1943

The scorching African sun

A cool night breeze

Endless marching and bloody battles.

A deck of cards in my hand

Hometown friends

And Friday night prayers.

The dry meat and canned stew go down easy

Until the commander comes in

His face grim.

A worn out newspaper

“Millions of Jews Dead in German Camps!”,

My heart sinks, breath quickens.

I stand

Without a word

And grab my rifle.

My friends follow suit.

A makeshift prison

A shabby wooden fence

On a lonely dune.

Feeling returns to my body

Anger.

Hate.

Disgust.

Sadness.

The Germans are no older than I,

Eyes wide,

Hands held above their heads

Begging.

But I raise my rifle,

A tear runs down my cheek.

Hesitation.

Shema Yisrael

Adonai eloheinu

Adonai echad

I close my eyes

And squeeze the trigger.