Revisionism Russell Rowland The blitzkrieg of a gale out of the east: trees drop in line, machine-gunned villagers. But in the sepia-tinted daguerreotype, they remain forever saplings, straight. Or in some glade, a family of Krakow Jews, seven in numberâ€”parents, two grandmothers, three children, a menorah of cadaversâ€” gather companionably, albeit in midair. Heads bowed, arms at sides, they seem to be listening: Hear, O Israel â€Ś The girl-child alone revolves in pavane. Were they not cut down, restored alive to their prosperous village? Was not the lost lamb actually found, in this retelling, by David, the boy with a sling? Old storm-troopers died philanthropists? Even the heart has forgotten what it hid.
Published on May 18, 2017