Romanian Sad Quotes

In 1919, 1920, 1921, the entire Jewish press was assaulting the Romanian state, unleashing disorder everywhere, urging violence against the regime, the form of government, the church, Romanian order, the national idea, patriotism. Now, as if by a miracle, the same press, controlled by the same men, changed into a defender of the state’s order, of laws; declares itself against violence. While we become: ‘the country’s enemies’, ‘extremists of the Right’, ‘in the pay and service of Romania’s enemies’, etc. And in the end we will hear also this: that we are financed by the Jews. ... We have endured outrage after outrage, ridicule after ridicule, slap after slap, until we have come to see ourselves in this frightening situation: Jews are considered to be defenders of Romanianism, sheltered from any unpleasantness, leading a life of peace and plenty, while we are considered enemies of our nation, with our liberty and life endangered, and we are hunted down like rabid dogs by all the Romanian authorities. I witnessed with my own eyes these times and lived through them, and I was saddened to the depths of my soul. It is dreadful to fight for years on end for your fatherland, your heart as pure as tears, while enduring misery and hunger, then find yourself suddenly declared an enemy of your country, persecuted by your own kind, told that you fight because you are in the pay of foreigners, and see the entire Jewry master your land, assuming the role of defender of Romanianism and caretaker of the Romanian state, menaced by you, the youth of the country. Night after night we were troubled by these thoughts, occasionally feeling disgusted and immensely ashamed and we were seized by sadness.

However, at times, sadness and sorrow overtake this unusually sensitive poet, who expresses her despair, her fright and inability to cope with the utter hopelessness of life at the time. I am the Rain was written on August 8, 1941. I still remember that summer, when we, the Jewish population, were forced to stay in our houses, except for two hours a day, forced to wear a yellow star on our clothing and we did not know whether we would live another day. At night, one heard shooting and could not tell whether the Germans or the Romanians were killing people in our street or a block away. That was the summer when they burnt the Temple, when the flames lit the night with a fire that was to extinguish the Jewish life in our town, our own lives. This was the atmosphere in which the poem, which follows, was written.