When we came at last to the Hall of Remembrance we found the eternal flame burning at the center of the hall, and the names of concentration camps and death camps were listed around the walls. The public is invited to light memorial candles if they wish, and there were places in front of camp names where memorial candles are placed.
I decided to light a candle and offer prayers, and arbitrarily headed to one section of the wall. I found myself standing before the memorial for Babi Yar, a ravine outside Kiev, Ukraine, where 100,000 Jews, Roma (Gypsies), communists, and others were executed by German authorities stationed in Kiev.
Being of Ukrainian descent I sat and wept uncontrollably. My family had a history in Ukraine (though from the Western region). My heart was broken - shattered - by a sense of cultural duplicity.
In 2006 my brother Will and I traveled to Ukraine for two weeks during part of my sabbatical. We spent a few days in Kiev and actually had the opportunity to visit the memorial at Babi Yar. I couldn't bring myself to visit - and years later wish that I had.
This poem has taken shape over the years; finding its first incarnation shortly after my visit to Ukraine in 2006. A couple of years ago I served on an interfaith panel at the Yavneh Jewish Renewal Community in Raleigh, NC. Our topic brought Babi Yar back to mind, and the bulk of this poem took shape.
As my 2014 sabbatical comes to a close I came across the last draft in a journal of mine. I was compelled to complete the work.
Match to Candle for Babi Yar
Match to candle
for Babi
Yar.
Beside th’eternal flame I sat
and wept
for
sins long past
and new.
One hundred thousand candles –
their wicks
quenched.
And so I met the ghosts
of Babi Yar
in the hall of holy remembrance.
Match to candle
for Babi Yar.
Too few were among the righteous –
too many were
left behind.
Yet to save one soul from death
is to save
a whole world.
Dare we name the horror –
that which
is buried deep?
Dare we seek its hateful remnant
hiding deep
within our hearts?
Dare we confess our own sins,
face our
own scarred souls,
and light a candle
for
Babi Yar?
