Tender Torah
In the Wetzlar D. P. Camp,
Germany, 1948, I, a toddler,
became a tender Torah vessel
for the minyan of survivors
who aged before their time.
My Grandpa Hirsh Zvi,
who suffered a Siberian hard-labor
camp, son of martyred Rabbi Yaakov
and Dena of Zamosc, would proudly
parade me as a Torah scroll
in his father’s Polish shul, joyfully
declaring to tired but expectant ears,
“Jews, do not despair, the good God
gave us back the Torah.”
They hovered over me—caressing, kissing,
blessing my soft face of a velvet
Torah cover, gratitude uttered
with clenched lips, “Not all is lost,
the Torah was returned to us.”
