by Carol Matas
Everyone started to lose their jobs. Jakub said that his father had been a very important surgeon and he was fired and that was that — they had no money to live on and they had to try to hide their savings in different places, but it didn’t work. And then the Jews were told to hand over all their money except enough to live day to day and all their bank accounts were taken over by the Nazis.
Our family must have been spared the worst of that because Papa was paid by the synagogue, the Reform temple where he worked, and maybe they figured out a way to avoid the rules, but of course I don’t know. Papa must have figured something out, because I don’t remember the real hunger starting until we were in the ghetto.
And then Lottie said that people couldn’t escape because train travel was forbidden too, and everyone agreed yes, that was the worst, because lots of families wanted to escape to villages in the country or vacation spots they knew of, or to live with relatives, but no one could travel.
And then just to be extra cruel the ghetto was established on Yom Kippur in the fall of 1940. And I suddenly remembered that Yom Kippur, because the service wasn’t in a shelter and I was happy to be in the shul and Papa even read a few prayers — he wasn’t the chief rabbi, of course, so he didn’t do the service. And the women were crying, and so were the men, though they tried to hide it.
The talk turned away then to what was happening in Palestine and some of the boys started talking about going over there to fight. That made me think about Abe. I had to excuse myself and run to the bathroom, and suddenly I was crying so hard I thought I would cry a river.
I REMEMBER
Early winter, 1940
Papa and Abe are whispering. They have taken my jacket with Mama’s jewellery sewn into it, and I see that Mama has removed a string of pearls. Papa pats Abe on the back. Mama bites her lip and then gives him a big hug. I ask what is happening, but Mama puts her finger on her lips and motions me to be quiet. For hours after Abe leaves the apartment, Mama paces up and down and up and down our little room. Somehow I know not to say anything to her.
Finally the door to the bedroom opens and Abe walks in. He is carrying a large bag. He starts to unpack it. Potatoes, carrots, beets, bread, rolls, beans. Then he motions me and Sophie over. “Put out your hands,” he orders. I look up at him. With his blond hair and blue eyes he could easily be a Polish boy. He is almost thirteen but looks at least fifteen because he is so tall and broad.
He grins. With a flourish he produces two pieces of chocolate and drops one each into our outstretched hands. I gobble mine up before I even thank him. Sophie sniffs hers and looks at it for ages.
Finally I say impatiently, “I’ll eat it if you don’t want it!” But instead she looks at Mama. We all know that Mama has a terrible sweet tooth. Mama starts to shake her head, but something in the way Sophie looks at her, as if she would be doing Sophie a favour, makes her stop. She opens her mouth and Sophie pops the chocolate into it.
Mama takes forever to finish it and then when she smiles her teeth are still brown. “Thank you, darling,” she says to Sophie. Then she grabs Abe and Sophie in a big hug. Abe tries to shrug her off but he can’t.
When Papa returns home and sees Abe, tears fill his eyes.
“So?” Papa asks.
“Nothing to it,” Abe answers.
Monday, January 19, 1948
Now that I’ve started to write, it all seems to come in a rush when I sit down. Even today at school I wished I was at the house and I could write. I feel as if I need to do it, like there’s a special reason, but I can’t imagine what it is.
I REMEMBER
January 14, 1941
Mama has washed my face and hands three times now and taken my one clean dress out of the small cupboard in the bedroom. Sophie and Abe are also dressed in their best clothes. We are going to a street where all the fancy people live, says Abe. We are going out to eat in a restaurant! It happens to be the day before my birthday and Mama says it is the only reason she has agreed, that at least I’ll get a decent meal for my sixth birthday. We walk into the restaurant and it’s like being in a different world. Families are dressed like our family used to before we moved here, and the smell of cooked soup and meat fills the air. Meat. We have been living on beans and potatoes and carrots for so long … I don’t mind. I am never very hungry. But my mouth waters — I can smell fresh-baked bread too.
We are meeting a Mr. Ginsburg and I am told to be polite. A round little man with a bald head waves us over to his table when we walk in. He introduces us to his wife, who is also small and very round with a pink face and red lips, and a round girl about Sophie’s age. She barely says hello to us and looks down her nose and sniffs. Mama washed me and I hope I don’t smell, but we can’t have baths like we used to because we share the bathroom with so many others and we only get to bathe once a week.
But soon Mama is asking me what I would like to eat and I forget all about the rude girl and Mama has ordered me a goulash and rice and bread and when it arrives — the taste! Not one of us talks, we are so busy eating, but Papa and Mr. Ginsburg speak together in low voices and at one point Papa seems to get angry and then so does Mr. Ginsburg and Mama has to say something. I hope they don’t get too mad before we can order dessert! I order a piece of chocolate cake and so does Mama and we smile at each other as we eat it!
It strikes me as strange that so many people are here and that they are eating like this all the time. Why aren’t we? And why are some others getting even less than us, because now when we go out I see children in the street begging for food. I will ask Mama. But not tonight. Tonight is for chocolate cake.
Saturday, January 24, 1948
It snowed today but it was such a beautiful snow, peaceful and soft. There was no wind and the snowflakes fell so gently that I was able to catch some in my mittens and study them. How intricate they are! And I remember Papa telling me that no two are the same. For a few minutes, as we walked to school, I forgot how angry I am with God and I fell in love with the world all over again.
I had a rude reminder then — almost as if God wanted me to stay mad at Him, although why He would want that, I have no idea. But when Terry and I got to school her friend Betty snickered and asked, “Did your babysitter get you safely here? Did Baby have trouble walking in all that snow?” Terry laughed.
I was so surprised that I didn’t answer. What had I ever done to Betty except stay well away from her? I say surprised, but of course not shocked. Nothing people do or say could shock me after what I have seen. Perhaps humans will never be able to match the perfection and beauty of a snowflake.
Sunday, January 25, 1948
I looked forward all week to the get-together of the Maccabeans, and just like last week I couldn’t stop myself from asking Jakub to tell me more about what went on in the ghetto. I asked if he remembered a Mr. Ginsburg. He rolled his eyes and said he certainly did! Of course I wanted to know what that meant, so while the others were playing ping-pong we sat on chairs and he explained that there was a group that lived on Chlodna Street and they were the rich of the ghetto. I asked how that was possible and he said they found a way — some were already rich before the war and they had figured out a way to bring their possessions and money with them. Others smuggled goods in and out of the ghetto, and others collaborated with the Germans and Poles.
I told him about my memory of the restaurant and Jakub agreed, telling me that he remembered eating at restaurants there, because at first he and his family lived on that street too, but not for long.
Jakub told me that his father had been a true hero because he had managed to get an entire hospital staff and equipment transferred into the ghetto, and he kept the ghetto hospital running. He could have catered to the rich who could pay him, but he chose a different path, helping the many instead of the few. Jakub said that when typhus hit the ghetto and there was so little his father could do to save people, one day he pounded his fists on the table so hard Jakub’s mother started yelling, “St
op! Stop! Your surgeon’s hands!”
Then Jakub must have remembered something he didn’t want to talk about, because he suddenly shook his head and couldn’t continue.
I wonder what Mr. Ginsburg wanted from Papa. I guess I’ll never know.
I REMEMBER
Spring 1941
The baby and her two-year-old sister scream and scream and scream and scream. But Mama says no one must know that they are sick. They have a disease that is very catching and Mama is sending Sophie and me and Abe to live with Auntie Sarah and Uncle Morris. They live in a very small apartment but it is on a nice street and they live alone with only Moshe, because Henryk is living somewhere in the country. Moshe is Sophie’s age. He can be very annoying. He always used to pull my braid, but now I have no braid so I’m not worried. Mama says if anyone finds out that the children are sick they will take all our clothes away to clean them, and they will take us away to clean us too, and when they do that they will steal whatever is left in the apartment.
I don’t want to leave. But Mama says she doesn’t want us to get sick, so she packs our bags and walks us over. The streets are swarming with people, so many you can hardly squeeze through. There are people lying on the pavement, so sick that they can’t move. Even children. Even little babies. They cry out for help. I want to help and so does Mama, but there are so many. Mama says that Papa is trying to get them taken to the hospital or the synagogue. I see some children lying completely still. Their bones are sticking out from the rags they are wearing. I think that they are dead.
Tuesday, January 27, 1948
A girl called Susan who is in my class asked if I would like to study with her today after school. She said she has noticed how good I am at English and that she needs help with her English studies and she has offered to help me with my Math and Science. She has tried to be friendly with me before, but I’ve ignored her, like I’ve ignored everyone. She’s quite plain and doesn’t seem to have many friends, so maybe this is her way of befriending me — or maybe, like me, she is very serious about her schoolwork and just wants help. I reluctantly agreed because I really do need help catching up in Math and Science. I intend to go to university and to get a degree like Mama did. She had a degree in literature. I will never depend on anyone for my food and for a roof over my head. I will earn a good salary and take care of myself. Susan and I agree to study together twice a week, once at her house and once at Rita and Saul’s — if they say it is all right.
I REMEMBER
Summer 1941
Mama and Papa have come to live with us at Auntie Sarah’s. Now we are really squashed! There is only one bedroom, so our family sleeps in the living room. But at least no one has the bad disease. And at least we are away from that family and with our own family. I love Auntie Sarah!
Papa goes out every day to help at the synagogue, so Mama has started to teach us. She knows a lot. We are studying Exodus and when she tells us about the Jews in the time of Moses and the pharaoh and how bad he was and how the Jews were slaves, she reminds us that Jews have survived before and that we will survive again. She quotes Moses saying, “I have been a stranger in a foreign land.”
Abe looks at Mama and says, “One day we will belong somewhere. One day we will have our own land. One day we will be free. But we have to fight for it, Mama. We have to fight.”
Saturday, January 31, 1948
This morning we went to shul for the first time since I arrived. There are lots of shuls in the north end of town where Rita and Saul grew up and Saul says they normally go to one there, about once a month now that they live in the south end of town. He asked if I would like to go and I said I would. Terry and Rita also went. They got dressed in their nicest clothes and Rita gave me a very smart dress. She said she had bought it for me when she heard I might be coming, so it’s not one of Paula’s old ones. It’s checkered, with red and pale green checks and a red belt. She also gave me a new pair of stockings to wear with it, and a garter belt. I felt quite grown up!
I sat beside Saul when we arrived. I think he was surprised to hear me following the Hebrew so easily. I whispered to him that my father had been a rabbi and that generations of my family had been rabbis.
“So you read Hebrew fluently, speak English and Polish … Anything else?” he asked.
“Yiddish, of course,” I answered.
“Quite remarkable,” he said.
Then the rabbi started his sermon and I was surprised — to say the least — that it was all about me! Well, that’s overstating, I suppose, but it was all about the war orphans. He began by saying that everyone who had helped to bring us here had done a mitzvah and he knew some people had been working on bringing children here since the war started — people like Mrs. Bernstein and her daughter Devorah and Mrs. Boxer.
And then he said that the Parashat today was Yitro, which covers the story of Jethro and the giving of the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai. And what could be a more important Parashat for the Jewish people? God promised that if the Jewish people would obey Him that they would be a treasured possession among all the people. And then the rabbi paused and said, “But how can we feel that He kept His part of the bargain? How could He let so many die? How can we keep faith with Him after what we have witnessed?”
After what I have witnessed, I thought. No one else here. Well maybe if there were one or two others who had escaped. Part of me wanted to leave and not listen. But I was transfixed. After all, God had let me down, let us all down. He isn’t what Papa or Mama said. He never protected us. He let the bad win and the good die. And then I had this thought: Maybe God had been hiding here! Perhaps He’d been hiding in the Torah scrolls or even behind the large bimah where the dignitaries sit! And that’s why He wasn’t in Warsaw or Poland or Germany or anyplace where He was needed! That thought struck me as so funny, I giggled. Saul looked at me, raising his eyebrows in a warning. But I giggled again.
He shook his head in disapproval. I got up and hurried out into the lobby. Once there I doubled over with laughter until I started to hiccup and couldn’t stop. I gulped for air and tried to calm down. Finally, when I could breathe again and my hiccups had stopped, I thought I’d like to hear what else the rabbi was saying. Let him explain God’s actions! So I opened the door and stood just inside and listened.
The rabbi was describing how Moses took the people to Mount Sinai to find God, but instead saw that the bottom of the mountain was covered in smoke. And God explained that He did that to save the people because they would die if they looked upon Him. The rabbi said, “You see, God is a force so beyond your imagination you cannot even comprehend who He is. God brings both life and death and we will never know why. We cannot understand what it means to be a Holy Nation, other than we must do good but cannot expect rewards in return. We must do good just for its own sake — even if sometimes our good actions result in a bad outcome.”
Terry was sitting quite near where I stood and I heard her let out a kind of snort when the rabbi said that, and then she looked up at me. And I knew she was thinking I was the bad outcome of good intentions. I wondered if Rita and Saul secretly thought the same thing. They had worked hard to bring the war orphans here and then decided they should/must take one themselves, and maybe they had hoped for a sweet little girl or boy and ended up with me!
At any rate that was the end of the sermon. On the way home I worried about Terry’s reaction. What if Rita and Saul feel that I’m just a burden?
As for God — well, honestly, I have no idea what to believe. Papa would be sad to know that I live in doubt. All I can say then is, “Papa, if you are watching me, help me. Because I don’t know if I should thank God for saving me, curse Him for letting you and my family die, or just forget about Him altogether.”
Oh! I just remembered something.
I REMEMBER
Fall 1941
I am walking along the street, it is swarming with people. Many also lie along the curbs, too weak to even call out. A wagon comes along
and loads the dead onto it. I am clutching a loaf of bread Mama sent me to fetch from a friend, because she is nursing Sophie, who has come down with a bad influenza. Suddenly I am pushed and someone grabs the loaf. I lose my balance and fly sideways into a door that has just opened. I’m knocked flat. For a moment I lie there seeing stars. Then I get up and stagger home — I’m almost there. As I walk in the door everything goes black.
I am speeding through a dark tunnel. Suddenly I am in a blinding light. It is so bright. But I feel happy, so happy! I’d forgotten what being happy felt like. I feel warm and peaceful and not afraid of anything. And out of the light Uncle Lev walks up to me! He smiles and picks me up in his arms like he always does, and says, “How is my little Rose? You are blooming!” He always says that too. And then he says, “But you must go back. It is not your time. Tell your papa that I will see him, but not you. Not you, Rozia.”
I wake up feeling like my head is going to explode, it hurts so much. Mama is bending over me, her face white. “Oh, thank God!” she says. And she starts to cry.
“Don’t cry, Mama,” I say.
“You’ve been asleep for a very long time,” she tells me.
“How long?” I ask.
“Two days,” she answers.
Sophie is looking down at me too. “Are you better now?” I ask her.
“Much better,” she answers.
Then Papa bursts into the room and he kisses my forehead and says a prayer over me. And I say, “I saw Uncle Lev.”
Papa looks at Mama and says, “What do you mean, little one?”
So I tell him and Mama exactly what Uncle Lev said and Mama clutches Papa’s hand. He looks very serious and then he says to me, as he sits me up and Mama gives me some water to drink, “Uncle Lev died a few months ago. The Germans picked him up because of his writing and because he is a Jew. They killed him. You must have spoken to his spirit.”
