Why these songs are carried into English
The melodies travel on their own. The words need help.
These songs were written in Yiddish and in Polish, by people who were killed, for listeners who were killed. What survived was written down after the war, mostly by Shmerke Kaczerginski, who came out of the Vilna ghetto and spent years collecting the songs of the ghettos and the camps. That is the only reason we can still sing them.
A song lives while it is understood. Sung in a language almost nobody in the room reads, it becomes a beautiful sound and a closed door. So the words were carried first into Russian by the poet Olga Anikina, and on these pages they are carried again, line by line, into English. The English is for understanding only, never for performance: it is printed beside the Russian so a listener can follow exactly what is being sung, word for word, and hear the difference between the two.
Nothing on these pages is invented. Where a song's author or origin is not confirmed by an archive, the page says so plainly and names nobody. Where a widely told story exists but the archives do not support it, the page tells the story and marks it as an account rather than as fact.
Before you press play
The chapter as a whole suits listeners of about ten and up, and every page carries its own age note, because the five songs are not equally hard. Summer Day is a lullaby and the gentlest way in. Yisrolik is a boy who refuses to be pitied and works well from about eight. Tango of Auschwitz names the place and the machinery directly, and is for twelve and up.
There are no photographs of camps here, no numbers, and no descriptions of what was done to people. These are family pages. Each song page ends with a short block called For parents and educators: what to say before, what to ask afterwards, and what to leave alone.