artbox and photos by marguerita
You will mock me,call me drama queen and whatever.
Mark, you were all my family. I lost my father and mother . We were also lost,being the remnants that survived the Holocaust.
You and most American Jews cannot get it. It is a unique sentiment, a detached sensation,in search of a port, of a shell to hide.
I was born in 1950, unexpectedly, a surprise, to two wonderful individuals, uprooted,who could never adapt themselves to the
world after losing all.
Both belonged to the European Jewish elite.
I watched them since I was small, I was always alone, because both of them, as much as they loved me, were lost themselves, living in their minds, with the values and beliefs of their ancestors. A kind of purity that could not be exercised anymore.
And so I was taught.
I had to fend for myself and for them. I loved them as much as I at times would revolt.
But I had compassion. I understood their beings.
What they endured.
The real life, reality at its most.
Nothing more horrible then being in a concentration camp,or in a gulag.
Of being butchered alive, witnessing murder and Death daily.
Innocently.
The numbers tattoed on their arms.
The irony of Evil. Uncontrolled and exercised.
Music being played as the ones that tried to escape hanged when caught.
I do not have to read bout.
I watched my two parents.
They survived .
They were there like cattle running on luck
to make it alive.
They learned about Humanity.
They saw the variety of human character .
The homo sapiens.
Hollywood made a travesty of how humans can be evil.
Today, the unrest,the terrorism is only the consequences of Hitler's designs.
The unattainable Peace is a result of the millions of murdered souls, innocently removed from their homes, families and lives.
The Middle East fire is the result of a forced displacement and arrangements of convenience by greedy parties who ransacked and
played with human Rights and Nature.
Who more than I ,could be a voice of the innocent dead.
I carry in me the shadows and truth of the people that are buried within me.
My ancestors. i cannot remain silent and indifferent.
How can you, Mark understand me? Or even react to my life.
It is not a made up story.
I am a portrait of Hitler's and Co as my mother would tell me,when she saw and heard the Fuhrer's commands at his public speeches :The Nazi Party under Adolf Hitler came to power in Germany on January 30, 1933, ..... and they started banging houses: "Raus, raus, raus, Juden raus."radieren … ...
The Jews Must Be
Erased"!
How can anyone if not another Child of Holocaust, be able to convey the vision we carry?
It goes beyond compassion.
We look for the impossible,intangible
love.A Love that goes beyond the horizon,beyond the skies and Universe.
I took you and our sons to Poland, to Krakow, to maybe you all grasp my world.
To walk in Auschwitz, to find the traces and walk around the place that my mother lived and was taken away from and thrown into hell.
You, Mark never absorbed my reality.
I had seizures in Krakow.
It was an emotional reaction.
I imagined my mother, wondered what and how she would feel,had she been alive, to see her home, the building, where I was not allowed to enter.
Someone, strangers living there.
My mother never returning to the soil she was born..
IHow can you understand me?
My cries are not about things.
I wanted you to hold me in your arms.
You never were able to open the arms for me.
Marguerita
