I painted this MENORAH as a symbol of what happened to all those who suffered and died at the hands of the NAZIS, but also as a beacon of freedom from repression, persecution and violence in present times.

I wrote these 2 poems as a recognition of the HOLOCAUST, and what was lost to families, communities, countries and to the world.


They tasted of nothing, these Jews

who were NOTHING.

ate the dust of memories,

their mouths filled with the 'O' of Yewah,

of the powdered bone of a tibia, fibia, or thigh.

They screamed in whispered, these Jews

who were NOTHING.

These chosen Jews who lived,

who cried in languages of the diaspora,

who heard the engine feeding the gas chambers.

They rode the mackerel packed layers of the dead, these Jews

who were NOTHING.

whose skin stuck to their bone,

swam in pools of shoes, spectacles

and suitcases registered like birth certificates.

They smelled the fear of thousands, thes Jews

who were NOTHING.

of boxcars carrying the Final Solution,

of exhaust fumes, Zyklon B

and the winds of ash.

They saw too much, these Jews

who were NOTHING.

The Star of David, of inked numbers,

of yes dying, and dead, a collective record

of God's chosen people.


Snow flakes whisper their hurried descent.

Tonight's sky stretched, bleached whit.

I sit in silence, solitude and snow.

We talk of tomorrow.

I think of Treblinka,

the Himmelstrasse, street to heaven.

the Lazarette;

a burning pit of burst pregnant bellies,

foetus on fire.

Never Again.