I forget what day it is

I have lost count among the dead
when was yesterday? All around lay the naked murdered on their body strewn piled up deathbeds.
It was just a moment ago that the Seventh Day was the Sabbath.
I must remember and count again. I must hold on to our Traditions and habits.

Where is the Seventh Day in the crematorium?
In which barrack, in which corner, in which room?
I cup my hand to hold the mirage of my Kiddush cup.
Oh’ my soul, is in mourning. I cannot look up.

Papa. Mama. Your ashes flow before my eyes.
And all I can do is wail and chant my lamenting cries.
Before they had hauled us into the cattle cars
we blessed the Shabbath behind the Ghetto bars.

Is today Shabbos in Auschwitz or Treblinka or Sobibor or Majdanek?
I must go on. My strength I revive from looking back
at our Sabbath table with Papa, Mama, my many sisters and brothers –
when the Sabbath Queen enclosed us as a Protective Mother.

Oh. What day is it today?
I will count again though my lips are too weak to say.
Today is the Seventh Day in the camp of death
I will declare to all, LaChaim — To Life — with my dying breath!