Meeting In Belsen

For Anne Frank (1929-1945) . One day in the autumn of 1944, Along with your sister Margot, You were deported from Auschwitz to Bergen-Belsen. When you arrived in the camp the barracks were full, so for several weeks you lived in a crowded tent. Unlike in Auschwitz, there were no gas chambers in Belsen, just shouting SS guards with dogs, watch towers and barbed wire fence, starvation and disease, living skeletons of prisoners tottering around like ghosts. Typhus raged everywhere And each hour brought new miseries. You stared at the clouds in the sky with your big eyes that grew bigger in the camp on your sunken face. Your head was shaven now and you dressed in coarse rags. But in your tiny fragile figure the pure fire of your lofty soul kept burning. Then winter came with ice and snow, frosty winds swept through the camp. The barracks were unheated in Belsen. The cold followed you everywhere And the hunger pangs became unbearable. You wished at least you could write but it was hard to get paper or pencil. Nevertheless, February arrived with thrilling news. Amid tears and smiles you found out with boundless excitement that an old school friend from Amsterdam was also in Bergen-Belsen, in another section of the camp. Although you could have been shot for it, you decided to take the risk and meet with your friend. So one shivery winter night you walked on the frozen ground of the barren heath of the camp towards the barbed wire fence. Scared and trembling in the dark, She waited on the other side. It was dangerous to make any sound. However, suddenly and against all odds she heard your voice whispering her name. You could not embrace each other because of the barbed wire barrier. But you could talk and cry together And the tears were flowing like rivers. She brought you a crust of bread and threw it over the barbed wire fence. But a woman took it from you And you fumed in dismayed frustration. Yet two nights later you met again your friend at the fence. She tossed another package of food And this time you caught it. Hundreds of miles away in Poland your mother was alone in Auschwitz. She missed her family and refused to eat. While freedom drew closer inch by inch and the Russians approached the camp she died of starvation on January 6,1945. Meanwhile in Bergen-Belsen Margot became gravely ill. She contracted typhus and one day as she lost consciousness she fell from her bunk and died. At the same time you lay sick, too, in your barrack bunk, unaware of your sister’s death or the fate of your parents. The sun rose and set on the horizon and the Allies advanced in every front. On January 27,1945, Three weeks after your mother died, the 322nd Rifle Division of the Red Army liberated your father in Auschwitz. In March, American and British forces crossed the Rhine River in Germany and a month later, on April 15,1945, the British 11th Armoured Division overran Bergen-Belsen and liberated the concentration camp. But they came too late for you Because your heart stopped beating by then. I don’t know if irony Can offer any pale solace Yet compassionate arms Held you when you Became highly delirious. Carrying the promise of spring A bright breeze blew through the lager. It was March 1945 now and slipping slowly into a deep coma you died peacefully in the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. You were fifteen years old. However, only the flesh dies. The soul survives. Your memory lives forever. Anne, you always believed in the goodness of man. Your constructive sensibility transcends time and suffering. Your towering courage soars above war and destruction. It rises in gleaming nobility as a symbol of the human spirit triumphing against evil. Your immortal Diary inspires millions of people around the globe. Its poignant words glow and shine illuminating the darkness of the night with radiant splendour of light. Anne, when I was born You were already six years old. In the summer of 1944, while you and your family were hiding in Amsterdam, My mother, sister and I were deported From Hungary to Strasshof, a slave labour camp near Vienna. My father was sent to Auschwitz. Then on April 9,1945, A fortnight before my ninth birthday, the Red Army Liberated us in Strasshof. Now the winter of life Turns my thinning hair grey And with the rolling of seasons I became much older than you. I age. You don’t. (Montreal,2009)