I feel as old today as the Jewish race itself. I feel today that I am a Jew. Articles accused me of showing only Nazi crimes against the Jews and not mentioning in the poem that there were Ukrainian and Russian victims there. The poem mentioned Babi Yar, but it wasn't a scrupulous essay or investigation. It was a metaphorical poem.
Blood is spattered over the floor.
The ringleaders in the tavern are getting brutal. They smell of vodka and onions. A boot kicks me aside, helpless. In vain I plead with the bullies. A grain merchant beats up my mother.