While We’re Far Apart

by Lynn Austin

  “No. Hungary is quite a distance away. Here, I will show you on a map.” He went into the dining room and retrieved one of the maps he’d cut from the newspaper that showed the movements of invading troops and locations of battles. He glanced at the picture beneath it and shuddered. The caption read, “Death Cart in Warsaw Ghetto,” and the picture showed the shriveled corpses of Jews who had starved to death in Poland. He had cut that photo from the newspaper one year ago and never should have kept it. He would put all of these pictures away after the children left.

  “See, Peter?” he said when he returned to the kitchen with the map. “Here is England, where your father will be . . . and here is Hungary, down here. These arrows show which way the troops are marching . . . and for now, England is far away from the fighting.”

  “But the Nazis are dropping bombs on London.”

  “Yes, Esther. They are. But the British have air-raid warning sirens and bomb shelters for safety.”

  “Our minister prays every Sunday for all the men in our church who are fighting in the war, but I don’t even close my eyes. Why bother? God didn’t answer my prayers for Mama.”

  Jacob suddenly felt weary. He had to sit down. He pulled his mug of tea closer and took a sip, but didn’t reply.

  “Do you think it does any good to pray, Mr. Mendel?”

  The truth was that he was still too angry with Hashem to pray. But just as his newspaper photos had fueled Esther’s fear, he saw that his lack of faith would have an influence on her, too. It would be very wrong to lead these children into the dark, hopeless world where he lived. Should he tell them not to come anymore? No, Jacob had grown very fond of them. They were the only bright spot in his life right now. He groped for a reply.

  “Sometimes, Esther, it is wrong to judge the effectiveness of prayer by looking at the immediate results. Do you know the story of Joseph from the Bible?”

  She looked thoughtful for a moment. “You mean the boy with the coat of many colors?”

  “Yes. Exactly so. In the story, everything looked very bad for Joseph – sold as a slave by his own brothers, living far from home. He was even locked in prison for a while, falsely accused of a crime he did not commit. His father feared he was dead.” Jacob had to pause as grief strangled him. He closed his eyes, thinking of his son and the cart full of Jewish corpses, thinking of the detectives who had come to his apartment making false accusations. The police wanted to put Jacob into prison, too, for a crime he did not commit.

  “All that time,” he said when he could speak, “all that time Joseph prayed, and it must have seemed like Hashem wasn’t listening.”

  “Is that God’s name, Hashem?”

  “No, Hashem means ‘ The Name.’ One of the Ten Commandments says it is wrong to take His name in vain. We believe that His name is so holy that we must never speak it. Instead, we say Hashem – The Name.”

  “So, Joseph prayed to Hashem?” Esther asked.

  “Yes. I am sure that he prayed something like, ‘Get me out of this prison! Get me back home to my family!’ Hashem may not have answered Joseph’s prayers the way that Joseph wanted Him to, but it turned out that Hashem had a very good reason for keeping him in Egypt. Of course, Joseph could not see how it was good until many years had passed. But Hashem was at work all that time, raising Joseph up to become a leader in Egypt. And when famine came to the land of Israel, Joseph’s family came to him there and were rescued.”

  Peter wrote something on his piece of paper and pushed it across the table for Jacob to read: Mama used to tell us that story. Jacob thought of Rachel Shaffer and his own Miriam Shoshanna, and several moments passed before he could speak.

  “Hashem may not answer our prayers the way we want Him to,” he said, clearing his throat. “He did not deliver Joseph from prison right away. But Hashem was there with Joseph, even in the silence.”

  “Is that true, Mr. Mendel? Does God – Hashem – really hear our prayers?”

  Esther and Peter were looking to him for answers. And for hope. He felt none. Why had he ever opened his door to them? Should he lie?

  “ ‘ The righteous shall live by faith,’ ” Jacob finally said, remembering the rebbe’s words. “Faith is believing, even when you cannot see it. Like Joseph did. He never stopped believing in Hashem. And in time, his prayers were answered in ways he never could have foreseen.”

  Jacob wondered if his son, Avraham, still believed, even though he was surrounded by evil on all sides, even though his prayers for his family’s immigration visas had gone unanswered and deliverance had not come.

  “I didn’t know that you had the same Bible stories we do,” Esther said.

  “Yes, many of them are the same. I believe that your Jesus was a Jewish man, like me, yes?”

  “Are you going to get a Christmas tree, Mr. Mendel? Oh, wait . . . I guess you don’t believe in Christmas, do you?”

  “No. We do not celebrate Christmas.”

  “What do you celebrate, then?”

  “Jewish people celebrate Hanukkah in December by lighting special candles to remember the miracle Hashem performed.”

  “What miracle?”

  Jacob saw the children watching him, waiting for him to explain. Why had he ever opened his mouth? “A long time ago, our enemies tried to destroy our faith and our traditions. They desecrated our temple and allowed the holy lamps to go out.” Jacob thought of the burned-out shul across the street and paused to clear his throat again. “But Hashem gave us victory over our enemies, and we were able to rededicate our temple to Him and light the lamps once again. The problem was, the priests had only enough sacred oil for one night. But they lit them in faith, and by a miracle of Hashem, the lamps burned for eight full days on only a tiny amount of oil. And so we light candles every night during Hanukkah for eight nights. We put the candles in the window as a sign of hope for everyone to see.”

  “Why doesn’t God do miracles like that all the time?”

  “If we could understand Him, Esther, then that would make Him just like us, yes? Or make us just like Him. He would not be the Almighty One. As He has said, ‘My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.’ ”

  Peter bent to write something: Are you going to light candles?

  What could Jacob say – that he no longer had any hope? That he no longer believed in miracles? He couldn’t drag these children down any further than he already had. “I have no one to celebrate with,” he said.

  Esther jumped to her feet. “We’ll light them with you.” Peter nodded in agreement.

  What was the harm in lighting the candles, letting the children hope for a miracle? He rose and went to the kitchen drawer where Miriam had kept the Shabbat candles and the menorah candles and the special havdalah candle. In a way, he hoped the drawer would be empty so he would have an excuse. But it held a plentiful supply, along with some matches. Miriam would have made certain not to run out, and Jacob had not lit any candles since she died.

  “Tonight is the second night of Hanukkah,” he said, closing the drawer again, “so we must light two candles, along with the shammus, the servant candle.”

  He led the way into the living room and lifted the Hanukkiah from the top of the bookshelf, wiping the dust from it with his hand. Miriam would be disgusted with him if she could see such dust.

  “We always used to put it in front of the window on this table,” he explained, “for everyone to see.” He pulled the little end table into place and parted the curtains, then set down the menorah and put the first two candles in their holders. “We add a candle each night for eight nights, lighting them with the servant candle, which will go here, in the middle. Tomorrow we will light three candles, then four, and so on, to remember the miracle of the oil.”

  “May I light them?” Esther asked.

  The boy couldn’t speak, but he stood by Jacob’s side, eager to help. Avraham had always loved lighting them, too. “Tonight we will have ladies first. Tomorrow it will be your turn, Peter.
They must not be lit until after sundown, but the sun sets very early in the winter months, after four o’clock, I believe.”

  “It’s twenty minutes past four,” Esther said, glancing at the clock on his shelf.

  “Very well, then.” What did it matter if they lit the candles a few minutes early or late? He handed the shammus candle and matches to Esther. “First we must recite the special blessings.” Jacob closed his eyes and recited the Hebrew blessings by heart. How long had it been since he had blessed Hashem? How long since he had spoken to Him at all? When he opened his eyes again, tears blurred his vision. “You may light them now, Esther,” he said softly.

  “What were those words you said?” she asked when all three candles were burning.

  “They were words of praise to Hashem, the King of the universe, blessing Him and thanking Him for His commandments . . . and for life . . . and for His miracles.”

  “Do you still believe in God . . . even though . . . ?”

  She didn’t finish, but Jacob knew what she meant: even though the universe seemed to be spinning out of His control with senseless automobile crashes and wars that filled the entire earth. Jacob was very angry with Him, but he nodded just the same. “Yes,” he replied. “I believe.”

  But did he believe everything that he had told the children tonight? That Hashem was always at work, even when we could see no proof? That we could trust Him, even when we didn’t understand what He was doing? That Hashem was good and loving, able to perform miracles for His children?

  He watched as Esther and Peter gazed at the flickering candles in fascination – symbols of hope that would shine in his front window for everyone to see – and Jacob knew that the answer was yes.

  Yes. He still believed all of those things.

  Later, when the children were gone and the candles had burned out in wisps of smoke, Jacob whispered a silent prayer for the first time in many, many months. He asked Hashem for a miracle, asking Him to protect Avraham and Sarah Rivkah and Fredeleh wherever they were tonight. And he prayed for protection for Edward Shaffer, too, so he could return safely home to his children.

  It wasn’t much. But it was a beginning.

  CHAPTER 24

  THE HOLIDAY SONG “White Christmas” played on the radio as Esther made a bed for herself on Grandma Shaffer’s sofa. The Bing Crosby tune was very popular this time of year and played so often that Esther had grown tired of hearing it. She dropped the blanket she was tucking in and wove her way through the narrow aisles of junk to turn the radio off.

  “What did you do that for?” Grandma asked.

  “I hate that song. It makes me sad. I don’t want to hear it anymore.”

  “Well, I suppose it is time for bed.”

  Esther pulled cushions off Grandma’s chairs to make a bed on the floor for Peter. Daddy had helped Grandma clear a spot in her living room before he went away so Esther and Peter would have a place to sleep on the weekends. He had tried to convince Grandma to throw away some of the useless stuff she collected, but she had refused. In the end, Daddy had no choice but to push everything against the walls and in front of the window in order to make a space on the floor where Peter could sleep. Once Grandma turned out the lights, Esther always felt like she was sleeping in a storage closet.

  “Did Daddy tell you about the places where he has to sleep?” she asked as Grandma fluffed a pillow for Peter.

  “No. Where does he sleep?”

  “Well, on the troop ship he slept in a bunk bed that was like a hammock. There were rows and rows of them hanging on top of each other from the floor all the way to the ceiling, and he didn’t even have enough space to sit up. Then, when he first got to his army base in England, there were too many men and not enough beds, so everybody had to share. Half of the men had to stay awake while the other half slept, then they traded places. He said the sheets would still be warm when he climbed in between them.”

  “I wouldn’t like that very much,” Grandma said. She spread a blanket over Peter, then made her way to her birdcage and draped a cover over it for the night. “The two of you can change places, you know, if the floor gets too uncomfortable for Peter.”

  “We will.”

  Esther didn’t like staying at Grandma Shaffer’s house, but she had decided to use the time this weekend to find out more about Mama’s side of the family. Esther had tried to forget about them after Daddy said they had argued with Mama and wanted nothing to do with her. But everyone Esther knew had dozens of relatives – aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents – and she barely had any. Maybe if she found Mama’s family, she wouldn’t feel all alone. And so ever since Penny had dropped them off earlier tonight, Esther had tried to summon her courage, waiting for the right moment to ask. As Grandma wove her way toward the light switch, Esther knew she’d better ask now or miss her chance.

  “Grandma . . . where was Mama from?”

  “Here in Brooklyn, I think.”

  “Does she still have relatives here? Brothers and sisters?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you ever meet any of them?”

  “No.”

  “Well, how did Mama and Daddy meet each other?”

  Grandma seemed to shrink back, as if Esther was hurling the questions at her like a game of dodge ball. “You need to ask your father these things, not me.”

  “But he’s so far away, and it takes so long to send letters back and forth. Can’t you just tell me?”

  “I don’t remember the story.”

  Esther had the feeling that Grandma did know the story but didn’t want to tell it. “Why did Mama’s family get mad at her?” Esther asked.

  “Because they were – ” Grandma stopped. “Who said they were mad at her?”

  “Daddy did. He said that they were ‘estranged’ and that it meant there were hard feelings between them. How could anyone get mad at Mama? Especially her own family?”

  “It was a long time ago, Esther. It doesn’t really matter anymore.” Grandma turned off the light and began inching her way through the living room, heading toward her bedroom. “Good night, you two.”

  “Wait!”

  Grandma halted and turned to Esther. “What now?”

  “I’ve looked all through Mama’s photo album, but she doesn’t have any pictures of her family. Didn’t they come to Mama and Daddy’s wedding?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I was told that they didn’t want her to marry Eddie and give up her chance to study music.”

  “Where was she going to study music?”

  “Look, that’s all I’m going to say. It isn’t my place to talk about your mother or her family. You need to ask your father these questions. Now, good night.”

  “Grandma? Did Mama’s family come to her funeral?”

  “No,” she said softly. “No, they didn’t.”

  “Why not? . . . Didn’t they know about Peter and me?”

  “Good night, Esther.”

  “Good night,” she said with a sigh. She might have to give up for now, but she was determined to try again in the morning.

  She lay down, waiting for her eyes to get used to the darkness. Grandma’s piles looked spooky in the shadowy room, like rubble from the bombed-out buildings in Mr. Mendel’s newspaper pictures. Esther wished she and Peter were back home in their own bedroom. Jacky Hoffman had invited her to go to the movies with him tomorrow, but she’d had to turn him down. He was still walking home from school with her and protecting Peter from the other kids. She didn’t know why Jacky had called Mr. Mendel names that time, but she liked talking to Jacky on the way home from school and then visiting Mr. Mendel afterward. Both of them were her friends – the only friends she had.

  Esther rolled over onto her side and looked down at Peter. A shaft of light from the streetlamp filtered past Grandma’s sagging drapes, making it bright enough to see him. He had the dog beside him, holding her like a teddy bear.

  “Peter?” s
he whispered. “I don’t want to stay here for Christmas, do you?” He looked up at her and shook his head. “Remember how Penny said her friend Roy would take us to Times Square if we wanted him to? I know I told Penny that I didn’t want to go – but maybe I do now. And maybe we could stay at our own house next weekend. You want to?”

  Peter nodded. Esther gazed down at her brother, clinging to the dog on his makeshift bed, with stacks of newspapers and cardboard boxes towering over him, and he looked so forlorn that it brought tears to her eyes. Mama would cry, too, if she could see what had become of them. Grandma’s threadbare blanket looked much too thin to keep Peter warm and safe, so Esther pulled the crocheted afghan off the back of the couch and draped it over him.

  “Peter?” she whispered. “Do you think you’ll ever start talking to me again?” He lifted his palms in a helpless gesture. Esther lay back down and sighed. “I miss you, Petey.”

  Esther had never seen a crowd as huge as the one that jammed Times Square for the War Bond rally. Thousands of people stood in front of the stage to listen to the musicians and singers perform. Famous movie stars told jokes and urged people to buy war bonds, while beyond the stage, a gigantic cash register kept track of all the money they’d raised for the war effort. Penny had linked arms with Esther as they’d shuffled on and off the jam-packed subway, and for once Esther didn’t mind having Penny right beside her. Her friend Roy, the marine, watched out for Peter, carrying him piggyback when he got tired of walking and hoisting him onto his shoulders so he could see the stage over everyone’s head.

  “I’ve never seen a real live movie star in person before, have you?” Penny asked.

  Esther shook her head. “We should have come earlier so we could get closer.”

  “Next year,” Roy said with a wink. But Esther hoped with all her heart that Daddy would be home by next Christmas and that the war would be over and nobody would need to buy war bonds.

  They listened to Judy Garland perform, and they sang along with her on some of the Christmas carols. They laughed and cheered with the rest of the crowd at Abbott and Costello’s antics. All the while, the numbers on the giant cash register kept going higher and higher. The show was fun and exciting, but for Esther it seemed to end much too soon.