[Translator's note: sections that are in English in the original are presented here in italics]
"What is the use of doing my work?"
"Never mind, do it!"
—(from a book)
[In star:] The Jewish people live on
For our friend and patron, Major A. Rosenbaum.
Kibbutz "Buchenwald."
For our friend major A. Rosenbaum. Kibuc Buchenwald.
Gehringshof, Elul 1945
Gehringshof, August 1945
Isaiah 21:12
Watchman, what of the night?
Watchman, what of the night?
The watchman said:
The morning cometh,
And also the night—
If ye will inquire,
Inquire ye;
Return, come.1
"Buchenwald." K.Z.
P. Brand.
[sheet music]
"Buchenwald"
When the day breaks and the sun laughs
Columns of men march in the grim morning
Towards the toils of the day
And the forest is black and the sky is red
And in our sacks we carry a small piece of bread
And in our hearts—in our hearts our troubles.
Chorus:
Ah, Buchenwald, I cannot forget you
Because you have become my fate
He who leaves you realizes for the first time
How wonderful freedom is.
So, Buchenwald, we do not complain and moan
And whatever happens to lie in our future
We say "yes" to life, in spite of it all,
Because one day we will be free.2
Concentration camp Buchenwald. We are free. The dream of 6 years is a reality. But, are we free indeed? No, the camp robbed us of our dignity and morality, deprimated [sic] everything that was good and human. Work—there is only hatred for it. Work was the mean[s] to kill us.
But we are free.—No!! We do not want to be drown[ed] in the deeps of life, while we escaped from the deep of death. We are anxious to go to Eretz Israel, Home. Our homes are destroyed, Palestine is our home. But, we want to go there prepared.
On Friday, May 25th 1945 we erected in Eggendorf the "Kibutz-Buchenwald." Now we like our work. We create, build—there is something already achieved. Difficulties again. Some political changes. The territory is occupied by the Russians. We must move. We have to start another time. It is hard. We take hold of Gehringshof. No bed, no table, no locker, no tools to do some work. In our depression appears major Rosenbaum. Like a brother—he offers his helpful hand. He talks a little but does!!! There are already beds, lockers, food enough. Quickly, but quietly. We do not see him much—only his carefull [sic] hand is felt everywhere.
But there has come a sorrowful day in our life. Our major is leaving. We see him in the last moment. "What do you need?" And supplies anything we ask for, to continue our work smoothly. Major!! We shall never forget you! You wrote you name deep in our hearts. We are thankfull [sic] to you for your concrete work, but much more for the hope that there are many brothers of your kind, who feel for us and will give a hand, to save us from being drown[ed].
Here is the group of our pioners [sic], who went to Eretz Israel on Monday August 27th, '45.
[photo]
"A state cannot be created by decree, but by the forces of a people and in the course of generations. Even if all the governments of the world gave us a country it would only be a gift of words. But if the Jewish people will go and build Palestine, the Jewish state will become a reality—a fact."
—Ch. Weizmann
A song from the Krakow ghetto
By Gebirtig
It's burning, brothers, it's burning
Our poor village is burning
Vicious winds with their ire
Whistle, tear, and blow about
And the vicious winds are hissing
Everything’s already burning.
And you stand and look around you
With your folded arms.
And you stand and look around
While our village burns.
It's burning, brothers, it's burning
The moment may come, God forbid
The whole village, and us too,
Will go up in ash and flames
And only black, empty walls remain
As if after a battle.
And you stand and look around you. (refrain)
It's burning, brothers, it's burning
Our poor village is burning
If our village means anything to you
Take your vessels, put out the fire
Extinguish it with your own blood
Show us that you can.
Don't stand there, brothers, like you are now,
With your folded arms
Don't stand there brothers, put out the fire
Because our village is burning.3
The Song of Kibbutz Buchenwald
P. Brand
We are the comrades of Kibbutz Buchenwald
The remnant left from the Hitler beast
We move forward into a new life
And take with us rays of hope.
Here, the Buchenwald-camp kibbutz
Works on the fields of the Thuringian forests
We are no longer aware of pain
We are no longer aware of troubles
We wish only to arrive soon in the Land of Israel.
The Hitler beast wanted to destroy us
Now he himself has been destroyed
His cities are in ruins, his homes dismantled
Only piles of stones remain from his land.
And so, brother, hold on! Don't make a fuss.
Away with the worries and away with the pain
We will make every effort
We will travel to Zion
Speedily in our own days, and let us say Amen!