The Other Half of Life

by Kim Ablon Whitney

  “Are you okay?” She reached out to touch his face. Instinctively he pulled away and then wished he hadn't. He imagined that her hands would have felt cool on his skin.

  “It's not bleeding,” Priska said.

  Thomas touched his nose again. “I think it's fine.”

  Priska inhaled sharply. “What if they don't let us in? They wouldn't send us back, would they? My family … we can't go back.”

  It was the first time he'd ever heard Priska worry or even acknowledge that things might not work out.

  “No one wants to go back,” Thomas said, although at the beginning of the voyage he'd wanted nothing else. But he didn't want to go home as much anymore. Perhaps it had taken being with a ship full of other unwanted souls, each with his or her own painful story, to realize getting out was vital. Or perhaps it was because of Priska.

  “Wait until Vati hears—”

  Thomas cut her off. “Don't tell him. Not yet. We don't really know anything, and if the whole ship gets talking, then the crew will be more careful about what they say and we won't be able to learn anything more.”

  “Vati won't tell anyone,” Priska assured him.

  “Still, it's better not to. Until we know more.”

  He wanted this to be theirs alone. He wanted them to be like his parents: united in a single cause.

  Priska nodded. “All right.” She paused and then said, “Why were you being so mean before?”

  “I'm sorry,” Thomas said. “But you shouldn't be so careless with someone like Manfred.”

  Priska made a face. “Careless? I was just being nice.”

  “You shouldn't even speak to him.”

  Priska rolled her eyes. “What am I supposed to do? Just walk away? That would be rude.” She sighed and a funny look came over her face. “Are you jealous?”

  “No,” Thomas said. “Why would I be jealous?”

  Priska shrugged. “No matter what you're feeling, you shouldn't have gotten so mad at me. Friends are supposed to be nice to each other.”

  “Friends have arguments, though,” Thomas pointed out.

  Priska shook her head. “I hate arguments.”

  “So you'll just go through life with no arguments?”

  “If I can help it.”

  Thomas laughed. If anyone could go through life without a single argument, he felt sure it would be Priska. As much as he still wanted to be mad at her, he was finding it hard.

  “So what next?” she asked. “What about the new law?”

  “We keep listening,” Thomas said. “Right now that's all we can do.”

  His voice sounded confident to his own ears, but inside doubts lingered—what if they really weren't allowed in? He also didn't understand why the Ortsgruppenleiter would be so cavalier about having to bring them all back. Since he was a Party official, wasn't it his job to make sure Germany had nine hundred fewer Jews?

  Chapter Ten

  Thomas was not very good at sitting idle, which was how most of the passengers seemed to spend their days. They strolled the deck, read, talked, ate, and played casual games.

  Thomas joined Priska, Günther, and the others as they swam in the pool, tried out the mechanical horse in the gymnasium, rode the elevator, and played shuffleboard and Ping-Pong. Whenever he could, Thomas watched people play chess or played himself. That was when time passed most quickly for him, as well as when he was with Priska. As the Affeldts' “cousin,” he was allowed to dine in first class with them as he pleased, and he did so regularly. Priska had also invited him to the Shabbos prayer service on Saturday. At first he had been uncomfortable about going. He didn't know the first thing about Shabbos, since his parents had never been practicing Jews. He felt certain he'd make a blunder. And in fact he did—he was late to meet Priska because he'd gone to the social hall, which was where he had heard services took place. After waiting for ten minutes, shifting from foot to foot in his dinner jacket and homburg hat, he had asked a woman if she had seen the Affeldt family.

  “Are they Orthodox?”

  When Thomas furrowed his brow, she added, “This is the Orthodox minyan. Reform is in the dance hall, Conservative in the gymnasium.”

  So there were three different levels of faith, Thomas contemplated as he hurried to the dance hall. He had certainly seen the Hasidic men in Berlin, in what Thomas thought was their funny dress and hairstyles, and there were a few people in similar dress aboard the ship. But for some reason it had never occurred to him that people went to different services. He knew that every Jew wasn't strictly religious, but he hadn't known that there was an organized structure.

  When he arrived at the door to the dance hall, Priska was not waiting outside. He was now fifteen minutes late and the service was about to start. Either she had given up on him and gone inside, or her family was Conservative. He peeked in and was able to pick out her curly head in one of the back rows. He tiptoed in and sat down next to her. Both she and Marianne were wearing the frilly white dresses he'd first seen them in.

  “Where have you been?” Priska whispered to him. She glanced at his head and added, “Oh, good, I meant to tell you to wear a hat.”

  Thomas surveyed the room and saw that the heads of all the men were covered by either a skullcap or a hat.

  “I went to the social hall,” he admitted sheepishly.

  “You thought we were Orthodox?” she said, stifling a giggle.

  “No,” he stumbled. “I just didn't really know ….”

  A man at the front of the room began chanting in what Thomas guessed must be Hebrew. Thomas listened to the rise and fall of his voice—he was surprised to find it soothing even though he had no idea what the words meant. It distracted him in a way that he had hoped the pictures would. He felt an ease he hadn't felt in quite a while. It was the ease he had felt back in Berlin when the apartment was filled with his parents' friends, the hum of their voices. It came from being surrounded by people who shared the same beliefs.

  Now the man and a few members of the congregation were preparing to read from what looked like a long piece of parchment wound around two wooden arms.

  “That's a tiny Torah,” Priska whispered. “Rabbi Zweigen thal brought it aboard in his suitcase. We're lucky to even have a Torah with us on the ship.”

  Thomas felt proud he knew what the Torah was. He had never actually seen one before, but he had heard about the Jewish holy book being taken from synagogues and burned during Reichskristallnacht. He had heard that each Torah was written by hand and therefore could never be replaced, and that some were hundreds of years old.

  After the reading, the man lifted the Torah, wrapped in a velvet cover, and walked around the dance hall with it. When it passed by the row of seats in front of them, Jürgen leaned over and kissed it. When it was their turn, Thomas imitated Priska, who just touched it with her fingertips.

  After the Torah was returned to the front of the room, another man, who Thomas assumed must be the rabbi, stood up. Behind him a white sheet had been draped over the large portrait of Hitler. Thomas was glad Hitler wasn't staring down at them, but he wished the portrait had been removed altogether.

  The rabbi began, “The celebrated Zionist pioneer Ahad Ha'am, may his memory be blessed, once said that more than the people of Israel have kept Shabbos, Shabbos has kept the people of Israel. As Reform Jews, we no longer consider ourselves bound by the commandments to keep Shabbos as in biblical or Talmudic times—we use electricity, we write, we cook, and sometimes we continue our work. So of what use to us are the words of Ahad Ha'am?”

  Thomas looked over at Priska. Her hands were folded in her lap and her eyes were on the rabbi.

  “We all know that Shabbos is meant to be a taste of the world to come, a time to pause and reflect, to be together with loved ones, to be as free of worldly cares as we choose to be, and to commemorate God's rest after the creation of the world. Yet the situation faced by many of us at home has made such a carefree approach intolerable, if not impossible.”

>   Thomas found himself sitting up straighter as the rabbi continued, “Our task on this ship is to remember the blessing as we have celebrated it in the past, and to use the Shabbos of the present as a reminder of the freedom awaiting us in Cuba. We must maintain our hope. This is what this day represents—a beacon of hope in a lost world. When we observe Shabbos, we say that no matter what is happening in the world, the people of Israel will hold fast to their hope.”

  Some of the women nearby were brushing tears from their eyes. Professor Affeldt took Frau Affeldt's hand. Thomas expected her to share a knowing glance with her husband, confirming the new hope they had for their family. But instead she stiffened.

  “And what of our Orthodox and Conservative brethren, also here on this ship? They must find themselves in a predicament—how to observe Shabbos on a moving ship, when using transportation is forbidden to them on this day. Are we to be relieved that our Reform approach permits us uncomplicated Shabbos observance and food consumption? No, my friends, we must not fall into the trap of disunity with our fellow Jews. For in the Talmud we learn that there is nothing that can stand before the duty of saving a life, except the prohibition of murder, idolatry, and incest. Anything is permitted for the purpose of preserving life, even if it means violating Shabbos or eating treif. To save a life— pikuach nefesh—is the highest principle in Judaism. I only hope our well-learned Orthodox and Conservative friends take this to heart because you all know as well as I that this ship is a giant lifeboat, carrying us all to freedom.”

  The rabbi paused. The congregation was silent too. Thomas was glad the rabbi felt the same way he did about the voyage—that while it was fun to enjoy the luxuries of the ship and try to forget about what they had left behind, the true nature of their trip would always be with them.

  The rabbi continued, “I will end with another statement of the sages of the Talmud, who said, 'Whoever destroys a soul is considered to have destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life is considered to have saved an entire world.' Our ship's captain and the Hamburg-America Line are to be blessed for all eternity for the nine hundred lives they are saving with this voyage.”

  The rabbi sat down. A few moments later the other man began a rousing final song, after which everyone filed out of the dance hall.

  Frau Affeldt excused herself, saying she had a head ache and needed to lie down.

  “What happens now?” Thomas asked Priska.

  “Whatever we like,” she said.

  “You don't have to do more?”

  “You really don't understand, do you?” she said. “Shabbos is supposed to be a day of rest, but also a day of pleasure. So after services we enjoy ourselves. What do you want to do today?”

  “Should we find Ingrid and Günther and the others?” Thomas actually liked being alone with Priska, but most of the time they did things as a group.

  “Günther's Conservative,” Priska said. “They'll be there until close to lunch. I still can't believe you thought we were Orthodox.” She shook her head. “You knew we didn't keep kosher.”

  Thomas remembered Professor Affeldt commenting on serving caviar to a ship full of Jews. He also recalled people sending their plates back untouched. “Yes, but I didn't really know who keeps kosher and who doesn't and why not. If you're Orthodox, you can't eat things like caviar?”

  Priska shook her head. “Only if it's from the right kind of fish. Fish have to have scales to be kosher. Keeping kosher also means you can't eat pork and you can't have meat and dairy together.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the Torah says so, but people also think some of it might have been for health reasons from a long time ago, before people had modern conveniences like iceboxes—certain foods may not have been safe to eat because they didn't keep as well as others.”

  “But not all Jews keep kosher?”

  “Being Reform means we can be more lenient and do a little bit more of what makes sense in today's world.”

  Thomas sighed. “I guess I don't know anything about being Jewish.” He made a face at how strange that sounded. He was certainly Jewish as far as the Nazis were concerned. “I'd actually like to learn more,” he said. “The service was really nice.”

  While Priska told him some more of what she knew about being Jewish, they wandered around the ship, exploring every corner. They tramped up and down stairs, through passages and across all the decks—from the young children's playroom, with its rubber balls and rocking horse, to the swimming pool, where people calmly breast-stroked back and forth, to the sports deck, where two men played tennis. Priska told Thomas about eating matzo and telling the story of the Jews leaving Egypt during Passover. She explained how once a year they had a chance to reconcile with loved ones and God during the High Holidays, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. It was a whole other world to him. He didn't blame his father for not teaching him about this part of his heritage, but perhaps for the first time ever he thought about how his life might differ from his parents', in that maybe he would choose to become more religious. Thomas liked listening to Priska. She walked with her head held high, arms swinging, as if the ship were her own private city.

  When they came to the door of the lounge, they heard someone playing the piano and voices singing.

  Priska's face lit up. “Listen, music!”

  Without a moment's hesitation, she threw open the door. Thomas followed. A group of the crew was huddled around the piano, bellowing out lyrics. Manfred and Kurt stood in the middle of them. Thomas shuddered as he recognized the words to the popular Nazi song. “When Jewish blood spurts from the knife, then it will be twice as good!”

  Priska's face went white. The men noticed her and Thomas. A few stopped singing.

  “Enough!” Manfred called.

  But some of the men sang louder, even though the man at the piano had lifted his fingers from the keys.

  “Don't want to hurt your girlfriend's feelings?” Kurt said to Manfred.

  Next to Thomas, Priska stiffened. Manfred stepped away from the piano and moved toward Thomas and Priska, his hands held in front of him, as if about to apologize or explain.

  “Don't you know she's just a dirty little Jew?” Kurt said.

  Thomas glanced at Priska. Her face was pinched, as if she was about to cry. She looked too old for her frilly dress all of a sudden, like she was wearing Marianne's clothes. Thomas ached for her. He wished the men had chosen to insult him instead. Thomas knew he should take Priska by the hand and leave the room. That was what Herr Kleist and Wilhelm and many of the others on board would have told him to do.

  Manfred stood in front of them with Kurt behind him. Thomas's vision blurred with the anger that roiled inside of him. He couldn't see Manfred's features, only the outline of his shape and the splash of color of the gold buttons on his uniform. For that brief moment Thomas actually thought Manfred might stick up for Priska. After all, he did seem to like her. But Manfred said nothing to counter Kurt. And Thomas would not stand by and watch.

  Thomas lunged at Manfred, ramming his head into his stomach and tackling him to the ground. He had the benefit of surprise on his side—Manfred hadn't been expecting him to go after him. If anything, he should have gone after Kurt—he was the one who had called Priska a dirty Jew. But he wanted Manfred. Manfred was the one who pretended to be nice and then sang Nazi songs behind their backs. Manfred was the one who liked Priska.

  As Thomas fell on top of Manfred, he realized how much bigger and stronger Manfred was. Suddenly he understood how the few years between their ages divided boy from man. They tussled for only moments before the other men pulled them apart. He was surprised the men hadn't let them fight, hadn't cheered Manfred on. But as Kurt held Thomas's arms behind his back, Thomas realized their intent.

  “Go ahead, Manfred,” Kurt entreated. “Have at him.”

  “Let him go!” Priska screamed. “I'll tell the captain. You may not like us, but we're your passengers!” Her voice sounded shrill and hysterical.
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br />   Thomas stared at Manfred and jutted out his chin. “Go ahead.”

  Thomas knew he was completely outmanned, but he wanted once and for all to reveal Manfred to Priska for what he really was, no matter the cost of that revelation to himself.

  “Let him go,” Manfred said to Kurt.

  Kurt pulled Thomas's arms tighter. It was easier not to grimace than Thomas thought it would be. His anger dulled the pain.

  “I said let him go,” Manfred repeated.

  Thomas's arms hurt more for a moment after Kurt released him. It must have been the blood circulating back into his limbs. He had been granted his escape but he didn't want it. Kurt stood before him, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe Manfred would pass up a chance to beat a Jew who didn't seem to understand his place in life.

  Thomas rushed at Kurt this time, hoping to knock him to the ground. But Kurt withstood the force and came back swinging at Thomas. He hit him squarely in the stomach, sending Thomas sprawling backward onto the floor, the breath knocked out of him. As he struggled to breathe, his stomach burned with pain. But strangely, Thomas didn't mind so much. He found he almost relished the pain. He scrambled to his feet, ready to go back at Kurt, but before he could, Priska grabbed his hand. With one last leer at Kurt, he let her pull him toward the door. On the way out, she bent to pick up Thomas's chess pawn. He hadn't even realized it had fallen from his pocket in the scuffle.

  Once on deck with Priska, Thomas made a move toward the door to go back inside and face Kurt again.

  “Are you crazy?” Priska yelled. “You're not going in there again.” She stepped toward him and said more gently, “Are you all right?”

  “I'm fine,” he said. He looked down at his stomach, half expecting to see a giant hole in it because of how badly it hurt. He felt a surge of pride—he had acted, he had been courageous.

  “You shouldn't have done that,” Priska said. “Do you want to get yourself killed?”

  “I should have let them say that about you?”

  “They were only words.”