When I had already fallen asleep, the dream appeared
I dreamt of the eyes of Shiri and her sons
Wide open in terror, asking without a voice
Little gingers, a big red dream
In the darkness, they cling to their mother
Searching for protection, but there is no comfort there
And the dream repeats, like a broken recording
Those faces, those pleas, without words
Those eyes, remind me of my mother
Eighty years ago
When they parted
Two babies, the same look of helplessness
A mother who sees death, in the eyes
The wrinkles around her eyes, as if they were telling
The story of the terrified gingers
The story of Shiri, and her little boys.
The father, Yarden
Appears to me in a dream, and my eyes are tearing for him
Like a river that washes away the night and all its troubles
I try to escape, but the dream chases me
A pain that does not calm, a shadow that does not leave
The gingers are real
Not dreams, visions, night terrors
The gingers are real
Tiny flames
Burning
Mindboggling
When will the dream end? I don’t know.
But I will never forget your silent cry.
Written for Ganzach Kiddush Hashem, with eyes filled with tears, by Rachel K. a daughter of Holocaust survivors
