When I first came to Denver in the winter of 1979, I noticed a field with a small sign that read "Babi Yar". Situated at the angled intersection of Havana and Parker Rds., I often passed by on my way to Caldonia's or The Emerald Isle. Intuitively I know this had something to do with Jewry and the Holocaust. But I was in my early twenties and history seemed too serious to study when I could be partying in the southeast suburbs of the Mile High City. It was the early eighties, after all.
I never wandered into this park, but I came to learn that Babi Yar was a not as well-known site of Nazi atrocities. As I became more in touch with my Jewishness, beyond matzo ball soup and menorahs, the interest in visiting this park heightened. You know how life hands us excuses? Maybe I needed a very strong push to see what this now beautifully developed memorial is all about.
The Russian invasion of Ukraine supplied all the reason I needed to venture a mere twelve miles from my home in the Centennial state. I was further enticed because my son had invited me to join him for lunch at a restaurant practically walking distance from the site. On a beautiful Colorado morning I made my pilgrimage.
Let me back up. My sister had been visiting the week prior and I fell behind in reading the newspaper. So, on that Tuesday morning when I was set to meet my son, I was just getting around to perusing Monday's Denver Post. On page four there was this photo of two young boys standing at one of the monuments in Babi Yar Park. It was taken at a Holocaust remembrance that had been held on Sunday. I took this as a sign from my Higher Power that I was meant to carry through with my plan and pay a visit.
I arrived at the park in plenty of time to take in all that it would offer. I also wore a skirt because I was taught to be respectfully dressed in certain places, like museums and memorials. Plus, I wanted to look nice for my eldest at lunch. I pulled my gas efficient car into the dirt car park and had my first look. This is it, I thought? I could only see the two stone slabs that the photo in the paper had depicted. I was also taught not to judge a book by its cover, so I started on the path to see what Babi Yar had to offer.
The first architectural homage to Babi Yar was a narrow passageway with painted black walls. This symbolizes the train cars the Nazis used to transport Jews to concentration camps. In Kyiv Jews were ordered to report to an intersection near the train station. Instead of being loaded into 'cattle cars' they were marched to a ravine where they were stripped and summarily shot. I continued on the path and when I came to a second sharp point on the walkway, I realized I was meandering in the shape of a Jewish Star. I had goosebumps! The park also has a grove of 100 carefully planted Linden trees to simulate Ukraine and also commemorate those estimated 200,000 people who perished at Babi Yar, Ukraine during WWII.
I sat on a low wall in the grove and wrote notes about my experience. Not just what I was seeing, more importantly, what I was feeling. I know that antisemitism in on the rise, and there was an article in the next day's Denver Post that quantified the numbers; a 53% increase in hate crimes in Colorado in 2021. We say never again, and yet it is happening here in the Queen City of the Plains and all over Colorado. Antisemitic leaflets were strewn across driveways in Parker claiming COVID was caused by Jews. From KRDO.com:
The flyers were reported to the Parker Police Department. A spokesperson for the department told 9News they determined the flyers are not criminal and will not be investigating any further, saying it's a matter of free speech.
Free Speech. Let that sink in. I lived in Colorado Springs in the 1990's and had a swastika drawn on the windows of my minivan. Waking up to this was a gut-punch. I felt violated - my driveway, my car, my kids as witnesses. This is not free speech - this is hate speech. There was so much to ponder on this visit, in this carefully curated landscape.
I walked through the two pillars that I had seen in the newspaper as my last stop in Babi Yar Park. I read the beautifully inscribed slabs of granite. This park has wonderful poetry that speaks to me. I walked back through the black monoliths and there, on the ground, was a small flag of Ukraine. I thanked my Higher Power for bringing me here and gifting me with a reminder of my contemplative morning.
I left Babi Park conflicted. I felt heavy and sad knowing that history can and will repeat itself. I also left with a feeling of hope. The city I moved to and fell in love with in the late seventies was open-minded enough to have a memorial to one of the darkest moments in Jewish History. Additionally I was grateful because I could freely leave this facsimile ravine of atrocities, in a few moments I would be filling my belly with a hot, nutritious meal, and I would be in the loving presence of a family member. Hundreds of thousands of Jews, Roma, Ukrainians and others never again got that opportunity.
I wrote two poems in the days after my visit. The first is "Grandmother's Ravine". The title is a literal translation of Babi Yar. As a grandmother this was meaningful to me. The poem is a sestina. Don't concern yourself with the 'rules' of poetry. Just appreciate that the repeating end words are purposeful. I chose this form for the repetition; I think it adds to the emotion.
Grandmother’s Ravine by Jane Hillson Aiello 4/2022
“No monument stands over Babi Yar”
Yevgeny Yevtushenko
There is a ravine nearby that recounts history
The summer of 1941 - time of the Holocaust
In the gully you may feel the heartache
Of those marched and stripped and shot in Ukraine
While gazing at the mountains over Denver
Simmering with antisemitism. Oh, to be Jewish
Reports of hate crimes aimed at those Jewish
A momentum of repeating history
Of course, this could not happen in Denver
We say never again, yet a modern holocaust
Emerges on the news of Kyiv, Ukraine
Turn the volume low, to avoid heartache
Never again we cried - no more heartache
This is the mantra of all peoples, Jewish
Be it in Colorado or Ukraine
We must remember our brutal history
Of those marched and stripped and shot in the Holocaust
Grandmother’s Ravine recreated in Denver
Babi Yar beckons to all those in Denver
To recollect ancestral heartache
Of Roma. Of Poets. Of Holocaust
A message to all, not just the Jewish
Never to repeat senseless history
Antisemitism here - war in Ukraine
Walk the paths reminiscent of Ukraine
A Mogen David carved in the landscape of Denver
In the shadows of mountains is history
Granite walls harden our heartache
What survives in the blood of the Jewish
A lifeline stretched thin by the Holocaust
Marched and stripped and shot in the Holocaust
In a ravine in Kyiv, Ukraine
The victims murdered? Mostly Jewish
Antisemitism resurging in Denver
Our people forced to relive the heartache
Forced to live a recurring history
People of Ukraine, we feel your heartache. In Denver we commemorate Jewish history.
Never again - the Holocaust
The second poem is about the Ukrainian flag that I found on the ground at the end of my visit.
Unwavering by Jane Hillson Aiello 4/2022
There was a flag on the ground
Not posted or stuck in hard, sad dirt
Just laying on its side
Bottom to the earth
Top to the sun
This was not a flag for a small child
To wave at a parade
Though it was right sized, just for that
An overhead beacon to welcome firefighters
Or cheer majorettes
A treasure to bring home
A souvenir of revelers and marchers
Over time it would tatter from wind
From backyard antics of being furled
And thrust like a weapon at a sibling or the cat
The straw like stick would break one day
And upon returning from kindergarten
It would be forever gone and soon forgotten
Relegated to the trash during a parental cleaning spree
No. This flag was a testament of foreign weapons
An homage of war and atrocities
Of ancestors being stripped and marched and shot
It would be held tightly to hold off tears
Waved in the wind to simulate movement
Quiver to remind us of fear
Goosebumps from goosesteps
A Holocaust remembrance in the shadow of mountains
In the thin air of elevation
Breath shallow. Heart heavy
Two bright colors left in the grass
Blue for the everlasting sky
Yellow for the light a sunflower may bring
For more information about Babi Yar Park in Denver:
The Cultural Landscape Foundation - Babi Yar
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