On the Liberation of Birkenau (27 January)
We are free.
Free in the dead of winter.
Nothing grows.
There is no sign of life,
No sign that freedom is here.
No change.
And yet,
You are free, they say.
And what does it mean?
Are we free from want?
Free from fear?
Free from the absence of God?
Or are we only free to endure a bit more?
And suddenly, a voice beneath the snow:
Wait!
Only wait a bit more.
Only those who know the depths
Can see the roots growing,
The slow becoming
of Redemption.
