Place.

Updated: Mar 19

Great Choral Synagogue.

Riga, Latvia.

Written: bus ride-Riga to Kaunas, Lithuania


How do you honor a place where such horrors have happen?

How do you stand in the space where lives were lost?

How can you ever feel the heaviness with which the dying felt?


Here on the corner where busy streets come together she sits. Burnt out. The holding of memories and the supporting of souls. Once a place of deep worship for a common people. July 4th, 1941 she burned and they burned, captive inside.

Now people walk by, heads down, destinations to reach. Cars hurriedly speed around the corner’s crest.


I want to scream for them all to stop. For the torture to have stopped. How does the world continue with so much loss?


My mind clears from thoughts just previous. Will I get my dream job for a second round? Trivial. Privileged.


Lives lost. Many before they were afforded a chance to really live. To love. Their worth based on a set of beliefs deemed unworthy by others.

I feel a weight in my chest. A gasping for non offered breath. A pain singes my neck like a match to flesh. Souls can remain in a place far past when the body was removed. Extinguished. I close my eyes. Extend my palms open. Searching for fingers. Wanting to pull them out. Up.


I feel screams escaping from the forrest trees as we pass. Their straight dark, burnt trunks shouting from the mouths of the Earth. Remains.

Riga. Where they were taken. Ushered to the forrest. Final breaths.


How do I honor a place? Remember what once was there, disgustingly taken?

How do I return to my thoughts, still waiting across the street?








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