Whispers, whispers.

People are whispering

because Jews are disappearing,

not just from Berlin and Frankfurt

and places far away,

but from Hamburg,

even our own neighborhood.

Especially Ostjuden—

eastern Jews,

those who were born

in countries to the east.

Father and Mother

were born in Poland.

Poland is to the east.

My parents are Ostjuden.

When will they disappear?

Hannelore and I,

and our other friends,

whisper during recess

in the backyard of our school.

Talk is dangerous, we are told.

Silence is safer.

But to me—

talk is comforting.

Silence is scary.

Things are upside down

when we have to whisper outside.

Quiet, quiet.

If we are quiet,

if we speak only in whispers,

maybe the Nazis

will not remember we are here.