The song is endless, and its melody is eerie. The heart grieves on hearing its distant wail roaring through the misty night. The song is old, very old, but it is always new, and upsets ever again. One wishes to put an end to it, like to a bad dream, or a bird of ill omen. One longs and hopes that the song will disappear forever – without reverberation, and without an echo…
If only we could get some quiet on the snow-covered moors, on the scorching-hot plains, in the tormented villages, in the feverish lanes and in the wretched huts. –
If only we could get some quiet! Oh yes, certainly, it will be quiet. When the hidden fury will be unleashed, together with lunacy its treacherous companion, and it will trek through the narrow village lanes, and will sound its deafening and poisonous laughter. Then there will be deathly quiet! An invisible but powerful hand will pull the strings, when a savage and coldly calculating eye will provoke and agitate and give the signal to start – then it will be quiet, deathly quiet!
Smoke will arise from the wreckage. The infant will lie crushed at the breast of its mother, and the bones of the men will be in ashes. Silence and poverty will hang over the graveyards. And the blue skies will illuminate the silence of death…
And then the mysterious power that had been feeding so ravenously on the spilled blood, will relax at last. But only for a brief moment. Because the power that has forged the chains and shackles for humanity, is founded on clay and requires blood and marrow in order not to collapse. - - -
And when will the Pogrom end? - It will end when through tireless struggle for truth and justice, that demonic power will be smashed and at our feet. –
Then you will arise, you suffering world!
J. Raphael, Jüdische Freie Presse Köln, 5 January 1921. Vol. 1, No. 2
Translated by Zeev Raphael, July 2007