by Tricia Goyer
Her focus now was on saving Klára and Ondřej. Abram, the love of her life and her protector, was no more. The tears didn’t come as she thought of him. She’d cried herself to sleep every night since they’d run away. There were no more tears to cry now.
Pavla lowered her weary body onto the thin mattress that Mrs. Smidova had put into the shed and curled herself against Ondřej’s back, wrapping her arms around both her children. She released a heavy sigh and closed her eyes. At this moment they had a place to rest, hidden from the elements. Tonight her children had gone to sleep without growling stomachs. Tonight she had her two children with her. The same could not be said of so many other Jewish families whose stories she’d heard about. And just a few hours from now, she and her children would be taken by oxcart to a new place. She wasn’t sure what would happen then, but she hoped what Mrs. Smidova said was true, that once they reached the refugee camps there would be people, organizations, to help them and give them provisions for a new life. Yet even as Pavla longed for a new life, her heart ached for her old one.
Pavla closed her eyes and tried to remember her husband’s face. He had high cheekbones and a handsome nose. His mouth was large, especially when he broke into a smile. His hair had been light like his mother’s, which was probably one of the reasons for Klára’s light coloring.
Abram’s form had always been powerful and commanding. She remembered the first day she’d seen him dressed as a Talmud student. Even under his cloak and cap, he looked more like a warrior than a pious student. His narrow face, shadowed by a beard, held a hint of a smile.
Under arched eyebrows shone intelligent blue eyes that had followed her all through the day at her cousin’s wedding. It was less than two years later when they had their own wedding. She closed her eyes and could almost imagine Abram entwining his long, strong fingers through her raven hair. It was hard to believe her husband was gone.
The happenings of that night remained clouded in her mind, and she knew nothing about what had happened to her husband and in-laws before they were killed. They had received word earlier in the evening from their neighbors that the Jewish buildings in town were being broken into and looted. Pavla went to put her children to bed while Abram, his father, Omer, and his mother, Rebekah, were discussing whether it was wise to go out and check on the state of their business. Abram had come upstairs to tell her that the synagogue was burning. Not long after that, someone had knocked on the door, but she could not hear the conversation. She had walked downstairs to see who had come, and had watched in horror as a German soldier ordered Abram and his parents to leave the house with him.
Pavla had never lived alone before. She’d never had to care for her own needs or those of her children. She’d never had to figure out where to find food or shelter. She’d moved from her parents’ house to Abram’s, but now whatever happened to her children was all up to her…or was it?
All her life Pavla had heard about Elohim. She’d always trusted that what her family told her about the one true God was true. He had always been a part of her life and community. Just like the sun and the moon, the clouds and the rain, He was always there.
But after she had lost everything, it was hard to think of Elohim. If He was present and saw all that happened, He must have allowed it. How could a loving God allow such things to happen? Weren’t the Jews His special people? Why were they being persecuted in such a way? None of it made sense.
Still, the emptiness deep inside wouldn’t go away, and Pavla could only hold Elohim back for so long. Her arms were getting weary from holding Him at bay. In a strange way she longed for the comfort He provided even though she didn’t understand His ways. And as her eyes fluttered closed, she wondered again if she’d done something to make Him angry—if she’d believed in something that would cause a curse upon her family—but she couldn’t think about that now. Instead, she pushed aside her questions and simply sought His presence. If there was ever a time she needed to feel God’s closeness, it was now. A passage of Scripture that Abram had been helping Ondřej memorize over the past couple of months came to her mind.
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will not fear the crafty wiliness of the evil-doer;
For thou art with me! Thou art in all my ways;
The firm staff of faith is my confidence!
Ondřej had memorized more verses than that, but she couldn’t remember them all now. Instead, she let those words play in her mind over and over.
I will not fear. I will not fear. O Lord, help me not to fear.
As the hour grew close to midnight, she woke her children and had them gather their things for the journey ahead. Even though Pavla was cold, hungry, and weary, her thoughts of Elohim had given her new strength. She was not alone. God was at her side. No matter what lay ahead, He would be with her, with her children. Even when Abram couldn’t, God could—and would.
EIGHT
Prague, Czechoslovakia
Sunday, December 18, 1938
The next morning Andrew and Amity had a quick breakfast in the lobby of the Hotel Evropa, and then he took her to a small building a few blocks from Wenceslas Square, where he’d set up an office to help process refugees. She had awakened this Sunday morning to the sound of hundreds of church bells all over the city, and as they set off on their short walk, the streets were nearly empty. Only the most faithful had ventured out to attend Mass.
If she had been back in London, she would be attending church with Clark and Celia, but today she was worshipping and serving the Lord in a different way.
People were already gathered at the building even though it was still early in the morning. The crowd watched silently as they approached. The people looked tired, weary, and cold.
Amity’s heart broke as she eyed the clusters of families. Her gaze turned to the children. They should be laughing and playing. Instead, they stood silently beside their mothers, their faces downcast.
Andrew unlocked the door. He motioned for Amity to go through, and then the crowd spilled inside, filling every inch of the lobby space. Still, not everyone could get in the door.
Even with these challenging circumstances, Amity was impressed to see how the refugees cared for each other. No one pushed to the front. No one demanded attention first.
How tired they must be trying to find help day after day, searching for hope.
“We’ll be with you in a moment,” Andrew called out with a smile, and then he led Amity to a back office where there were two metal desks, two chairs, and a line of file cabinets. Brass hooks hung on the paneled wall for coats and umbrellas. In the far corner was a sink and a small wood-burning stove. A neat pile of wood was stacked next to it. A tall window looked out upon the street. To the side was a small toilet room. All the necessities of life.
Already tears filled her eyes at the thought of all those families being trapped in this city, desperate to escape. Andrew pointed to the chair behind one of the desks. She quickly sat, suddenly feeling the weight of the world upon her shoulders. Amity didn’t know what question to ask first, but they all came tumbling out. “Where do they all come from? Are all of these families trying to get out of the country, hoping to get to England?”
Andrew nodded his affirmation. “’Fraid so. They’re all trying to get out. And where have they come from? Everywhere the Nazis have gained control.”
Amity unbuttoned her coat with trembling fingers. “And where are all the men? I only saw a few.”
“It’s a hard answer.” He sighed. “Some are dead, considered enemies of the state and targeted by the Nazis. Others are in camps or imprisoned. For the lucky families, the men have been sent ahead.”
She furrowed her brow. “They sent the men ahead without their families?”
“Yes, usually because they were labeled political enemies, like well-known Communists from Austria or the Sudetenland. There were organizations prepared to get these targets out quickly. The only problem was, they seemed t
o forget they were leaving families behind.”
Even though her stomach still quivered at the enormity of the problem, Amity rose to her feet, ready to help in any way. Ready to do something, anything to help those poor people.
She stood and took a step toward her brother and grasped Andrew’s arm, holding it tight. She wanted to thank him for asking her to come, but she knew if she released the words, sobs would accompany them. She had no idea what her brother needed her to do—how she could possibly help the children—but her heart ached to do something.
Andrew must have seen the emotion that transformed her face, for he wrapped a brotherly arm around her shoulders. “Before you say anything, I need you to listen to me. Even though you will see so many needs, you need to forget those for now.”
She nodded. “That will be hard to do, but I’ll try.”
“What I need you to do is to make a list.”
“A list?”
“Yes, a list. Getting a child’s name on a list is the most important way you can help a refugee. Everyone has to be on a list in order to be considered for travel documents. It’s the only way for them to leave the country. Then we will submit our list to London, along with a file we will create for each child. These files will include information about their families, the types of students they are, and any other information a family might need who is willing to care for the child.” Andrew pointed to a camera on the desk. “We will take photos of each one and include them in the files. We will then set out to find sponsors for the children. The list will show us which children need to have sponsors first.”
“What happens then?”
“This is the hard part. Our list is put into a pile with the other lists provided by various organizations around this city. We have no control over what list they will chose to work from. Then, looking at the names and files, people in an office in London will make these life-and-death decisions. Bureaucrats with full schedules and more papers to process than they know what to do with will decide who should stay and who should go. It will be critical that all the paperwork is filled out perfectly. They’ve never seen what you’ll see, and because of that it’s easy to reject an application for the smallest infraction.”
He swept his arm toward the door. “All those lives will be forever impacted by government men sitting behind desks with rubber stamps, whether we like it or not. It’s your job to gather the names of the children, prepare their files, and take their photos. These people have been overlooked by other organizations. If we don’t get their names on a list to submit—and make sure their paperwork is done—they won’t have a chance.”
“Wait—only the children? Not their mothers?”
“That’s right. I have a friend, Dorothy, who is working on transports for mothers and children. She is in an office not far from here, but there are only so many sponsors. There is only a limited amount of money available. It is easier to find foster families for children.” Andrew ran his fingers through his dark hair again until it stood on end. Then he shook his head, as if not wanting to have to explain the truth of what would happen to those left behind.
“Many of these mothers do not know that they will have to send their children away without them, and we have no way of knowing if we will ever be able to provide a way for the mothers to join them. That will be one of the hardest parts of your job, explaining that reality to these women, who have already lost so much.”
He paused, and Amity had a feeling he was reluctant to tell her whatever was coming next. “I’m going back to London. I’m going to take as many files as I can carry and find good people who will open their homes to these little ones. I’m heading back in just a few days and—”
“Wait!” Amity held up her hand, halting his words. “A few days? You’re leaving me here to do all this on my own?”
He lowered his gaze and fixed his eyes on hers. “I didn’t want to tell you when I sent the invitation. I was afraid you wouldn’t come if you knew the truth. The best way I can help these children is by finding homes for them in England. And I need you—someone I trust with my whole heart—to take care of them here.”
“And not getting their name on the list?”
Andrew moved to the window. Even though it was a beautiful view of red tile roofs and medieval spires, he focused instead on the line of people. “They believe they’re as good as dead.”
Amity let her eyes flutter closed, the severity of the situation overwhelming her. “Do you agree with that?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” He smoothed down his hair the best he could, but it did little good. He usually looked so put together, but today he looked like a mess. This whole situation was clearly eating him up inside, as if all those little ones belonged to him, as if they were his personal responsibility.
I have to help them. I have to help Andrew’s children. But how would she do it? It was so much to handle with him gone.
Suddenly she felt ill. The toast and jam and lunch meats she had for breakfast felt like bricks in her stomach. She opened her eyes and moved to the desk, taking a seat. Her stomach ached, but her chest hurt even more as the weight of what Andrew was asking her to do settled over her.
She pressed a hand to her forehead and looked at him. “But if I’m the one putting all the names on the list, then I’m making the choice between life and death. How would I ever choose?”
“You can’t think of it that way. You’re not the one choosing death, Hitler is. Instead, God has chosen you to save those who you can. To give the choice of life.”
The thankfulness she had felt a moment ago for being here, for having the opportunity to help, dropped like an invisible glass ball from her hands, shattering at her feet. Suddenly she wished to be taken back to a week prior when she knew little to nothing of Czech refugees. Life was so much easier as a tutor, when her biggest problem was getting Celia to focus on her lessons. She would gladly hear Mrs. McGovern fret about the cost of fresh flowers from morning to evening if she no longer had the knowledge of the refugee children and their need to escape before Hitler’s men descended on them. Because now that she knew, she had to answer to her conscience, and more importantly, to God. If she walked away, she’d never be able to forget what she’d learned.
“It’s too much. It’s just too much,” she mumbled.
“You will have an assistant named Madeline. She’s out at one of the villages today, but you will meet her tomorrow. There are other volunteers who stop in to help every now and then. Don’t be surprised by this—they do what they can when they can. I also have a friend from Brno, Marek, who might come to help, although I’ve yet to confirm that. I will try to give him a call today.”
Andrew spoke in a low voice. He focused on her face as if willing her to remember his every word. “The women and children outside these office doors are the ones who have made it into Prague. But there are so many more. Seas of people.” He pointed to a map behind him mounted on the wall. “Camps dot all parts of the compass around Prague. These pins mark the areas where they’ve been set up. I have been to each one at least once, and they seem to get worse and worse the farther they are from the city.”
“Do you have any idea the number or people, the number of children? What are we talking about?”
“There is no way to get an accurate number, but we have a good guess. In the villages around Prague there are some 200,000 despairing and destitute people. We have no idea how many of them are children.”
“So many. All from the Sudetenland and other areas the Germans have occupied?”
“Yes, and that’s not including an equal number who were sent back to the occupied territory, driven back onto the trains at the point of the bayonet by their own countrymen.” He lowered his head and shook it. “I’ve heard whole families are being sent away to camps, or they are being persecuted in their own towns. There is nothing we can do for those people, but we can’t leave those who are here to their fate.”
“Where are these people staying? Sure
ly there wasn’t enough extra housing for all of them.”
“Not even close. Those in the villages are staying in old schools, abandoned buildings, churches. Most are unheated. There are broken windows, and blankets are scarce…Well, you get the picture.”
“What about food?” Amity placed a hand over her stomach again, feeling guilty for having indulged in this morning’s breakfast when others had so little.
“Food is being provided by different relief agencies, but it’s rationed. There’s never really enough to go around.” He turned back from the window, despair evident on his face. He passed his hands slowly over his forehead and then rubbed his eyes, as if trying to push back all his worries. “Did you bring any money?”
Amity nodded. “Nearly five hundred pounds. I figured you’d need it. My savings, all of it, but it seems so inadequate now.”
“It’ll be a start. I need to pay another few months of rent for this space. It isn’t much, but the hotel isn’t cheap. The people need provisions too. We’ll need money for the train fares and food for the trip to England. We’ll quickly have to find more benefactors.” He offered a half smile. “I’ve already used up what money I had, and I’ve been calling around to friends.”
She sighed. “I can only imagine how much they enjoy those calls.”
“People are catching on, asking friends to help too. Some are willing to give money to help with supplies and things, yet even if they can afford it, many are not interested in sponsoring a child. It’s just too much responsibility, they say. They don’t like the idea of taking a child they’ve never met before into their home—and they don’t know much of their background. I’m hoping I can change a few minds by showing them some photographs.”
