W odpowiedzi na oszczercze kampanie przeciw Polsce musimy odpowiadać w innych językach. Popularyzujmy nasze wystąpienia w tym temacie. Na samym dole strony jest link do wiersza po polsku.
In an answer for "Polish concentration camps" and especially for lies in a campaing "Some were neighbors. Collaboration and complicity in Holocaust" we need to show the role of the Jews themselves in the holocaust, nowadays carefully obliterated in the public discussion. Here is the startling description of what was going on in all ghettos in Europe.
Jewish teacher, poet and dramatist Itzhak Katzenelson, a Polish Jew who survived the uprising in the Warsaw Ghetto, to be murdered a year later in Auschwitz, he wrote a requiem for the European Jewry. But he also wrote a poem "O, bólu" (Ou, the pain of mine), describing Jewish co-operation with Germans in holocaust. As I could not find any English translation of the poem, I did it myself. Forgive me an awkward language. I am not a poet
Ou, the pain of mine
I am the one, who saw that, watched closely,
As children, wives and husbands, and my old gray-haired folks
Like stones and logs on carts executioner was throwing
and beating them without a shade of pity, insulting with inhuman words.
I was watching through the window, I saw gang of murderers -
Oh, God, I saw beating and beaten, who are going to die
I wrung my hands in shame... shame and disgrace -
Hands of the Jews caused Jews death - helpless Jews!
Traitors, in shiny boots, who ran along the empty street
As with a swastika on caps - with the shield of David, went mad
With mugs what the word foreign to them hurts, arrogant and wild
They who threw us down the stairs, who dragged us out of homes.
Who tore the door from frames, violantly inviding, the villains
With the club raised to strike - homes seized with fear,
They beat us, drove elderly, sped our youngest
Somewhere on terrified streets. And they spit straight in the face of God
They were finding us in cabinets and pulled out from under the bed,
and cursed; "Move, to hell, to umschlag, there is your place!"
They dragged all of us from our homes, then they rummage in them for longer,
To take last clothes, a piece of bread and grits.
And on the street - to go mad! Look and go numb, as here
Still street, one shout has become and horror -
From stem to stern empty, yet full, as never before -
Wagons! And from despair, and shout, it is hard to wagons...
In them - Jews. They tear hairs from the heads, wring their hands.
Some are silent - their silence is even louder shout.
They are looking... their eyes... Is that real? Maybe a bad dream and nothing more.
With them, the Jewish police - thugs cruel and wild!
At the side - a German, with a slight smile is looking at them,
German stopped, from afar he looks - he does not interfere,
He causes death of my Jews with Jewish hands!
Source: I. Kacenelson, Pieśń o zamordowanym żydowskim narodzie, Warszawa 1982, s. 23.
Here are the books, you can buy in the USA, none in english.
//www.amazon.com/Itzhak-Katzenelson/e/B001JX0WRI/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0
Here is the polish text of the poem
https://wirtualnapolonia.com/2015/02/24/icchak-kacenelson-o-bolu-moj/