Mama Namibia: Based on True Events

by Mari Serebrov

Surprised, I look around, searching for some remnant of a cemetery. Hanna smiles. “You won’t find it,” she says as if reading my thoughts. “Hundreds of years later when the Jews were banished from Würzburg, Bishop Julius confiscated the cemetery, erasing its history. It eventually became a medicinal garden, producing the herbs used to treat the people in the hospital that was named for him.”

  I know I will never feel the same about this garden rooted in the bones of my people. “It’s a sad story, but….”

  “What’s the point?” Hanna finishes my question. “The point is that this tragic history is marked with acts of kindness. Yes, some Germans ruthlessly murdered Jews simply because they could. But others risked the senseless anger of their countrymen to do what was right. It all came down to a choice – a choice each person had to make for himself. And some of them, many of them, chose to do good.”

  Hanna gestures toward a flowerbed ablaze in colorful blooms. “So out of all this suffering, all the sadness – all the hatred – beauty and goodness triumph. Like Queen Esther standing up to Haman. So life will be for us.”

  I impulsively kiss her – a lingering, gentle kiss sealing our betrothal. “I love you, Hanna Heitzfeld,” I whisper.

  As we leave the garden, I look back, overwhelmed by a sense of peace and the knowledge that we have added to the history of this place.

  THE DAY OF RECKONING

  With graduation only a few months off and Epenstein arranging for my commission as an army doctor, the day I’ve been dreading has arrived. I must tell Papa about my plans. I’ve rehearsed this conversation so many times that I have it memorized, but I still feel like Daniel facing the lion’s den.

  As I enter the apartment above Papa’s shop, I’m shocked by how frail he has become. The old stooped man who welcomes me is but a remnant of the father of my boyhood. The doctor in me wants to examine him, but I know he’d never permit it. Trying to mask the shock that I’m sure is apparent on my face, I grasp Papa’s thin veined hand and lead him over to the threadbare sofa. He leans on me heavily as he lowers himself onto the cushions.

  “How are you doing, Papa? Have you seen Dr. Goldstein lately?”

  “Dr. Goldstein! What does he know?” Papa waves his hand feebly. “All he does is give me some new tonic and tell me not to work so hard. I have too much to do to waste my time listening to him.”

  I make a mental note to check in with Dr. Goldstein but decide it’s better to drop the subject with Papa. “So how is business?” I ask politely.

  “The demand for hand-painted tin soldiers isn’t what it used to be,” he says ruefully. “And these hands,” he holds up his trembling hands, “are not as steady as they used to be. But I get by, and I should have enough work to keep me busy until I die.”

  “Papa….”

  He lays his hand on my knee. “We cannot pretend, Yaakov. We both know I’m not getting any younger. That’s why you need to hurry up and marry that Hanna of yours. I want to hold my grandson before I die.”

  I swallow hard. This conversation is not at all what I had rehearsed. Oh well. I take a deep breath and plunge in. “About that….”

  He lifts his hand from my knee. “You have broken it off with her! She is such a good girl – and so right for you. Just like your mama, may she rest in peace.”

  “Hanna and I are getting married, but we will be moving to Hamburg.”

  “Hamburg? The Jewish hospital here is not good enough for you?”

  “It’s not the hospital. I am to be posted at Hamburg as an army doctor.”

  Papa looks as if all the life has been beaten out of him. “An army doctor?” he whispers hoarsely.

  “Yes, Papa. It’s something I have to do.”

  He pulls away from me. “This is what comes of your friendship with gentiles.”

  “That’s not fair, Papa. Christof is my only friend who isn’t Jewish. And, yes, he is now an army officer. But my decision has nothing to do with him.”

  “Christof is a German,” Papa says. “It’s his duty to serve the Kaiser.”

  “But we are Germans, too.”

  “We are Jews. Our duty is to One higher.”

  “Yes, Papa. But we also have a duty to our homeland.”

  Papa sighs heavily. “We may live here, but it can never be our home.”

  “Times have changed.”

  “Oh, so times have changed,” he mimics me. “Yes, our young men are now allowed to offer their youth, their very lives to prove they are as loyal to the Fatherland as any German. But for what? You tell me,” his gnarled finger points at me, “how many Jews have been recognized for that sacrifice? How many have been made an officer or awarded a medal? Not one.”

  “But, Papa, the Talmud was not written in a day. We cannot expect Germans to lay aside hundreds of years of hatred overnight. It takes time. And we must be willing to take the first steps, to offer a sacrifice.”

  Papa looks heavenward, spreading his arms in helplessness. “Our story is nothing but sacrifice. And now my only son wants to lay his life on the altar. I am no Abraham.”

  I grasp Papa’s worn hands and look directly into his watery eyes. “It’s not as if I’m going off to war in China. I will have a comfortable billet in Hamburg, and I will spend my days checking recruits and tending to minor ailments. Hanna and I will visit you often. Or perhaps you can come live with us.”

  Papa shakes his head. “No, I will never live near a German army base. Besides, I have my work.”

  I laugh gently. “Perhaps you will change your mind when you have a grandson to spoil.”

  THE CHUPPAH

  Today Hanna becomes my wife. I lie in bed thinking about the events of the day and the momentous vow I’m about to make. I have no doubts about Hanna, but once again I wonder if I’m being fair to her. I can only imagine the sacrifices she will have to make being married to an army doctor. I know her parents, like Papa, are not happy with my enlistment.

  Papa comes into the room we’re sharing at Hanna’s uncle’s house. At least, I think it’s an uncle. She has such a large family that I lose track of how each one is related.

  “This is not the day to be lazing around,” Papa tells me. He’s already dressed in his best clothes.

  I stretch and leisurely get out of bed. Papa fusses about me, making sure I wash and dress properly. I stand in front of an old mirror, adjusting the white kittel over my dark suit.

  Papa looks over my shoulder. “Your mother, may she rest in peace, would be so proud. Her son, the doctor, about to be married to a wonderful young woman.”

  “I wish Mama were here,” I whisper hoarsely, trying not to tear up.

  Papa awkwardly pats my shoulder. “She would love Hanna.” He brushes an imaginary hair from my arm. “You know what to do?” he asks offhandedly.

  “At the ceremony or tonight?”

  Papa blushes. “Both.”

  I smile. “Yes, Papa. I have been to a number of my friends’ weddings, and I have discussed the ceremony with the rabbi. And about the other” – I grin at Papa – “I’m a doctor. I know how things work.”

  “Being a husband is not just about how things work,” he says gently. “Up to now, you have basically had to think only of yourself. But from this day forward, every decision you make will affect another life. It’s a big responsibility, Yaakov. And there will be times when it will weigh heavy upon your shoulders.”

  “So what advice would you give me?”

  He seems taken back by my question as I’ve never been one to ask for advice, especially from him. After a brief hesitation, he responds, “Love her and take care of her, even when you don’t feel like it. After God, she and your family come first – before country, before job, before your personal ambitions. Remember that and He will bless your marriage.”

  I nod, knowing that Papa thinks I have already placed country before Hanna. Maybe I have, at least temporarily. But I’m serving in the army to make the future easier for her and our children.

  “Enough
talk,” Papa says brusquely.

  We walk to the nearby synagogue where Hanna’s father and the rabbi meet us for the signing of the ketubah. I glance over the beautifully wrought marriage contract, which spells out my financial commitment to Hanna, and sign my name with a flourish. Once the witnesses sign the contract, the rabbi, Papa, and Papa Heitzfeld lead me to the room where Hanna and her mother are waiting for the badekan ceremony. All the male guests follow, forming quite the procession.

  As we enter the room, the older men step out of the way so I can have a clear view of my bride. I gulp when I see her, in a white gown, sitting regally on a chair in the middle of the room. She has never looked more beautiful. She could be Queen Esther, but the heart she has captured is not that of a king.

  Hanna looks up shyly, blushing at the jokes of her brothers and cousins. But when her hazel eyes meet mine, they sparkle with love and excitement. Again, I’m humbled that such a wonderful woman would agree to be my wife.

  The rabbi speaks, pulling me back to a ritual rooted thousands of years ago in the deception of Jacob. I nod, affirming that, indeed, this is the woman I want to marry. As I step forward, Hanna’s mother hands me the wedding veil. My bride laughs up at me as I clumsily arrange the fine lace over her face.

  The preliminaries over, it’s time for the ceremony. Papa escorts me down the aisle toward the chuppah, where the rabbi and Emil, my best man, wait. I glance at Papa as his grip tightens on my arm; tears are rolling down his face. I know he’s thinking of Mama, who should be here walking down the aisle with us. Trying not to tear up myself, I squeeze Papa’s arm against my side and smile at all the friends and family gathered for my wedding.

  Standing with Papa and Emil, I turn to watch as Hanna’s sister comes down the aisle to join us. At last, it’s Hanna’s turn. My heart skips a few beats as my bride, swathed in the lace veil, is escorted by her parents. Hanna stops a little shy of the chuppah, waiting for her parents to take their place under the canopy. Then she turns toward me and, alone, takes the last three steps, symbolizing that she is marrying me of her own free will.

  After the rabbi reads the marriage contract in Hebrew, I place a plain gold ring on Hanna’s finger. “Behold, thou art consecrated to me with this ring, according to the law of Moses and Israel,” I recite after the rabbi.

  Emil puts a wine glass, wrapped in a white linen cloth, on the floor by my right foot. I stomp on the glass as hard as I can. As the glass shatters, shouts of mazel tov! ring through the synagogue.

  * * * * *

  I wake up early the next morning, surprised to feel someone snuggling up against me. Then I remember. I’m married. I smile and drift back to sleep.

  IN THE ARMY

  Hanna and I soon settle into our new home in Hamburg. For me, adjusting to married life has been easier than adjusting to army life. While to my face, everyone at the army hospital is cordial enough, I often sense underlying tensions and resentment. I try to ignore it and go about my rounds with a forced smile and false cheerfulness. Fortunately, I know what I’m talking about when it comes to medicine. I graduated at the top of my class, and I make a point to read up on all the new advances being made. The other doctors frequently have to ask for my opinion, albeit grudgingly.

  I’m learning to balance my knowledge with humility as no German wants to be outdone by a Jew. A few of the doctors and nurses would rather be wrong, and let their patients die, than ask or take my advice. These are the people who make it difficult for me, complaining to my commanding officers and subtly encouraging the patients to ignore or question my instructions. Dealing with complaints and criticism is becoming a way of life for me.

  Thus, when I hear a commanding voice call “Herr Doctor” as I’m treating a soldier with a lung ailment, I expect to hear yet another complaint. I turn around to see a young officer approaching me. There is something familiar about him, but I don’t recognize him.

  He laughs when I salute. “I never dreamed I’d live to see a salute coming from you, Kov.”

  “Christof! I didn’t know you in that uniform.” I look my friend up and down. “The past few years have been good to you.”

  “And to you.” He playfully punches my shoulder. “It’s good to see you again.”

  I invite Christof to the house to meet Hanna and catch up on old times. A few nurses look up curiously. Ignoring them, he accepts without hesitation.

  When Christof comes home with me the next night, Hanna meets us at the door. “You didn’t tell me she was so beautiful,” he says sincerely. “Tell me, Hanna, how did he trick you into marrying him?”

  We laugh and sit down for an evening of conversation and Hanna’s good cooking.

  After Christof leaves, Hanna turns to me with a big smile. “I like him,” she says. “I can see why you two are such good friends.”

  “He’s the closest thing I have to a brother.”

  We clean up and head to bed. Just as I think Hanna has dozed off, she murmurs, “Why can’t the others be like Christof? Germany would be a much nicer place.”

  “That’s what I’m working for, my love.” I kiss her gently on the forehead.

  After that, Christof becomes a regular at our house, and he stops in often at the army hospital. It may be just my imagination, but it seems like the rest of the staff is treating me better because of him. But there are still complaints. And there are still soldiers who refuse to be treated by a Jewish doctor. I finally discuss the problem with Christof at a beer garden close to the hospital.

  “I know it’s hard for you, Kov. And I admire what you’re trying to do. But you knew going in that it wouldn’t be easy.” He looks around the hall and then leans toward me. “As for why so many of my countrymen are this way, I have no idea. I can’t even make excuses. All I know is that these feelings about Jews date back before the Crusades. I guess it’s part of the German psyche to hate Jews. That doesn’t make it right, but it seems to be true.”

  “So why aren’t you infected with this hatred?”

  He laughs at my medical metaphor. “It’s how I was raised. And I was fortunate enough to grow up with a nice Jewish boy who became my best and most loyal friend.” He drinks from his stein. “You know I’m not the only German who feels this way.”

  “You’re the only one I know. But you give me hope,” I raise my stein in a mock toast. “That doesn’t make things any easier at the hospital though.”

  Christof leans back in his chair. “Perhaps you should put in for a transfer to the navy. While you’d still run into some of the same old prejudices, you’re more likely to be left alone there. It’s something to think about.”

  IN WAITING

  With a sense of wonder, I pat Hanna’s burgeoning belly and feel my child kick against the pressure. Hanna puts her hand over mine and smiles.

  “I love you so much,” I whisper.

  She snuggles against my shoulder. “I love you too, Dr. Wolf.”

  I’d like to think this is how our life will be forever, but I know it can’t be. Ever since the newspapers reported that the Herero in South West Africa had risen up and murdered hundreds of German settlers and their families, I’ve been waiting for my transfer to the navy and my new orders. We’ll be sending naval forces to help quell the uprising, which means surgeons will be needed. The deserts of Africa are not a sought-after posting for well-bred, ambitious medical doctors, which means I’m likely to be sent. If only I could wait till our child is born.

  “Have you heard yet whether you’ll have to go?” Hanna looks up at me with the glint of tears in her eyes.

  I’ll never understand how she can read my mind so easily. I shake my head, wanting to talk about it and yet wanting to talk about something – anything – else. “I’ll know soon.” I stroke her long blonde hair. “But if I have to go, it won’t be a lengthy separation. A few tribesmen armed with knives and old guns will be no match for our artillery.”

  She settles back against my shoulder. “Do you ever regret your decision to join t
he military?” she asks.

  “No.” I lean my chin gently on her head. “If I’m sent to Africa, I’ll regret being away from you, but I won’t regret my service to the Fatherland.”

  “Even the way they treat you?”

  I’ve tried not to tell Hanna about the offensive comments, the vulgar gestures, and the hateful slurs that have been aimed at me by officers, soldiers, and some of the other doctors, but I can’t hide my feelings of isolation from her entirely. She knows me too well. She also suspects that it’s no coincidence that I’m routinely assigned to Friday night and Saturday rounds so I can’t go to synagogue.

  “My service is not for them,” I murmur. “It’s for you, for Papa, for our children, and for all the Jews who call Germany home. And if that means I must endure some bullying or be separated from my family, so be it.”

  THE BLESSING

  I have my orders to go to South West Africa. But first, I’m to be sent to the Baltic naval base at Kiel. In the few weeks we have left together, Hanna and I are trying to make every moment last a lifetime. It’s not that I’m afraid of being killed in battle. I’m sure the uprising will be over before I get there. And even if it’s not, I won’t be on the front lines. No, what worries me are all the other things that could happen – a shipwreck, malaria, or Hanna dying in childbirth. I try not to think of that last possibility, but the thought is never far from my mind.

  We’ve decided Hanna will stay with Papa while I’m gone, if it’s all right with him. I’m sure she’d be more comfortable with her parents in Würzburg – what with the baby coming – but Papa needs someone to look after him, and the Heitzfelds’ house is already crowded with extended family.

  When we arrive at Papa’s, his gaunt face lights up, especially when he sees me hoisting Hanna’s trunk. “You’re coming home?” His calloused hand pats my cheek.

  “Yes and no,” I say, lowering the trunk to the floor. “I’m being sent out of the country, and I wondered if Hanna could stay with you while I’m gone.”