Who is the woman fluttering toward me,
At her breast a baby with no name?
She hovers through to the Viliya shore
And at her breast the child — a flickering flame.

She dashes to the shore, into the river,
Digs deep into the rushing torrent's hiss.
She sets the baby on a floe of ice
And she — starts sinking, sinking in abyss.

How far is the Viliya from the Nile?
Same water flows, days other days beget.
The horror of eternity makes it a habit:
Return again — so man should not forget.

For one last time she reaches out her fingers
And pulls the sunset down. The waves, they race
Over her head, now stormier and lighter,
And on the shore — just I remain, a trace.

The ice floe bears a present to the spring:
A dreamy baby swimming to the sea.
And I accompany it to the moon
And bless it: A new Moses will you be!

Vilna Ghetto, April 15, 1943