Ruines bien rangées

In the most beautiful and the richest district of Osnabrück, in Lower Saxony, in the city center, rue de la Vieille-Synagogue, there is a leveled space between two elegant residences, we walk past without seeing them. The ruins. It's here. The reserve of memory and oblivion deposited behind fences. On the fence at eye level four panels of polished copper give the same numbered account dated November 9, 1938, sparkling panels, tablets from a night of horror, which took its place of horror in the long and rich chronicle from the famous city founded in 783 by Karl der Große, says Charlemagne on the other side. Here we keep the ashes. Here all the kingdoms of Europe signed the Treaty of Westphalia in 1648, the end of this thirty years war which left millions of murdered ghosts lying around in the streets, here in 1928 without losing a moment our beautiful city is Nazi, in 1938 it set fire to its Jews, as yesterday it set fire to its witches, here our Phoenix immediately after hatred woke up devoted to the Peace and hospitality for a little eternity. Ruins, elegant, neat, tidy, are you inside, are you outside, are you free?
Behind the fence, a high collection of large stones, groomed rubble. These are the bones of the Old Synagogue (indeed she was young and beautiful, in her thirtieth year) that remain after cremation. Bones tidy.