Auschwitz: The Memory of People We Never Knew

Tomorrow is the sixtieth anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. 

The brief testimony of Yitzhak Cohen, born in Greece, deported to Auschwitz with his family in April 1943, at the age of 21, is worth reading today or tomorrow (Yad Vashem Archive, 03.2484 p. 5).

And earlier this week, this poem was posted at LGF by littleoldlady:

Grandfather Eliezer was an important man.
Not nearly as wealthy as
Great-grandfather Aaron.
Reggie, my grandmother,
was neither important nor wealthy,
but she was "an angel,"
feeding half the town
even though she could ill afford it.

Importance, wealth, kindness.
None of it mattered. They all perished
in Auschwitz.

My aunt Sarah and her two children,
Eva aged 5, and Moshe aged 3, the sweet babies
also died in Auschwitz.

Mothers and children.
No matter.
All consumed in the fires
of Auschwitz.

Where are they? I have pictures to prove they existed.
Yet some would deny that it happened.

The rich and the poor.
The young and the old.
It didn’t matter.
The Jews were sent to die
in Auschwitz.

One hundred miles away.
Another Aunt Sarah, a great beauty.
Another three children, geniuses all.
And my Uncle Daniel, as handsome as a movie star
in his army uniform.
I know, I have pictures.

The pretty and the plain.
The smart and the simple.
Does it matter?
They were all murdered
In Auschwitz.

Where are they? The aunts and the cousins.
Friends of the family. Uncles and
grandmothers who were angels,
I was never to meet.
I am left with their faces in the photographs.
They are in the pictures and
In a part of my heart I keep safe.
The memory of people I never knew.

There is the number A12311.
Forever a reminder.
A tattoo printed on my mother’s arm
in Auschwitz.

Littleoldlady gives the significance of the tattoo here.  Of her poem, she says "it’s all true — every name, every relative. Some people don’t need liberation ceremonies to remember Auschwitz. They will never forget, much as they try." 

The rest of us need to know.  Start here.