History of Sorts

Two lives so brief, their stories untold,
In shadows of darkness, their fates took hold.
Nehemia Levy Cohen, born with winter’s breath,
In Amsterdam’s arms, unaware of death.
Roosje van der Hal, spring’s gentle child,
From Groningen’s heart, her laughter wild.

On January’s day, the cold tracks groaned,
Two babes were taken from the love they’d known.
To Westerbork’s gates, where the skies turned gray,
Their innocence—stolen and their hope—swept away.

Nehemia, just three, a boy full of dreams,
Too young to grasp the world’s cruel schemes.
Roosje, one year, with eyes wide and bright,
Cradled by shadows in the depth of the night.

May came too soon, with its cruel refrain,
Sobibor called, its echo of pain.
Nehemia silenced, on a springtime morn,
His laughter lost, a soul forlorn.
Roosje followed, mere days apart,
Two stars extinguished, two broken hearts.

In the annals of grief, their names remain,
A testament to love amidst the pain.
For every tear that history weeps,
In every memory that sorrow keeps.

Let us remember, let their names resound,
In the silent void where loss is found.
Nehemia and Roosje, though gone, still speak,
Of heartbreak carried on the tracks, so bleak.

Nehemia Levy Cohen, born in Amsterdam on 20 December 1940 murdered in Sobibor on 7 May 1943, and Roosje van der Hal, born in Groningen on 17 March 1942 murdered in Sobibor on 21 May 1943. Both babies were put on transport to Westerbork on 25 January 1943.

These two pictures of the angels shattered something deep within me. For a moment, I almost decided to stop writing about the Holocaust. But then I reconsidered—if I don’t tell their stories, who will?

Sources

https://www.joodsmonument.nl/en/page/26236/roosje-van-der-hal

https://www.joodsmonument.nl/nl/page/191815/nehemia-levy-cohen