Small Riga Ghetto

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For us, all of Latvia is a huge cemetery – a cemetery without graves or gravestones.
The cantor sings "El molei rachamim", the prayer of remembrance.
People weep and weep endlessly.
The Hazkoro, or funeral service, is over.
Money is collected for wire so that the places where our departed ones found
their eternal rest can be fenced in.
No macejwo (memorial stone) exists for them, because our Jewish kibbutz in
Latvia has grown poor and cannot afford such a "luxury".
Quietly and calmly, with tear-stained faces, people leave the synagogue. On
its walls people have pasted notes bearing questions from all parts of the
world: "We are looking for... we are looking for... we are looking for..."
Unfortunately there is only one answer to these questions: "None of them
survived!"
As we leave the synagogue, we notice that everyone is in a hurry to leave
the dark streets of the Old Town.
We walk through the city of Riga, which has already become alien to us.
For those who were here during the German occupation, every foot of its soil
is soaked with Jewish blood.
We cannot, and may not, live in this hostile environment any longer.
We have to move on!
We cannot and may not stay here!
Epilogue
At the conclusion of my book Churbn Lettland, I would like to ask the reader
to consider the following: having tried to give a true and detailed account of
every phase of the sufferings we Latvian Jews had to endure, I hope I have
succeeded in giving as clear a picture of our tragedy as possible. Yet I must
call attention to the fact that the events I have related began in early 1941, that
is, quite a while ago, and that in the absence of any notes or diary entries I had
to reconstruct them from memory under circumstances that were difficult in
every respect.
I might mention furthermore that in writing my book I received hardly any
assistance at all from my Latvian comrades. Therefore, if any errors have
slipped in, or if I have expressed myself in improper diction, I beg the reader's
indulgence since, as I already mentioned in the Foreword, I am not a professional
writer.