Not This Horror

They pushed the camp’s grating gates open and after a few paces stopped, horrified. They were used to war horrors, not to this horror.

We just stood there, hundreds of living skeletons, waiting. For what?

I started advancing, my emaciated, naked body not betraying even my gender. I stopped in front of one of the soldiers, hoping to be shot.

He knelt in front of me, his eyes heavy with lacerating dew. Wrapped his coarse army coat around me… “Oy, Gott, meideleh.” Oh, God, girl. Yiddish.

He carried me to the tank outside. A few years later, he adopted me.


Yossi Faybish was born in Romania, where he spent his childhood absorbing a rich cultural heritage seeping through the imperfect seals of an oppressive system. He finished his higher studies in Israel, and then wandered away with his job and his family, finally ending in Belgium. He works in and is passionate about the high-tech industry, though writing is a serious runner-up; or maybe it’s the other way around. Yossi writes prose and poetry in a variety of styles and languages, mainly English and Romanian. “I want people to know not the what but the way I think,” he says. yossifaybish.com. aquillrelle.com.