that would be so very vain.
Because, my father, he could not press on,
If he knew I would soon be gone.
And so for him,
I drag me feet,
Across this snow,
Through wind and sleet.
I’m almost completely numb,
But my father’s heart still beats.
He is the reason I stay alive.

As I lay in my bed
I feel you curled in the arch of my knees
Sighing softly
Waiting for me to awake
Once I make the slightest move you’re up and ready
Ready to start the day

I still hear the click clicking of paws on the kitchen tiles
Running to make sure you didn’t miss anything
I still feel the dewy kisses you used to leave on my face

I imagine and remember your fur intertwining my fingers,
The weight of you in my arms

It’s hard to get the others to sing without your whining to start the chain

I can’t look at the stone with your name on it without picturing you becoming the earth
I miss you to the coming of my voice
“Cookies” and “let’s go bye bye”
It’s not the same without you here
“Go get him, Elie” I hope you are watching down on me

Something terrible has taken god,
I can’t seem to find him anymore.
I lost my joy.
I’ve lost all hope.
And all my love is gone.
Where is his mercy,
Where are his arms,
Why should I sing to a god,
Who can’t keep his chosen people out of harm.
My eyes are cold.
My heart is stone.
This is how I’ve condemned myself to be.
My feet are numb.
My mother’s gone.
And smoke is all I see.
I used to sit up on a hill
And talk to god about the sky.
I’d tell him how my day went,
And thank him for my life.
But now I curse his very name
The sky is scowling with gray clouds of smoke.
How can a god to loves his child,
Do this to whom’s very existence he spoke.
His turned us into vessels,
We are just an empty carcass with a heart,
We have a brain, we our stomaches
But our souls chose to depart.
I looked up at my father,
Whom i’ve looked up to all my life,
I searched for a smile in his sorrow
But all I saw was tears in his eyes.
Surely there must be a god,
Though I see he’s not with me.
How can a got who loves his children,
Be content with what he sees?
And surely he must be content,
For if he disagreed
I know that he could send someone
Who could certainty set us free.
I guess this means he does not love
As much as I once thought.
Or maybe I was simply blind,
To if there is a god or not.

"From the depths
of the mirror,
a corpse gazed back at me.
The look in his eyes, as they stared
into mine, has never left me."

Closing the book I looked at the cover,
Night by Elie Wiesel. Averting my eyes
from the book to my teacher, she stares

at the class in profound silence, then she says,
"There's something very similar happening in America
today." I was shocked, I couldn't believe it took me until

middle school to hear about this. My ears perked up in morbid
curiosity as the other students nodded making me feel like a *******,
"Abortion." the teacher stated with lofty arrogance as I breathed a sigh of relief

encouraged by the banality of right wing indoctrination replacing revelation
of more senseless slaughter. I didn't watch Fox News, I didn't know I was
supposed to hate abortion and Dr. Tiller; that's where Elie Wiesel and

teacher come in. Elie Wiesel wrote a book that makes people want
to change the world, my teacher narrowed it down to the target
in her crosshairs. Tiller died a few years later, Wiesel died

several years after that. My old middle school teacher
is still alive using books of the dead to demonize the
living for demanding demonetizing democracy

until malleable minds are mangled
shifting their forming mentality
into one as narrow as hers.

"Night" by Elie Wiesel is a powerful novella about the Holocaust and one boys journey to survive the concentration camp.

Night

The light begins its descent
Time of darkness is near
Flames in the distance
Signal hopelessness and death

Faint sounds of sadness
Echo in the void of the mind
Stripped of possessions
Dignity torn away

Inhumanity reigns above logic
Illusion and despair set in
Normal life just a dream
Shattered youth, tattered innocence

Words and faith have no meaning
Human no more, only a number
Faceless object in a sea of sorrow
Fighting every day for sanity

Each night longer then the next
Sadness, hopelessness, death surrounds
Where is God?  Why is this happening?
Will anyone ever wake from this nightmare

Until last breath and
The heart beats no more
No one can escape that first night

Make m e  beli ev e
I'm b e a u t i f u l beca use I b elie ve I' m n o t
Regretting you g et in side my h e a d wit h eve rythi ng you e v er sa id
Regretting the th ings I di d to cha nge m yself
Ove rt hin kin g; A nd
Reme m ber ing eve ryt hing I we nt th rou gh

Se devo essere completamente onesto .avrei davvero mai sentito parlare di Gotland fino ad ora.Ma venire a scoprire .è un vero gioiello al largo della costa della Svezia (grazie Google) e l'impostazione di questa pastello storditore da Sara Norrehed .Pensate capannone industriale incontra rive Beachy incontra perfetta storia d'amore con una splendida sposa e lo sposo rubare lo spettacolo .Si rompe lo stampo matrimonio nel migliore dei modi .e stiamo amando ogni secondo nella galleria qui .

Condividi questa splendida galleria ColorsSeasonsSummerSettingsWarehouseStylesCasual

Da Sposa .Quando ** incontrato la prima volta mi sono innamorato .e sorriso .perché si sapeva .Beh questo è Shakespeare .ma lui deve aver letto la mia mente !E quando la persona più bella che abbia abiti da sposa 2014 mai incontrato proposto a me su una mattina di Natale io ero la ragazza più felice del mondo !Lo sono ancora .

Prima ** incontrato Gabriele non ero mai stato a Gotland .che è la più grande isola della Svezia situata al largo della costa orientale .Egli è nato sull'isola e la prima volta che ci siamo andati insieme mi sono innamorato di questo posto magico .Così.quando era il momento di trovare il posto perfetto per il nostro matrimonio abbiamo capito che doveva essere qui .Eravamo in una ricerca di last minute per un luogo e un giorno ventoso in aprile abbiamo trovato la posizione più incredibile in un vecchio tiglio pozzo .I colori.la luce .la natura .Tutto era pura magia .Come un sogno .

L'ambiente e gli edifici di questa ri- modellato .vecchia industria chiamato Fabriken Furillen sono molto spoglio e crudo con un sacco di cemento e metallo arrugginito .Questo si è rivelato essere il perfetto contrasto con il tema romantico che avevo in mente per il matrimonio .Essendo una persona furba fai da te volevo tutti i dettagli per essere personali e fatti in casa .Molte ore e fino a tarda notte sono stati spesi per piegare rose di carta .trasformando cucchiai d'epoca in segnaposti e fare zigoli juta .Il risultato era più di quanto potessi mai potuto desiderare !Mi piace che ogni impostazione tavolo era diverso.con le vecchie sciarpe di pizzo utilizzati come runner e candelabri Usato mia



mamma aveva raccolto per me dal giorno in cui la data delle nozze è stata impostata .
La sera prima del grande giorno avevamo un barbeque e tutti i nostri amici e parenti eravamo lì a mescolarsi .vino e cenare e festeggiare.Un ottimo modo per iniziare il week-end !Sul grande giorno il tempo era fortunatamente a nostro favore .La cerimonia è stata aperta su un piccolo portico con l'oceano successivo .La cena era deliziosa con abiti da sposa 2014 prodotti locali .i nostri amici e parenti fatto alcuni discorsi indimenticabili e tutti abbiamo ballato tutta la notte.Vorrei che potessimo farlo di nuovo !Avevamo un fotografo straordinario che è riuscito a catturare tutti i momenti preziosi e mi piace come le foto si è rivelato .assolutamente bellissimo e molto artistico .L' intero matrimonio era caldo .amorevole e divertente .E la cosa migliore di tutto questo ?Sono ora sposata con l'amore della mia vita

Fotografia : Sara Norrehed Fotografia | design floreale : ! Vaxthuset Lindsay | Scarpe : Jimmy Choo | Gioielli : Tiffany \u0026 Co. | Gioielli abiti da sposa on line : Jarl Sandin | capelli: Nyans | Illuminazione: Bordodesign \u0026 Technology | Abbigliamento dello sposo : NK Stockholm | fascia per capelli : Etsy | Luogo : Fabriken Furillen | abito da sposa ( " Aglaya " ) : Elie
http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=806
http://188.138.88.219/imagesld/td//t35/productthumb/1/4256135353535_396367.jpg
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-2014-c-13

The next day in the Washington Post
This editorial from a rabbi:

Elie Wiesel wouldn't shed a tear
But would God?

I cannot forget...
אני לא יכול לשכוח

©  STEPHAN PICKERING / חפץ ח"ם בן אברהם
12 Shevet 5778 / 28 January 2018
revised:
3 Iyyar 5758 / 28 April 2018
19 Iyyar 5778 / 4 May 2018
20 Iyyar 5778 / 5 May 2018
21 Iyyar 5778 / 6 May 2018

Shabtai Zisel / 'Bob Dylan' (1964):
'Forget the dead you've left, they
will not follow you'

W.G. Sebald z"l (1966):
'And so, they are ever returning to us,
the dead'

I.

the Path / derekh is silent,
a vacuum,
resonating with the
footsteps of tzaddikim, whose
teachings transcend(ed)
the Kingdom of Night...

where there was no longer
kefitzat ha'derekh
shrinking of the road
jumping the Path
teleportation.

...un die vvelt hot geshivign,
taught Reb Elie Wiesel z"l...
& the world remained silent.

not existing for themselves,
the tzaddikim speak with the
Shekhinah from their throats,
and the mar'ot johanna
visions of johanna
are witnessed by breslover
chavurot on desolation row,
murmurations of starlings
overhead.

listening to them, we survive
to walk / dorekh
the Path, with kabbalists z"l,
R. Chiyya & R. Yose,
the chevraya kadisha
the holy companions,
a derekh through the sea,

away from the energy vampyrism
& relentless phantasmagoric
cyberstalking of
the phantasmagoric Queene,
who engages in quacker
cross-contamination,
while prising her mindfully
plagiarising lips (a mirror image
of a death's-head hawk moth)
for a crucifictionist wafer:

a tax-deductible, copyright charity
deduction for ontological delusions
long after midnight,
clutching her cossetted Yehu'di
hatreds like
a perforated osculatorium,
because, שמח בחלקו.

    ****

Reb Uri Tzvi Greenberg z"l, 1923 [trans.
Michael Weingrad]:
'For so long there has been no water
in the wells. Only curses. ...& suddenly
the icons scream in Yiddish'.

II.

Light is the absence of Darkness,
to acknowledge Rav Rebecca
Newberger Goldstein.
& the holy slow train moves
(when it does)
sideways across flat earths.

consider the post-Auschwitz dilemma for
an opus dei natz'ri  who cannot grasp
the etymology:

prae / before + posterus / coming after
praeposterus / reversed, absurd.

did Shabtai Zisel / 'Bob Dylan' influence the
teachings of R. Yitzhak Luria z"l ?

III.

memories are stalking & ambuscading,
& as you said, Reb David Meltzer z"l,
'the Yehu'di in me is the ghost of me'...

& now the hourglass is invisible...

the windows of perception
to be peered into,
not out of,
as hairline fractures
develop in the retinas of narrow-ruled
yellow writing tablets masquerading
as frenetic mirrors,

never glimpsing tzefiyat ha'yeshu'ah,
the expectation of salvation.

& we are here,  
witnessing cyberian corpses
erecting three-way mirrors to their
obbligato and  mindfulness for girl
children...the mantras of a white
supremacist ****** ****** trained to
effect genocide  at a distance, his
audible hungering  for the  rapture  
of an endloesung in his drive-by
dark carnival, having no
farraginous self to say farewell to.

Lilith, the Midrash teaches, ate the
'bones' of Her enemies, but the
****** uses prayer beads as
majong ***** fired from his cap gun.

IV.

'she' stands on the bamboo porch,
thinking the lotus leaves floating by
are a reflexion of 'her' crumbling
totenkopfverbaende phantasies.

long after midnight, she shrieks to
a cyberian Mytilene, her mind so narrow,
thoughts are forced to crawl through her
fossilised ***** majora, which she identifies

as a personal luchot ha'edot, the glass
**** molded by her proboscis tongue,
as it fabricates yet another delusion
of a 1967 that never happened.

'she' turns, stepping onto an
embroidered nationalsozialist
matt,  'her'eyes a frail ambassador
of demure malice.

it is a moment such as this, when 'her'
desire of wanting to have been an
Auschwitz  Aufseherin, cannot be  
masqued  as a playful Latrodectus mactans.

ephemeral fabrications cling to 'her' --
an unbroken dance of impetuous
mirrors, as 'she' remains on the
porch, clutching 'her' 'we' aliases,

thinking, somehow, they are 'her'
aharon ha'bris...



V.

interlude / הַפסָקָה

Kafka z"l:
'I am divided from all things
by a hollow space'

Shabtai Zisel / 'Bob Dylan':
'I felt that place within, that
hollow place, where martyrs
weep, & angels play with sin'

Rav Yitzhak Luria z"l:
after tzimtzum,
the withdrawal of
'ehyeh 'asher 'ehyeh,
there came to be
halal ha'panui,
'the hollow space'

R. Shabbatai Sheftel ben
Akiva Horowitz z"l, 1719.
Shefa tal [Frankfurt edition]
3.5, 57b [Hebrew]:
'Before the world's bere'****,
'ayin sof withdrew into its essence,
from itself to itself within itself.
It left halal ha'panui within its
essence, in which it emanated
and created' [emended from Reb
Daniel Matt 1995]

VI.

sh'ma...'mir veln zey iberlebn, iberlebn, iberlebn'
(Lublin Chassidim z"l, 1939)...
hear: 'we shall outlive them, outlive them,
outlive them'...

why did R. Moshe Sofer z"l teach
'Chadush aser min ha'toray' / 'What
is new is forbidden in the Torah'?

the trolls here & what they call 'poetry':
collections of letters on a flickering
moon-glow  computer screen behind
a suburban curtain,
letters having no glyphs or sounds,
all encased in Sho'ah denial...

and yet. white supremacist sock monkeys
cannot silence the memories of the
thousands of Yehu'dit children z"l
burned alive on pyres, June-August 1944,
in the holy natz'ri village of Auschwitz,
in october country.

לעולם לא עוד לעולם לא עוד

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
...with thanks to my akhim / brothers & poets,
D.J. Carlile & George Dance & Will Dockery
for reading previous drafts...
...and to the memories z"l of David Meltzer 17 February 1937-31 December 2016
& Anthony Scaduto 7 March 1932-12 December 2017...chaver'im / friends
& for the 'or from R. Paul Laderman z"l &
R. Meyer Goldberg z"l

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
STEPHAN PICKERING / חפץ ח"ם בן אברהם
Torah אלילה Yehu'di Apikores / Philologia Kabbalistica Speculativa Researcher
לחיות זמן רב ולשגשג...לעולם לא עוד
THE KABBALAH FRACTALS PROJECT
לעולם לא אשכח



IN PROGRESS: Shabtai Zisel benAvraham v'Rachel Riva:
davening in the musematic dark

Emma Stone must have known she was a dead cert to take home the award for best actress — her gold Givenchy gown was calling out for accessorising with the gold statuette. Stone led the charge for shimmering metallic gowns at a ceremony that was underwhelming from a fashion perspective, bar a handful of stand-out stars.

Those included Nicole Kidman, Jessica Biel, Halle Berry, Charlize Theron and fashion’s latest It girl Janelle Monae, who translated fashion chops from her musical background into acting with spectacular results, courtesy of designer Elie Saab.

Fashion pushes a more casual agenda and elements of this are filtering onto the red carpet. Hair was more undone: loose waves for Kirsten Dunst, a half-up style from Felicity Jones and Alicia Vikander’s messy topknot. Berry’s wild curls deserved their own statuette.

A mini-trend emerged with actresses wearing jewelled headpieces, including Ruth Negga, Salma Hayek and Monae.

While things did get political in speeches at the event, embracing diversity in the arts, stars didn’t give in to the current feminist mood. There was a distinct lack of pantsuits, which had been increasingly common at recent awards. Meryl Streep almost went there, in a “drouser” ensemble of dress over trousers, but that was as close as it got.

The lone political nod was an abundance of blue ribbons, supporting the American Civil Liberties Union’s action against the Trump administration’s immigration policies. Best supporting actress nominee Ruth Negga pinned one to her red Valentino gown, Karlie Kloss to her white Stella McCartney, while Moonlightdirector Barry Jenkins and best original song nominee Lin-Manuel Miranda added them to their tux jackets.

“I think art is inherently political,” said Miranda.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

Veteran fashion show casting director James Scully has taken to Instagram to call out the fashion industry, specifically the Parisian contingent, for its treatment of models.

Taking on the role of whistle-blower, Scully named and shamed slew of brands contributing to the mistreatment of models during the casting process.

“So true to my promise at #bofvoices that I would be a voice for any models, agents or all who see things wrong with this business I'm disappointed to come to Paris and hear that the usual suspects are up to the same tricks,” Scully wrote on the social media app, before going into a story of the poor treatment of models waiting to be cast in the upcoming Balenciaga show in Paris.

“I was very disturbed to hear from a number of girls this morning that yesterday at the Balenciaga casting Madia & Ramy (serial abusers) held a casting in which they made over 150 girls wait in a stairwell told them they would have to stay over three hours to be seen and not to leave. In their usual fashion they shut the door went to lunch and turned off the lights, to the stairs leaving every girl with only the lights of their phones to see,” Scully revealed.

The casting director, who has worked with the likes of Stella McCartney, Derek Lam, Nina Ricci, Jason Wu, Carolina Herrera and for Gucci during the Tom Ford era, is a well-established and respected member of the fashion community and a long-time advocate for diversity in the modelling community.

“Not only was this sadistic and cruel it was dangerous and left more than a few of the girls I spoke with traumatised. Most of the girls have asked to have their options for Balenciaga cancelled as well as Hermes and Elie Saab who they also cast for because they refuse to be treated like animals,” Scully continued, adding that, “Balenciaga [is] part of Kering it is a public company and these houses need to know what the people they hire are doing on their behalf before a well-deserved lawsuit comes their way.”

Scully then went to touch upon the diversity and age issues the industry is also facing, noting that houses were turning away women of colour and attempting to use underage models.

“On top of that I have heard from several agents, some of whom are black, that they have received mandate from Lanvin that they do not want to be presented with women of colour. And another big house is trying to sneak 15 year-olds into Paris! It's inconceivable to me that people have no regard for human decency or the lives and feelings of these girls, especially when too, too many of these models are under the age of 18 and clearly not equipped to be here but god forbid well sacrifice anything or anyone for an exclusive right?”

Scully’s post has racked up over seven thousand likes and comments from models who found themselves entangled in the Balenciaga stairwell.

“I was one of this 150 girls waiting in this stairwell, Hopefully, I'm 27 now, and it's not my real job, but if I would have been younger and more into this, I would have been so destroyed by this kind of people or treatment. Personally, I decided to leave the casting, just before it was my turn. Just after I saw the casting director screaming at us to go out — outside, in the dark — and told us that we are like groupies in a concert, and how incredible and unbearable it was,” commented Instagram user Judith Schiltz, who purported to be in the stairwell.

Models Joan Smalls, Doutzen Kroes and Candice Swanepoel have also commented on the post.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses

"The opposite of love is not hate, it is indifference"
- Elie Wiesel

Sometimes people cannot help
The hate that is in their heart
They have carried it with them
For as long as they can remember
But know that alongside it
Exists boundless love
For these two insanities
Are equal in strength
Believe in yourself
And who you are
The energy inside is what lights the fire
And the fire burns strong
To be overtaken by hate
Does not mean you lack love
It means there is a void
That needs to be filled
Fight indifference
Care about the things you love
Care about the things you hate
Give yourself fully

According to Elie Wiesel

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

      “Anglo-Saxon Students Would Not Like to Be Taught by a Jew”

                                                      cited in
                   -Stanley Kunitz Lyrics, Songs, and Albums | Genius

To the Privileged Youth of Columbia University:

As a child of situational poverty
I am so grateful for all my Jewish teachers

Including

Moses
Joshua
Jeremiah
Samuel
David
Solomon
J­esus, Mary, and Joseph
Saint Peter and the others in The Twelve
Saint Paul
Elie Weisel

Chaim Potok
Herman Wouk
Leon Uris
Franz Kafka
Leonard Cohen
Anne Frank
Bernard Malamud
Isaac Bashevis Singer
Philip Roth
Osip Mandelstam

Saul Bellow
Isaac Asimov
Woody Allen
Mel Brooks
Edna Ferber
Yip Harburg
George Cukor
Mel Brooks
Oscar Hammerstein
Alan Lerner

Carl Reiner
Rod Serling
Franz Werfel
Alan Arkin
Claire Bloom
Leonard Nimoy
Chaim Topol
Ed Asner
Mel Brooks
Peter Falk
Werner Klemperer

Jack Klugman
Walter Matthau
Tony Randall
Mel Torme
John Banner
Kirk Douglas
Lorne Greene
Eli Wallach
Sam Wanamaker
Morey Amsterdam

Leo Genn
Otto Preminger
Jack Benny
Leslie Howard
Ernst Lubitsch
Cecil B. DeMille
Mortimer Adler
Allen Bloom
Harold Bloom
Irving Berlin

Boris Pasternak
Emil Ludwig
Eric Wolfgang Korngold
Elmer Bernstein
Max Steiner
George Gershwin
Dimitri Tiomkin
Samuel Fuller
Alexander Korda
Zoltan Korda

Emeric Pressburger
Erich von Stroheim
Billy Wilder
William Wyler
Fred Zinnemann
J. J. Abrams
Peter Bogdanovich
Michael Curtiz
Stanley Donen
Stanley Kramer

Howard Caine
Leon Askin
Robert Clary
Dinah Shore
Stephen Sondheim
Volodymyr Zelinsky
Simon Schama
Louise Gluck
Siegfried Sassoon
Isaac Rosenberg

Joseph Brodsky
Rob Morrow
Vasily Grossman
Stanley Kubrick
Viktor Frankl

And more, so many more, a cloud of witnesses
Whose names are written in gold on a scroll in Heaven

But somehow, in this world of beauty and truth
And humanity’s aspirations to the good
All you have found are bullhorns, trash fires, chants
Clinched fists, obscenities, lies, and shrieking hate

Said Elie Wiesel.

The nevers at the end of King Lear
And Elie Wiesel's harrowing Night
                          Fright.