"The MOT"

(Composed in reflection
on November 16, 2009).

I went to the Museum of Tolerance the other day.
Car inspections, baggage searching, metal detectors,
Like entering a neutral zone in hostile territory.
After waiting for our guide, we were led down
The spiral ramp, descending into the pit.

Entering the exhibit, we followed the dim light,
Viewing pictures, observing the flickering footage.
Slowly we made our way past a café scene,
The rugged ruins of a dilapidated ghetto,
Through the barbed wire gates of Auschwitz.

Images of dying babes flashed across the screen,
Stories of the worst types of cruelty imaginable.
On the cold concrete we sat, silently sobbing
Beneath the wailing melody of a Hebrew lamentation,
The innocents slain for their star.

Sliding my card into the machine,
My eyes riveted on the printer.
‘Please let her live,’ I pray.
The paper glides into my hand:
Freda Gabe was never seen again.

Eyes glistening, our feet shuffle into the elevator.
Slowly we rise, flight upon flight.
A little man with a thick Greek accent,
Body scarred and arm tattooed,
Addresses the eager gathering.

He shares his story, the horrors endured,
The loss of his entire family before his very eyes,
But his fighting spirit shines through in his grin,
Although struck down, he survived.
Though tortured, Albert lived.