From the Ashes

by Sandra Saidak

  Pandemonium erupted.

  “He wants to replace Nazi tyranny with Jewish tyranny!” said Ian.

  “Actually,” said the South African, “it might be worth it just for the poetic justice. Think about it.”

  “Religious fads are good for launching a movement,” said Marla. “But lousy for governing one afterwards.”

  Adolf stood in the middle of the circle. Glances at the faces of those who called themselves rabbis told him that they were interested.

  “There are many here more learned in this book than I,” Adolf began. “But, to put it simply, what we find here says that we are all one family. No one’s blood is any better than another; no one’s life is more or less precious. Equality is not an interesting theory. It is a fact of life.

  “Add to that, there are laws that are designed solely to help people live together—something we desperately need to learn. Personally, I don’t think they’ve been topped yet.”

  “If we follow this religion as a guide, we’ll have made at least a start at those things so many have been willing to die for. Equality. Justice. Freedom.”

  “And would we all have to become Jews?” asked the Turk.

  “There won’t be any forcing or forbidding of anyone’s faith in any world I become a part of!” Adolf said harshly.

  “Yet a world under Jewish law could be a very good place to live,” said Isabella.

  “It’s certainly attracted a lot of followers lately,” said Bernardo. “Despite what happened to the original set.”

  “Lots of religions sound great in the beginning,” said Gunther shaking his head. “Including Nazism. Any official, worldwide religion would just invite the very same repression we’re trying to overthrow!”

  “Actually, Judaism has specific laws protecting the rights of non-Jews,” said William. “It has since ancient times. As far as I can tell, it was the first religion to practice such a thing. I’m saying that because I find it interesting, not because I’d like to see it become universally enforced. Personally, I share the South African’s concern on that score.”

  “I think what we’re seeing here,” Adolf said, “is the need for further discussion. It’s true, we don’t have much time, but since being here at all is something of a miracle—even in these tragically reduced circumstances—I think we should really make history and go home with an actual plan.

  “But whatever is decided here today, I will state right now my own little quirk. I will not support any plan that wantonly takes innocent life.”

  It belatedly occurred to Adolf that somebody should probably explain to the Russians what their discussion of Judaism was all about. He turned to Yuri, only to find the Russian staring at him in disgust.

  “If you haven’t got the stomach for a real fight,” he spat at Adolf, “then go join the rest of the cowards.” He addressed the crowd as Adolf had done moments before. “Yes, we have them, too. Anyone who wants to listen to this mad dreamer, go ahead.

  “But I can see that some of you are warriors, with the heart and guts to join us in our work. Those who have the courage can remain with us, and together, we’ll send our would-be masters a message from the sky that they’ll understand—no matter which gods they pray to!” He spoke to one of the women in his command, and she in turned snarled something at Adolf that indicated he should follow her.

  He moved to follow her, not sure how or why everything he had attempted had just fallen apart. To his surprise, however, nearly every member of the failed conference followed him—except for Ilsa, who walked proudly by his side. Only Felipe, Jessica and Marla and two of the Dutch youths stayed with the Russians—and Marla looked torn.

  “I just want to go over these blueprints with them,” she called. “Then I’ll catch up with you.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Adolf asked them over his shoulders. Considering the harshness of life in these parts, the possibility that “joining the rest of the cowards” involved passage to a mass grave was serious.

  No one answered. They just kept walking.

  “Why are they following me?” he asked Ilsa.

  She just smiled.

  Dusk was falling, rendering the forest nearly invisible to the untrained eyes of the outsiders. When the trees opened suddenly into a clearing, Adolf could see stars emerging in the blackening sky. Before them stood a burned-out building of stone and timber. The roof was gone, but the walls still stood. A massive wooden door sagged open, emitting more light than could be accounted for by the stars. And from within came the sound of singing. The tune was strange, but the words were familiar.

  It was Hebrew.

  “Of course,” Ilsa murmured. “I had forgotten that today was Friday.”

  CHAPTER 26

  The Russian guide jerked her head toward the building, turned on her heel and marched back into the forest.

  “I guess these are the cowards Yuri mentioned,” said Adolf.

  “Shabbat services?” Isabella was shaking her head in disbelief. “How could there be practicing Jews up here?”

  “Any Judenmuseums ever placed in the Soviet Union?” Adolf asked Ilsa.

  “None,” she said firmly. “But then, this isn’t the conquered Soviet Union. This is Free Russia.”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense either!” said Gunthar. “Most of these people are illiterate. Not to mention too busy fighting to know what to do with old books and relics even if they had them. Where’s the rhyme or reason in their resurrecting a dead religion?”

  The singing ceased abruptly. Several people came out of the building.

  “Don’t be alarmed…” the Turk began, but his accented German seemed to terrify them.

  “Shabbat Shalom,” said Ilsa. In halting Hebrew she asked if they could celebrate the Sabbath together.

  There was the whoosh of in drawn breaths and an excited exchange in Russian. Then an old man was beckoning them into the building. Adolf bowed respectfully and followed him inside. The others followed Adolf.

  The interior of the building was not as primitive as Adolf had expected. There were wooden benches; enough to seat nearly one hundred, which was good since the newcomers brought the number up to about eighty. The Russian congregation included children and old people, as well as the burly men and women who resembled Yuri and the others they had met.

  The visitors found seats and looked around curiously. On a cloth-covered table, a pair of candles burned in battered silver candlesticks. A Torah scroll sat beside them in a gold embroidered case. The old man who had led them in was apparently the Rabbi, for he stood beside the table and addressed the congregation.

  “We welcome our visitors who would seem to come from far away,” he said in perfect Hebrew. “And we look forward to hearing your stories. But for now, let us continue the service.”

  And for the next hour and a half, that is what they did. Adolf and his fellows learned how to put familiar Hebrew words to strange, yet lovely, tunes as the service progressed; tunes that Adolf realized were probably Russian folk songs. Then the Rabbi carried the Torah scroll around to be touched by each person in the room. With great ceremony he withdrew the scroll from its silken wrapping, slowly unrolled a portion and began to read in Hebrew.

  It was from the book of Exodus. Appropriate, thought Adolf. As the words rolled over him, he looked up through the missing roof to the canopy of the heavens. Stars shone through a thin veil of clouds, the scent of candle wax blended with the summer night air, and Adolf knew a moment of peace.

  It was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

  And although this was not the reason they had traveled hundreds of miles, as Adolf gazed at the people who sat in family groups and recited the prayers of a dead language with practiced ease, he was suddenly very glad he had come.

  At the service’s conclusion, people exchanged hugs and whispered the words “Shabbat Shalom” with each exchange. The visiting rebels were not exempt from this familiarity, and while Adolf happily returned the g
reetings, he noticed several members of his party seemed to be in a state of guarded shock.

  While some of his group had no knowledge at all of Judaism, all knew at least a little Hebrew, and could therefore converse with their hosts. There was something especially fitting on this magical summer night about the image of those who spoke no Russian and those who spoke no German all able to communicate in Hebrew.

  Adolf disentangled himself from the warm embrace of a nearly toothless old woman and sought out the Rabbi. “I am called Rabbi Adolf,” he told the old man.

  “Rabbi Sasha,” said the other, extending his hand. If he was surprised to meet an Aryan who called himself a rabbi, Sasha did not show it. “I understand you all came here for some kind of summit. I assume that the airplanes and shooting the other night was the German response to your plan?”

  “You assume correctly,” said Adolf.

  Sasha sighed. “I’m sorry. I hope you won’t think me ungracious if I ask you to keep your visit with us short. They will be back soon, looking for the rest of you.”

  “Grandfather,” a young woman interrupted. “This is not the time to discuss such matters.” To Adolf she said, “In better times we would have an oneg, a Sabbath meal now, and welcome you properly. Tonight, I am afraid, we can offer only our company.”

  “My granddaughter, Olga,” said the Rabbi. “This is Rabbi Adolf. From Germany?” He glanced at Adolf.

  “At one time, yes. You seem to know something about us, but we know nothing of you. I helped arrange this meeting, but nothing about Russian Jews was known to any of us. Were you planning to attend the conference?”

  Sasha hesitated. “Some of us hoped to,” said a new voice. A powerfully built young man loomed over Sasha’s shoulder. He had the familiar glint in his eyes of an impatient young rebel. Adolf was surprised to see him here, rather than with Yuri.

  “This is Mordecai,” said Sasha. “You can probably tell from his name that he had great hopes for your meeting and your cause. We elders, on the other hand,” Sasha indicated several of the old people, grouped together and listening to the exchange, “hold a different view.”

  “Jews who take up the sword against a powerful enemy are always the first to die,” said a wizened old man, even older than Sasha. “In the end, it only hurts us all.”

  “I think Mordecai would disagree with you,” said Ilsa.

  “I already have,” said the youth.

  “I was referring to the one from the Book of Esther,” said Ilsa.

  There was a roar of appreciation of her joke from those who understood. Rabbi William was busy translating for the rest.

  “I understand what you’re saying,” Isabella said, with a little help with the Hebrew from Ilsa. “But I am surprised. Everywhere I’ve been, Judaism is a political movement; the fulcrum for change. Here it seems like more of a…well…”

  “Religion?” offered Adolf.

  Isabella laughed. “Well…yes, as a matter of fact. Imagine that.”

  “How long have you been Jewish?” asked Adolf.

  His Hebrew was clear, but he was greeted with blank looks.

  He tried again. “What I mean is, how did you come by this religion? Did one of you travel outside, to a rebel group perhaps?” It seemed unlikely that anyone here had been to a University.

  Some of the others still looked confused, but Sasha smiled with sudden understanding. “What makes you think we were ever anything else?” he asked.

  Adolf felt the ground shifting beneath him. At least this time he had company. A glance at his companions told him what his own stupefied expression must be.

  Ilsa was the first to recover. “Probably we think so because all of the original Jews are dead.”

  “Do you believe everything your leaders tell you?” asked Mordecai.

  All around Adolf people were whispering. Was it possible? Had, somehow, against all odds, some of the true descendants of Abraham and Sarah survived? And if so, what did it mean for those all over the world who, perhaps playfully, perhaps in defiance, called themselves Jews?

  “We doubt everything our leaders tell us,” William said. “But the extermination of Jews? That’s something I’ve never questioned. It’s not just our leaders—“

  “How?”cried Rika. “How did you survive?”

  “The same way we always have,” said an old woman. “By living quietly on the fringes. By never calling attention to ourselves.” She glowered at Mordecai.

  “This building was once a synagogue,” said Sasha. “Built over four centuries ago. It survived tsars, pogroms, and even the Revolution. And, because we choose to worship here in its ruins, you could say it has survived the latest war as well.”

  “We don’t have the means to rebuild it,” said Olga. “Perhaps if you join us, then—“

  “It’s late,” said Sasha. “Time we were asleep. Surviving in the forest is every bit as exhausting as farming was for our ancestors.”

  The groups dispersed; the Russians to their hidden homes, the visiting rebels to the temporary camp that the fighters had allowed them. They prepared for sleep in silence, each lost in his own thoughts.

  “What do think?” Adolf asked Ilsa as they wrapped themselves together in their blankets. He didn’t bother to specify about what.

  “That we’re only just beginning to understand our purpose for coming here.”

  “You think we still have one?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Ilsa. “Now more than ever.”

  *

  “Maybe we should try something besides biblical names,” Marla said.

  “Biblical names are the only reliable code we have!” said Thoresten. “They’re the only words that can be recognized by all resistance factions!”

  “Unfortunately, that’s not entirely true,” said Father Bernardo. “Many of those whom I represent will not recognize these Old Testament references you are suggesting. Others may interpret them differently than you do.”

  “I think the more serious matter is the fact that the Party is holding several of our key people, and might very well understand this code before we do!” snapped Felipe.

  “Will you please stop reminding us!” said Nikolai. “Now, could we get back to the plan for seizing control of the network?”

  Adolf sighed and stood up, but this time it wasn’t to speak. He’d done enough of that.

  He couldn’t blame the delegates for dragging their feet when it came to choosing a signal for launching the revolution. Because once you decided on a signal, you had to empower someone to use it. Hard enough in the best of circumstances. But now, with their recent losses? With the possibility that whoever betrayed the conference might still be among them?

  Maybe it was impossible.

  He wandered through the forest, remembering not to greet the sentries hidden in the trees—but secretly pleased he was able to spot them. Especially now, with so much on his mind. Pausing by a small stream, shrunken now to its summer trickle, Adolf spied Ilsa, sitting alone on the bank. The sight of her was more refreshing than the cool flowing water on this hot day. Silently, Adolf sat down beside her.

  “How goes the conference?” she asked.

  “Dogs chasing their own tails.

  “Unkind, but accurate, I’m sure.”

  “Have you spoken with Rabbi Sasha?” Adolf asked her. “Or any of the…Jews?”

  “Real Jews, you were thinking?” She shook her head. “Not since Friday night. Strange, don’t you think?”

  “What, that they’re not interested in talking to us? Except for Mordecai and the other radicals, no, I don’t think it’s strange. They don’t like our politics. And…they probably don’t consider us Jews.”

  Ilsa raised an eyebrow. “That really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

  “I guess I’m just getting tired of thinking I belong somewhere, then finding out I don’t.”

  “Is that what it means to you? We find out that a handful of Jews survived, and instead of calling it a miracle, you start feeling
sorry for yourself?”

  Adolf flinched at her words, but held his ground. “All right then, you tell me where it leaves us! Never in recorded history did the Jews seek converts—the orthodox didn’t even accept them! You were Jewish by birth or not at all! As long as they were all dead, we could do whatever we wanted with the religion—even practice it! But now, if there really are living Jews, who can trace their bloodline all the way back to Abraham…”

  Adolf stopped and glanced curiously at Ilsa. “If none of this bothers you, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you out there with them?”

  “Because something else is bothering me,” said Ilsa. She got up from the dusty ground and began to pace along the riverbed. “You know I worked in that museum for almost eight years, right? I’m self-taught; my knowledge isn’t perfect. But, there’re a few things I learned. Things that don’t fit with what Sasha and the others said.”

  It was Adolf’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Such as…?”

  “The way they spoke Hebrew, for one. I learned that language from phonograph records—so did you and the rest of the museum crowd. Those were records made by Jews. There’s something different about the way these people speak Hebrew.”

  “Couldn’t it just be their Russian accents?”

  Ilsa shook her head. “It’s more than that. It’s the way they use the words. ‘Oneg’ for example. Olga said it meant Shabbat meal. But it really means ‘delicious’. It was basically a dessert party after services. An oneg is superfluous to Sabbath services—but the communal sharing of bread and wine is sacred. Even the poorest Jews, in the worst of times had something that passed for wine and bread—even we did, back at the museum. But, the other night, these people didn’t. They didn’t even mention the two blessings that normally end a Friday night service.

  “And there was something else.” Ilsa stared into the water. “You remember when Sasha said how surviving in the forest was just as exhausting as farming was for their ancestors?”

  “Yes.”

  Ilsa turned her grave blue eyes to him. “Adolf, Jews weren’t allowed to farm land here. They were bankers, doctors and shopkeepers, but never farmers.”