I do want to roam,

no matter what Ruth writes.

I miss my old life—

streetcar rides downtown

just for fun,

outings in Father’s automobile,

roller-skating around the neighborhood,

games of tag in the street,

fairs in the Stadtpark

in the center of Hamburg,

when they brought in

the carousel,

a puppet show,

little donkeys to ride—

how fun for everyone!

Parades, festivals, Christmas markets!

I loved them all.

Until last autumn.

It was a festival day,

a German holiday.

Dusk was falling.

We were walking with our neighbors,

my friends and I,

safely (we thought) in our neighborhood,

holding paper lanterns

like all German kids do on this day,

lighting up the darkening street

with our parade of flickering candles,

singing the song all German kids know:

Lantern, lantern,

Sun, moon, and stars,

we sang,

Burn on, my light,

Burn on, my light,

But not my dear lantern—

and those German boys,

proud in their Hitler Youth uniforms,

threw rocks at us

and pushed us off the sidewalk.

“Jewish race polluters!”

Now I am not allowed

to go about as I please.

I cannot even play outside

as I used to, as I want to,

because there is no such thing anymore as

safely in our neighborhood.

So then,

I want to say to Ruth Sperber,

if here in my own neighborhood

there are children who will

throw stones at me,

spit on me,

yell at me,

then the good is not so near,

is it?

And if the good is not near,

why should I not roam far?

But I don’t say this to my friend,

who, after all,

was only reciting a poem.