Imagery of the Holocaust An Extra Credit Opportunity
Since the Holocaust, many survivors, family members, witnesses, etc… have used poetry and/or art to portray their feelings of loss, anger, revulsion, and hopelessness over the atrocities that occurred. For a last chance at extra credit, you have the opportunity to do the same. Whether you have artistic talent or love to write (or neither, but you need the points!), you may choose a method to share your feelings and thoughts about the events we’ve learned about. You are fairly unlimited in the format/media of the project… except that it is due on MONDAY. Be creative. The amount of points you receive will be directly related to the amount of effort you put in. See the next several slides of some examples. Good luck!
First They Came for the Jews by the Rev. Martin Niemöller First they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew. Then they came for the Communists, and I did not speak out because I was not a Communist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak out for me.
<ul><li>The Butterfly by Pavel Friedman </li></ul><ul><li>The last, the very last, So richly, brightly, dazzingly yellow. Perhaps if the sun's tears would sing against a white stone Such, such a yellow Is carried lightly 'way up high. It went away I'm sure because it wished to kiss the world goodbye. For seven weeks I've lived in here, penned up inside this ghetto But I have found my people here. The dandelions call to me and the white chestnut candles in the court. Only I never saw another butterfly. That butterfly was the last one. Butterflies don't live in here, In the ghetto. </li></ul>
David Olère (1902-1985) Blocks 2 to 5, Birkenau
<ul><li>Fear by Eva Pickova </li></ul><ul><li>Today the ghetto knows a different fear, Close in its grip, Death wields an icy scythe. An evil sickness spreads a terror in its wake, The victims of its shadow weep and writhe. Today a father's heartbeat tells his fright And mothers bend their heads into their hands. Now children choke and die with typhus here, A bitter tax is taken from their bands. My heart still beats inside my breast While friends depart for other worlds. Perhaps it's better — who can say? — Than watching this, to die today? No, no, my God, we want to live! Not watch our numbers melt away. We want to have a better world, We want to work — we must not die! </li></ul>
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