My father never offered me

by Herbert Munshine (Great Neck, NY)

My father never offered me, 

in the decades of the ‘50’s and the ‘60’s, 

when our relationship had reached its fullness,

the opportunity to return with him 

to his native Augustowów, Poland, 

to visit relatives (if any had managed 

to survive the forced labor camps or 

mass killings in its ghetto when the Nazis 

controlled the fates of thousands of its Jews). 

He never painted for me a work of art 

or shared words depicting the Netta River

or the town’s canal or spacious marketplace 

or the smiling, gentle people of his youth, 

perhaps because they had ceased to exist,

or perhaps because the agony was great.

Shouldn’t it be the birthright of any immigrant 

to return, if only for special moments, 

or for his or her offspring to walk 

the streets and bathe in the tranquil moonlight 

of the place that was the home a parent knew 

and felt fondness for even in brief moments

many years before?

The difficulty is that when a generation 

suffers massive torture, loss and execution, 

many generations will be forever scarred 

or devoured. Innocence is no defense to 

war crimes against humanity. 

Now I try to envision my father’s happy youth, 

his frolicking with friends and gentle neighbors, 

but the fantasy quickly dissipates into sharp reality 

when I recall the subject not once broached by him, 

rather compelled to dwell in the ash-heap of his memory.

In my old age, it is enough for me to know deeply that

he never offered me knowledge of his Augustowów

because he wanted to shield me from his pain. Even

in his silence, his love for me expressed itself. 

He did not leave his heart in Poland. He brought it to

America and shared it with me in his silence, 

which shouted love when I’d grown

wise enough to hear it.

Herbert Munshine grew up in the Bronx and graduated from C.C.N.Y with both a B.S in Education and a Master’s Degree in English. You can find his baseball poetry on Baseball Bard where he has had more than 100 poems published, and where he was recently inducted into that site’s Hall of Fame. He lives with his wife in Great Neck, NY.

3 Comments

Filed under American Jewry, Family history, history, Jewish, Jewish identity, Jewish writing, Judaism, poetry, Polish Jewry

3 responses to “My father never offered me

  1. woxallsteve's avatar woxallsteve

    Tenderly expressed, Herb! So true that our parents and grandparents wanted only to look forward, to leave a painful past in the past. And yet, we lucky ones to be born in America, to wear cap and gown, to have opportunities they only dreamed— that past is in our bones.

  2. Sara's avatar Sara

    Such an exquisite poem. My dad managed to rebuild ties with his home city in Germany and make new, wonderful ones, which he passed along to us. I’ve even slept in one of his childhood homes. Well, I didn’t sleep much …. But it’s an experience I’ll never forget. Your reconciliation is so mature and thoughtful. Did/Will you ever go back on your own?

  3. cherylsav's avatar cherylsav

    Wow – that last stanza is such a powerful ending to this story. Thank you!

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