by Lynn Austin
“Is Leiden far from here?” Leaving her new friend would be a great loss for Miriam, even if it meant Mother would be able to join them.
“Leiden is in the western part of the Netherlands,” Abba replied. “Twenty-five miles or so from Amsterdam. Not far from Den Haag.”
“They allow Jews to be professors there, Abba?”
“Yes, of course. Leiden is a very old university, founded in the sixteenth century.”
“Maybe you could come too,” Miriam told Avi. “You could finish your engineering degree.”
He nodded, but his smile was an indulgent one, as if he really didn’t believe it could happen. “Now we have even more reason to thank the Almighty as we celebrate the Sabbath,” he said. He gestured to the tall white candles he’d fitted into the holders and pushed a box of matches into her hands. “It’s time to light the candles, Miriam.”
“Wait!” Abba said. He pulled a small skullcap from his pocket and fitted it over his dark, slicked-back hair. “There is a blessing you are supposed to recite, Miriam. Shall I say it for you this time until you have a chance to learn it?”
She looked at him in surprise. “How do you know it, Abba? Mother never lit candles that I can remember.”
His eyes glistened. “I heard my mother and grandmother recite the blessing every week when I was a boy. I will tell you about it after you light them.” She lit the candles, then listened in amazement as he recited words in Hebrew, his voice choked with emotion.
“Abba . . . I didn’t know . . .”
“Everyone sit down and we can begin,” he said.
Miriam looked around at the other guests as they took their places and saw their hushed excitement. Miriam didn’t know the traditional Sabbath rituals, but the flickering candlelight and expectant joy in Avi’s eyes made the rustic dining hall seem like a holy place.
“First, it is a father’s privilege to say a blessing for his children on Shabbat.” Abba laid his hand on Miriam’s head as he recited in Hebrew again, then kissed the place where his hand had rested.
“Professor, would you do us the honor of saying the blessings on the bread and wine, too?” Avi asked.
Abba poured wine into the silver goblet that one of the guests had contributed and recited the blessing. They passed the goblet around, each taking a sip. He blessed the bread, then broke it into pieces and passed them around.
The food was the same dining hall fare as usual, but it seemed different tonight as they laughed and talked and listened to Avi explain what the Torah said about celebrating the Sabbath day. Later, when the food and wine were gone and a happy glow had settled over the table, Miriam asked Abba how he’d learned the Sabbath rituals.
“My parents were Orthodox. My grandfather was a rabbi.”
“I never knew that!”
“No one in my family was happy with me when I left home and went to the university to study physics instead of to the yeshiva to study Torah. But Torah and physics are perfectly compatible in my mind. The Almighty is a God of order and laws, and I wanted to study how He had created and ordered the universe.” He looked down at the table. “My family and I became even more estranged when I married your mother—a woman from a nonreligious family.”
Miriam knew the story. “You heard her performing at a piano recital and fell in love with her.”
“With her and with the exquisite music she created.” His eyes glistened in the candlelight. “How could I explain that her music drew me closer to God? My family didn’t understand.”
“I understand, Professor. Miriam’s music does the same for me.”
“I didn’t tell your mother, Miriam, but since losing my position at the university, I have returned to Torah study. I am asking God why we are being persecuted. What have we done? And what He wants to teach us in this dark trial.”
“That’s why I began reading it too,” Avi said. “Have you found any answers, Professor?”
“No. But I think God likes it when we ask questions. My best university students were the ones who asked questions. I think God is pleased when we engage in a dialogue with Him. I regret that I’ve ignored Him for much of my life, but at least we are talking again. I was raised to study the Torah with a chavrutah—a study partner. Would you do me the honor of being my chavrutah, Avraham?”
“I’m the one who would be honored, Professor Jacobs.”
Later, after the evening ended and Miriam and Abba had returned to their stark barracks, Abba turned to her and said, “I like your young man very much, Miriam.”
“Why do you call him my young man? We’re just friends—”
“Yes, I can see that you’re friends. And I see much more. I saw your faces when I mentioned the possibility of moving to Leiden. I heard how quick you were to invite him to join us if God sees fit to move us there. It’s probably too soon to call it love, but I already see great affection between the two of you. I wouldn’t mind if you and young Avraham grew closer, dear one.” He laid his hand on her head as he had when he’d blessed her. “No, I wouldn’t mind in the least.”
If Miriam were asked to name the time or the day when she fell in love with Avraham Leopold, she couldn’t have done it. Her love for him grew the way a plant does—so slowly you can’t see it but becoming steadily stronger every day until a dazzling flower unfolds. He held her hand as they walked to meals. He sat on the steps during her daily practice sessions. And she sat on the bed in her tiny, curtained home, listening to the lively discussions as he and Abba studied Torah. Their friendship grew until they became inseparable.
By the time Abba was officially appointed to lecture in physics at Leiden University, Miriam and Avi knew they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. She would follow him anywhere, even to Palestine. She could forget the sorrow of the past, forget her dismal surroundings with Avi beside her. Joyful music now poured from her violin to match the joy that filled her heart. She was in love! There was no other feeling in the world quite like it.
Abba had smuggled money out of Germany, glued between the cover and flyleaf of several of his books. Enough to rent a small, furnished apartment in Leiden. Avi would join them after his records from the university in Berlin arrived. Hopefully he would be granted a visa to enroll in Leiden as an engineering student.
“See?” Abba said as he and Miriam packed their suitcases again. “We’ll flourish once more, my dear one. Your mother will join us in Leiden, and we’ll start all over again—the four of us. Love grows in the most unlikely places, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, Abba! It surely does!” For the first time in over a year, the tantalizing possibility of joy seemed within Miriam’s grasp. She leaned toward it like a flower to the sun.
CHAPTER 7
“How would you feel about welcoming two overnight guests, my dear?” Professor Huizenga asked his wife during dinner one evening. His reddish hair and beard glinted like gold in the candlelight. Ans dined with the Huizengas in their elegant dining room nearly every evening as if she were a family member instead of a mere caretaker. The delicate china, polished silverware, and rich, savory food were welcome reminders of her happy escape from her country upbringing—although she still felt like a farm girl much of the time, in spite of Eloise’s efforts to introduce her to high culture.
“Guests?” Eloise replied. She speared a small piece of potato with her fork. “Who are they, Herman? Do I know them?”
“A brilliant German colleague I once met at a conference in Berlin—”
Eloise’s fork clattered onto the dish. “You want to invite Germans here? To our home?” There was a note of panic in her voice as the color drained from her fair cheeks, and Ans grew alert. This was the first hint she’d seen of Eloise’s altering moods. Ans watched Professor Huizenga to see how he would react.
“Eloise. Look at me.” He reached for her hand, waiting until she did. “Our guests have also suffered from their tyranny. Professor Jacobs and his daughter came to the Netherlands for refuge, just as you did afte
r the war. The foolish Nazis will no longer allow him to teach at the University of Cologne because he’s Jewish.”
“So they know what it’s like?”
“Yes, my love. They know. But I can make other arrangements—”
“No. No, don’t do that. Of course they may stay here.” Her smile seemed forced. Ans saw the heroic effort Eloise was making to regain her balance.
“I’ve arranged for him to lecture at the university. His daughter, Miriam, is about your age, Ans. They’ve been living in a refugee camp, but I’ve offered to let them stay with us until they find an apartment. Perhaps you could help them?”
“I would be happy to,” Ans said. He had directed attention away from his wife, smoothly and deliberately, to give her a chance to recover. “I know my way around Leiden pretty well now. Will they want to live near the university?”
“I assume so. Or perhaps near the synagogue off Korevaarstraat. Do you know where that is? Across the canal from the science buildings?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever noticed a synagogue.”
“You wouldn’t, necessarily. It’s a plain brick building. Jews don’t build steeples like we do or draw attention to their synagogues in any special way.”
The only Jewish person Ans knew was the wizened tinker who made his rounds in a horse-drawn cart, sharpening knives and selling pots and pans in her village and the surrounding farms. But like everyone else in the Netherlands, Ans had heard about the persecution of Jews in Germany. Jewish families had been streaming across the border into her tiny country in the tens of thousands. She’d seen pictures in the newspaper of the overcrowded Westerbork refugee camp.
Eloise was no longer eating. She had pushed her plate away, unfinished. Her hands fluttered like trapped birds as she straightened her silverware and moved her water glass. “Those poor people . . . ,” she murmured. “What they must have endured. When will our guests arrive, Herman?”
“Later this week, by train. You need to finish eating, my dear.”
Eloise didn’t seem to hear him. “We’ll make them feel welcome, won’t we, Ans?”
“I’ll be happy to—”
“First thing tomorrow, we’ll get a listing of available apartments from an agent. It will have to be a furnished apartment, naturally, because they won’t have brought much with them, will they? I’ll insist on one with lots of windows. Good light is very important when so many of our winter days are gray and dreary. Of course, they may stay with us for as long as it takes, but I understand the importance of having a place of one’s own after an upheaval like the one they’ve suffered.”
The professor reached for his wife’s fluttering hand, stilling it. “Eloise, my love. You haven’t eaten. You’ll need your strength if you’re planning a busy day.”
“No, what I need is sleep. Plenty of sleep. I think I’ll go to bed now so we can get an early start.” She rose from the table, and Ans knew her well enough by now to be certain she wouldn’t be convinced to return.
Eloise poured herself into the task of finding a furnished apartment with a feverish intensity that worried her husband. He cautioned Ans not to leave her side. By the end of the week, they’d found three possibilities, and Eloise turned her attention to readying her town house for their guests. She asked Ans to help put fresh linens on the beds in the spare bedrooms, ignoring the housekeeper’s protests that it was her job to do it. They shopped for flowers and French pastries. While the professor drove to the station to meet the train, Eloise set out coffee and tea in her best china cups and arranged the pastries on a platter. Queen Wilhelmina herself might have been coming to visit. By the time their guests arrived, Eloise’s agitated state made Ans feel more dread than anticipation.
Ans greeted the Jewish father and daughter at the door, struck by how haunted and ghostly they looked, as if the essence of them had been left behind in Germany. They arrived with only three suitcases and a violin case, which the daughter held closely. Mr. Jacobs looked as though he’d once been heavier and could use some of Mama’s hearty farm dinners with potatoes and butter and fresh cream to regain his vigor. Miriam Jacobs was slender and pale, like a plant in need of sunlight and fertile soil. She was strikingly pretty, with dark hair and eyes, and she moved with the graceful elegance of a ballerina. But Ans noticed how her hands trembled as she reached for her teacup or selected one of the pastries from the plate.
“You speak German?” Miriam asked in surprise as Ans began chatting with her.
“Yes, a little—I could use practice.”
“I learned some Dutch in the camp,” Miriam said. “Maybe you can teach me more.”
“I’d be happy to. We can practice both languages together.” Ans liked Miriam immediately and looked forward to having another friend her age. But she also kept an eye on Eloise, who seemed to withdraw inside herself, not saying a word, as everyone around her spoke in German.
“You seem tired, Eloise, my dear,” Professor Huizenga said when they finished their tea. “Why don’t you go upstairs and rest?” He turned to their guests. “You must be weary too. If you’ll please excuse my wife and me, Ans will show you to your rooms and help you get settled.”
Ans carried one of the suitcases as she led Miriam and her father to their rooms on the third floor. Miriam’s room was small and stuffy from lack of use, even though Ans had opened the windows to the warm September air. She was about to apologize for its condition, but before she could get the words out, Miriam twirled in a circle like a child, taking everything in.
“This room is so pretty!” She ran her hand over the flowered bedspread as if caressing it. “We were grateful for the refugee camp, but there was nothing lovely there. I’ve missed color and beauty.” She lifted the vase of flowers from the dresser and inhaled their scent. Ans was glad she and Eloise had walked to the flower market to purchase them.
“I know the Huizengas are very happy to have you here, Miriam. I’ll leave you for now so you can rest and get settled. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Well . . . to be honest, I would love to go for a walk outside, if it’s safe.”
“It’s very safe to walk around Leiden. We can go for a walk right now, if you’d like.”
Miriam smiled for the first time. She crossed the hall and knocked on her father’s door to ask if he wanted to join them.
“Next time, perhaps. I’m going to write a letter to your mother and tell her where we are.”
The walk seemed to energize Miriam and put life and color back into her cheeks. “Cologne, where I grew up, was also a beautiful city,” she said. “But by the time we left, it was no longer safe for us to go for a walk. And there were very few places to go, since we weren’t allowed in the public parks or theaters or other ordinary places.”
“Because you’re Jewish?”
She nodded. “I was a prisoner in our house. It was the same at Westerbork except the camp is in the country. There was still no place to go.”
“You’ll like Leiden. People walk everywhere, and they especially enjoy an evening stroll after dinner. There are a lot of nice cafés, or you can go to a concert or the movies. Sometimes I go to dances with my friends.”
“The city looked very pretty as we rode from the train station. It seemed like there were so many bridges and rivers.”
“The Rijn river flows through the city and branches into two forks in the middle—the Oude Rijn and the Nieuwe Rijn. There are several canals, too.” She looked at Miriam. “Your father mentioned writing to your mother—is she still in Germany?”
“Yes. It was very hard to leave her and the rest of our family behind. Abba hopes Mother will join us once we’re settled. She would have hated the refugee camp. She grew up in a home very much like yours.”
“Oh, it isn’t my home. I work as Eloise Huizenga’s companion.” Ans led Miriam in a wide circle through a portion of the old city, showing her the parks and canals along the way.
“I wish Avi was here to see all this!” Miri
am said. “I wish he could know freedom like this!” She glanced shyly at Ans and said, “Avi is my boyfriend. Abba and I are hoping that he’ll be able to join us here soon.”
“Then I’ll hope so, too.”
Dinner that evening felt oddly subdued. Miriam and her father seemed overwhelmed by all the food and formality. Ans could well imagine what a shock it must be to go from a bleak refugee camp to so much luxury. Professor Huizenga seemed worried and preoccupied. “Tomorrow we’ll tour the university,” he told Mr. Jacobs, “and I’ll show you the classrooms and your office. Eloise and Ans will show your daughter some apartments to consider.”
Eloise spoke very little throughout the meal, and when she did, her usual cheerfulness had a brittle quality to it. Ans acted as an interpreter between Miriam, who knew only a little Dutch, and Eloise, who couldn’t or wouldn’t speak German.
“You play the violin, Miriam?” Eloise asked. “How wonderful!”
“Music was a huge part of my life in Cologne. I had hoped to study at the conservatory like my mother and uncle and cousins did, but Jews were no longer allowed.”
“Well, we’ll see what we can arrange for you here. If not in Leiden, we can certainly find a place for you to study in Amsterdam. It’s easy to travel there by train.”
“Thank you. I’m so grateful.”
Ans knew that Eloise would pour herself into the task with the same frenzied energy she’d used when finding an apartment, and Ans felt weary at the thought of keeping up with her. Eloise seemed incapable of relaxing and ran on two speeds—frenetic activity or exhausted sleep.
When the meal ended, they moved into the front room for coffee. Eloise sat down for only a moment before springing up and crossing to the boxy radio in the corner. “Let’s turn on the BBC and see if there’s a concert tonight.”
Her husband leaped up right behind her. “Let’s not, my dear. I’m afraid the radio will disrupt our conversation.” He reached for her hand to lead her back to her chair, but she shook him off.
