If one could identify a "source" of Lasker-Schüler's writings it is the Bible. This becomes evident in her Hebraische Balladen (Hebrew Ballads), which appeared in a small booklet in 1913. They are devoted to the great figures of the Old Testament — Abraham to Ruth, Esther, David and Jonathan — and to her people, from whom she felt estranged but at the same time intimately bound. The Hebrew Ballads were meant to remind her bourgeois German Jewish contemporaries of the Jews' great history, of which she was so proud and which she conveyed in a powerful and poetic language. Mein Volk ("My People"), a poem in this collection, evokes her situation as a modern poet of an ancient people that has lost touch with the life-giving energy of its great past. Mein Volk Der Fels wird morsch, Dem ich entspringe Und meine Gotteslieder singe . . . Jah sturz ich vom Weg Und riesele ganz in mir Fernab allein uber Klagesgestein Dem Meer zu. Hab mich so abgestromt Von meines Blutes Mostvergorenheit. Und immer, immer noch der wiederhall In mir, Wenn schauerlich gen Ost Das morsche Felsgebein, Mein Volk, Zu Gott schreit. Heimweh Ich kann die Sprache Dieses kühlen Landes nicht, Und seinen Schritt nicht gehn. Auch die Wolken, die vorbeiziehn, Weiss ich nicht zu deuten. Die Nacht ist eine Stiefkönigin. Immer muss ich an die Pharaonenwälder denken Und küsse die Bilder meiner Sterne. Meine Lippen leuchten schon Und sprechen Fernes, Und bin ein buntes Bilderbuch Auf deinem Schoss. Aber dein Antlitz spinnt Einen Schleier aus Weinen. Meinen schillernden Vögeln Sind die Korallen ausgestochen, An den Hecken der Gärten Versteinern sich ihre weichen Nester. Wer salbt meine toten Paläste — Sie trugen die Kronen meiner Väter, Ihre Gebete versanken im heiligen Fluss. The rock is crumbling From which I spring And sing my hymns to God. . . . I hurl myself from the path And skid all inward-coiled Far off, alone over wailing stone Down to the sea. So far have I drifted From my Blood's wine-press. And yet, the echo resonates In me still, When seized with dread The crumbling rock, My people, Faces East And cries to God. I do not know the speech Of this cool land, I cannot keep its pace. I cannot even read The drifting clouds. The night is a step-queen. I always recall Pharaoh's wood And kiss the images of my stars. My lips already radiant Speak of distances. I am a painted picturebook Upon your lap. But your face weaves A veil of tears. My iridescent birds Stare out of coralless eyes, By the garden Hedges Their soft nests turn to stone. Who will anoint my dead palaces — They wore the crowns of my fathers. Whose prayers drowned in the holy river. Kadya Molodowsky as a young woman The poet, alienated in the land of her birth, looks to the Biblical Land of Israel for solace, yet mourns its centuries-long devastation. She did not live to see the rebirth of the Jewish state, and by the time she died was already thoroughly disenchanted by the realities of the homeland. But from the vantage point of Nazi-bound Germany her yearning is both genuine and intense. The violent image of the birds whose corals have been plucked out recalls Uri Zvi Greenberg's Holocaust image of birds one of whose wings had been severed. Moses und Josua Als Moses im Alter Gottes war, Nahm er den wilden Juden Josua Und salbte ihn zum König seiner Schar. Da ging ein Sehnen weich durch Israel — Denn Josuas Herz erquickte wie ein Quell. Des Bibelvolkes Judenleib war sein Altar. Die Mägde mochten den gekönten Bruder gern — Wie heiliger dornstrauch Brannte süss sein Haar; Sein Lächeln grüsste den ersehnten Heimatstern, Den Mosis altes Sterbeauge aufgehn sah, Als seine müde Löwenseele schrie zum Herrn. When Moses' age equaled the Lord's He took the wild Jew Joshua And annointed him king of his horde. A tender yearning spread through Israel — For Joshua's heart refreshed like a well. The Jewish body of the biblical folk — his altar. The maidens adored their crowned brother — His hair burned sweetly like the holy brier; His smile welcomed the promised native star, Which the old dying-eye of Moses saw rise, While his weary lion-soul cried out to God   Commentary for Mein Volk: From Bauschinger, Sigrid. "The Berlin Moderns: Else Lasker-Schüler and Café Culture" in Berlin Metropolis: Jews and the New Culture 1890-1918. Copyright © 1999 by The Regents of the University of California; Copyright © 1999 The Jewish Museum, New York Under the auspices of The Jewish Theological Seminary of America (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999). p. 76-77. Permission of University of California Press. Commentary for Moses and Joshua: From: Bernhard Frank "Eve's Song: Observations on the Poetry of Else Lasker-Schüler." Judaism: A Quarterly Journal of Jewish Life and Thoughts 47: p. 306. Reprinted with permission from Judaism, vol. 47 no. 3 (Summer 1998). Copyright © 1988 American Jewish Congress. Else Lasker-Schuler, Werke und Briefe: Kritische Ausgabe, vol. I, no. I, ed. Jurgen Skrodzki, with Norbert Oellers, pp. 96-97. English translation by Betty Falkenberg. Permission of University of California Press. English translation of poems: "My People": Bauschinger, Sigrid. "The Berlin Moderns: Else Lasker-Schüler and Café Culture" in Berlin Metropolis: Jews and the New Culture 1890-1918. Berkeley: University of California Press. "Homesickness": Durchslag, Audri and Jeanette Litman-Demeestère. Else Lasker-Schüler: Hebrew Ballads and Other Poems. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1980, pp. 51-55. Permission of JPS. To subscribe to Judaism, please call: 212-879-4000; fax 212-249-3672; or write: Judaism Circulation Office American Jewish Congress 15 E. 84th St. New York, NY 10028-0458; email: judaism@cats.ucsc.edu LASKER-SCHÜLER Introduction