Resurrection of Jews in Germany
We are coming back.
Not for revenge.
Not for your sake.
Not even to prove something to God.
But because life demands it.
We do it reluctantly.
Yet we know our resistance
Will have to yield.
Our children already want to know
Why we fled our homeland,
And now try to extract justice
From Arabs who weren’t even there.
They want to know
Where we lost
This God we speak of.
We want honest children,
And must admit
We have a hole in our hearts.
Back then we had to flee or die.
Excuse us, we want to pray here,
On German soil,
Where the souls of our loved ones
Still can’t find any rest in the ground.
We know that your sleep
Is just as disturbed as ours,
And that you flee your own homeland
To healing spas around the globe,
That you aren’t sure if foreigners
Are welcome in your country,
Perhaps because you suspect
You might no longer be welcome yourself,
That you can’t answer
Your children’s questions either.
Tell us, was it out of jealousy
That our loved ones were murdered?
Was the Thousand-Year Reich
And its One People
Jealous references to us,
To hang together,
While we did it for millennia
Using only books?
Did you gas us because
You yourselves were gassed in trenches
And then couldn’t fight back?
Your thinkers now debate whether
Only European culture has come of age,
Ours about whether God still chooses us.
But are any of us talking to each other?
Our rabbis have tried for a whole generation
Never to forget,
But what stuck in memory
Which we still stare at without breathing.
To really breathe again will require living pain.
It will require that we no longer
But live fully and long.
That is what it says in our book: choose life.
In your book it says:
Love your neighbor as yourself.
We are still your neighbors.
Imagine: after a long absence,
We, your neighbors, begin to return.
Soon we’ll move in next door,
And we'll stand around making noise in the streets.
Soon we’ll be joking with German officials.
We’ll sit at the tables for regular guests
And marry your children.
German houses and land
Will come back into our hands.
We’ll be citizens again!
The empty memorial synagogues will begin to fill.
Is this a nightmare? No.
The whole world fears a recurrence,
But it is the fear that repeats itself.
The times are new.
We Jews will return to
No, not suddenly tomorrow all of us at the border.
Not next year either.
It will happen more gradually,
Here and there at first,
And then with gathering strength,
Like everything that grows.
by Erik Bendix
This poem was written in 1989, originally
in German, and then translated by the author into this version in
It was published in German as a
frontispiece in Bert Hellinger's Rachel Weint Um Ihre Kinder:
Familien-Stellen mit Opfern des Holocaust in Israel (Verlag
Herder Freiburg im Breisgau 2004), and again in translation in
Rachel Weeping for Her Children: Family Constellations in Israel
(2003, Carl-Auer-Systeme Verlag Heidelberg/Phoenix AZ).
photo: Erik Bendix standing in front of the Jewish high school
(the Marks Haindorf Schule in Münster, Germany) that his grandfather
Ludwig attended in the early 1890s. Ludwig Bendix survived the
Dachau concentration camp and lived to know Erik as an infant.
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|Erik Bendix's biography|
|Rainer Maria Rilke's poetry|