IN MEMORIAM TOTEN TANZ Dedicated to those who died and those who survive ...

IN MEMORIAM TOTEN TANZ  

By Celine Leduc edited by Norman Simon  April 2017 

Annie and Anita were friends

German Jewish, the other Christian

They joked: We are Judeo-Christians

They shared a passion the arts.

One a dancer, the other a percussionist

Yes, they complemented each other.

Religion united them: they celebrated

Hanukah/Christmas - the light that guides

Passover/Easter - Freedom from slavery

Little did they know they would be slaves.

They would be hunted as killers and traitors.

Politics made them enemies

They disobeyed --- they were friends.

Politicians said:  The Jews killed Jesus

Politicians acted and KILLED Jews

Religious leaders: ministers and priests

Preached, "Hate Jews," they killed Jesus.

Rabbis believed they would be safe

They reminded everyone, "We are German.

Germans are good people. We are friends.

The madness will pass --- have faith."

A knock at the door, a broken door

Houses searched, people rounded up

A suitcase packed in a hurry.

In a truck, bringing them to a train.

People displaced sent to a CAMP.

Annie and Anita decided to leave.

Fake exit cards - forged documents

From Berlin to Amsterdam

To freedom we will drive and walk.

They wait till night to cross

Check the patrols, the border guards

Snow on the ground, it is cold!

The hearts of the guards are cold

Anita says, “Go, I will follow.”

Annie runs, crosses to safety.

Anita starts to cross

She is spotted by a border guard

One shot resonates Annie falls

Anita runs back They are caught

Thrown in a truck – destination DEATH

The music has died

The dance macabre starts

Anita dances a solo : Toten Tanz

The dance of death.

POEM BY ~ Manidoonaateshing-ikwe / Phylmarie Fëss, woman of Ojibwe Turtle Clan

get well card

a girl was battered

sometimes by her angry mother with the father’s belt,

but because mother said to,

most often her father swung that leather strip

or his hand,

while he said,

“look at me when i talk to you.

don’t look at me like that.”

or he’d ask,

“what are you crying for? i’ll give you something to cry for,”

“don’t you feel it? i’ll make you feel it,”

then he’d hit again.

again.

and the girl hugged herself and tried not to cry too much or too little

saying in her mind, “not your fault.

remember they used to love you.

try to forgive.

try.

it’s not

your

fault.”

a young woman was declared tramp and evicted

by her landlady

when she respectfully, privately

requested that the older woman tell the elder's father

to please keep his strange words,

and his hands

off.

so the young woman walked along the treed, nighttime road

with cases and purse in arms and wept silently

while strangers stared

thinking to herself, “not your fault.

they are sick.

try to forgive.

try.

it’s not

your

fault.”

an at-home-alone daughter was raped

by a drunken neighbour

who chastised her sin,

so she reclused to her room

and watched the door,

for months.

till one evening she whispered her shame,

and her mother recradled the girl in arms and wept with her,

saying, “not your fault.

his mind is sick.

try to forgive.

try.

it’s not

your

fault.”

a ‘with-child’ woman was pounded

by a stranger who threw his jacket over her head

on a downtown street,

beaten as he shrieked, “bitch! bitch!”

and later her sister held the woman in her arms and wept with her

saying, “not your fault.

his mind is sick.

try to forgive.

try.

it’s not

your

fault.”

how many more

we belted girls?

we tormented women?

we raped daughters?

we pounded mothers?

before we all walk together

and need no longer cry, “not our fault.

it's the violence-borne society,

the violence-porne society,

the violence-torn society,

that is sick.

it’s not

our

fault.”

no more,

Creator, please.

no more,

now.

we

walk

together

now.

~ manidoonaateshing-ikwe / phylmarie

If you wish to share, I give permission. If you wish to share without photo, I give permission, but to preserve layout, copy and paste the whole honour song poem from title to signature line end. Miigwech / Thank you, for passing on the message in defense of girls and women.