by Robert Elmer
"Anything else? What about the start of Rosh Hashanah tonight?"
"Well, sure. And I want to be here with you."
"Of course you do." Mrs. Abrahamsen clutched a small black leather purse in her left hand. "You haven't been to Sabbath services in two months, and now on the Day of Judgment, when the destiny of all mankind is recorded on the Maker's Book of Life, now you come."
"Mor, you are far too dramatic." Hanne tried to keep it light as she smiled. "And it's only been a few weeks."
"You think blowing the shofar is too dramatic? You think the New Year's meal is too dramatic? I think you could use a little more drama in your life, maybe. A child or two, perhaps."
There. Hanne knew her mother would be slipping it in, sooner or later. And she tried not to roll her eyes.
"Please don't start with the children thing again."
"Why not? A mother has a right to express her opinion, does she not?"
"Not if it makes you sound like . . ." Hanne searched for words.
"Watch your tongue."
"I am, believe me. But you should hear yourself. The typical Jewish mother, pressuring her daughter to have children.Sometimes it's just too much for me to believe."
"I say the same thing. Sometimes it's just too much for me to believe."
"All right, fine." Hanne waved her free hand for emphasis as they neared the synagogue, less than a block away. "How about this: How about if I go out and get pregnant next month. Tell me if you want a boy or a girl. I'll have both.Then will you be satisfied?"
Hanne's mother stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, looking up at her taller daughter, and waved a warning finger.
"I don't like the way you joke," she told her.
But Hanne couldn't help smiling back.
"I'm sorry, Mor. It's just that you're always bringing it up, and I don't know what else to say."
They started walking again.
"Don't say anything, just do. You know that Aron would marry you in a minute."
Hanne sighed and pressed her lips together. Her mother was right about that much. Problem was . . . she didn't know what the problem was. Or if there was one. Who would be a better match than the son of her deceased father's best friend? And in a moment her mother would begin reminding her all over again why she should marry Aron Overgaard, and as soon as possible.
"He has money, you know, and plenty of it. So he needs a little fattening up? That's not hard to do. What's the problem? I thought you always liked him."
"I do like him, most of the time. He's very sweet. He brought me flowers at the hospital the other day."
"There, see? And?"
"And he's very sensible. Men like him are very sensible."
Yes, and everything about him looked the part—from his serious brown eyes and his dimpled chin to the prominent nose. Sensible.
"Well, then. What else can you ask for? You told me once that you thought he was the one."
"I was only fourteen at the time." She counted cracks in the narrow sidewalk as they neared the synagogue. He would be there today. She couldn't avoid him. But she certainly didn't want to hurt him, either. She could imagine the hurt puppy dog look on his face if she ever did.
"So just tell me this." Her mother wasn't giving up that easily. "What if he did ask you to marry him? What would you say?"
"Actually, Mor, he already did."
"What?" Her mother nearly exploded. "You never told me this. You never tell me anything! Should I not have known about this? What did you say?"
"Relax. That was ten years ago."
"Oh. You give me a heart attack with that kind of talk, and for what? Sometimes I wish your father was still alive just so he could discipline you. Here you are, twenty-five years old, and you still need someone to discipline you. You need a husband."
"I know. I miss him, too."
Hanne's mother let the answer slip by, perhaps not realizing.
"So what did you tell him?"
"Who? You mean Aron?" Hanne thought they'd better agree on terms, here. "I think we're talking about two different 'hims,' here."
"Aron, of course I mean Aron. The man who asked you to marry him. I was married when I was eighteen, you know.Fifteen's not that much younger than eighteen."
"You can't be serious. I told him I was going to be a doctor and that I wouldn't have time for men."
"You said that? Why am I not surprised?" This time Hanne's mother nearly dragged her black pumps across the sidewalk, looking more dejected with every step. "And look at her today. My daughter the prophetess. My daughter the nurse.The still-single nurse."
"Mor," Hanne said with a smile as she squeezed her mother's hand, "you're incredible."
"Your father would have been proud to hear you say that.Now if only you meant it in a nice way."
"You know I did."
Hanne would have been happy to keep the verbal sparring match going if not for the somber greeter standing between the familiar iron outer gate and the blond brick building's main entry. The Hebrew inscription above the outer door read "Welcome in the name of God." Tobias Simonsen, a young man who worked at the Tuborg brewery, must not have read the inscription.
"Please hurry inside and find a seat," he told them with an urgency that seemed quite out of place for the holidays. Tobias, in a hurry? He looked up and down the street for any other stragglers before following them inside the lobby and slamming the door shut behind them. The sound reverberated throughout the building, sending a shiver up Hanne's spine as she helped her mother climb the stairs to the women's balcony, lofted high above the pews below.
"Strange how they're celebrating the high holy days this year," Hanne's mother wondered aloud as they found a seat by Gitte Lewenstein next to the railing, looking down some eight meters or so to where the men sat. At the front of the synagogue, the ornate platform enclosed with a railing held the eight-armed menorah as well as a podium for the rabbi and the ceremonial scrolls of the Torah.
"Do you have any idea what's going on?" Hanne wondered aloud as she searched the crowd.
Fru Lewenstein shook her head and knit her crooked fingers together on her lap; she looked as confused as anyone else.
"All they've been doing is rushing around and whispering to each other down there." She leaned across to speak to Hanne's mother. "No telling what they're up to, but I'll tell you one thing: It's not the service we're expecting."
Still Hanne looked out across the sea of men's dark hats and the occasional yarmulke. The ornate prayer hall normally seated around 650, with standing room for another 100. This morning plenty of open seats remained, but the nervous buzz told Hanne that Fru Lewenstein was right about one thing: Something was surely not as it should have been.
"I think they're going to make some kind of announcement."Fru Lewenstein pointed toward the front. By that time Aron had found his usual place near the platform, but only nodded nervously when he looked up and picked them out of the crowd peering down at him from the balcony. Hanne raised a tentative hand in greeting.
Finally Rabbi Melchior stood up in front, dressed not in his customary dark robes, sash, and tall pillbox cap, but in a rumpled black suit and tie that looked less pressed than slept in. And though he did at least wear a fedora, his hair stuck out to each side as if he had thrown it on in quite a hurry.
What could be so wrong that he would not have dressed for the occasion? Hanne still could not guess.
For a moment he stood fidgeting with his round-lens eyeglasses, pulling them off and then placing them back on his nose, then pulling them off once again. Eventually he got his glasses adjusted, so when he raised his hand the hall fell instantly silent.
"Thank you all for coming," he said, his baritone ringing throughout the hall. It sounded more like a greeting at a funeral, rather than the prelude to a two-day high holy days celebration. He paused for a deep breath before continuing."But there will be no service this morning."
A soft gasp of surprise spread through the congre
gation until he held up his hand once more to continue.
"Instead, I have very important news to tell you. Last night I received word that Friday evening the Germans plan to raid Jewish homes throughout København to arrest all Danish Jews for shipment to work camps."
Again he paused, as if gathering strength to continue. Fru Lewenstein winced in pain at the announcement, bringing her hands to her cheeks in shock. Others around her looked as if they had been slapped. Hanne couldn't bring herself to look at Aron's reaction, only kept her focus on the rabbi as he stood before the congregation and bravely went on with his announcement.
"They know . . . they know that at the close of Rosh Hashanah our families would normally all be home. The situation is very serious. We must take action immediately.You must leave the synagogue now and contact all relatives, friends, and neighbors who are Jewish and tell them what I have told you. You must tell them to pass the word on to everyone they know who is Jewish. You must also speak to all your Christian friends, anyone you can think of, and tell them to warn the Jews. You must do this immediately, within the next few minutes, so that two or three hours from now everyone will know what is happening. By nightfall tonight we must all be in hiding."
"In hiding?" asked one of the men up front. "But where? And for how long?"
Several others added their agreement as the rabbi nodded.
"Arrangements are being made right now for evacuations to Sweden. I am informed by . . . by sympathetic sources in the government that the Swedes are prepared to take in as many as are willing to come. So my recommendation is to find a secure hiding place near the coast, among people you can trust. We will all pray for a safe passage, and that we will be able to return home soon."
Once again the men lobbed questions at one another, prompting the rabbi to raise his hands for silence. He straightened up his shoulders as if he'd found some measure of courage, and without warning began singing the words of the Shehecheyanu blessing.
Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam . . .
Blessed are you, Lord, our God, sovereign of the universe . . .
For a moment his voice wavered, as if he remembered how this blessing would otherwise have been part of a mealtime celebration, now abruptly cancelled. There would be no apples dipped in honey this year, no hearty challah bread or candle lightings. Still he gave them what he could.
. . . shehecheyanu v'kiyimanu v'higi'anu laz'man hazeh. who has kept us alive, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this season.
By this time Hanne could not imagine a dry eye in the congregation as they all echoed a teary "amen." She searched her purse for a handkerchief as the rabbi stepped down from the platform. His knees seemed to buckle, but he had one last thing to tell them.
"Go now. Quickly. Hurtigt. Please do not delay."
Visibly shaken, he collected a prayer book and shawl from a seat on the front row and accepted a hand from a couple of the closest men, then made his way to the exit.
The rest of the congregation now sat in stunned silence, while the only sound Hanne could hear was soft weeping and sniffling all around—and not just from the women's section.On one side, Hanne's mother stared blankly at the far wall, obviously in shock. On the other, Fru Lewenstein had burst into tears and sobbed uncontrollably. Hanne would have to move first, so she stood up between them.
"Come on, please, ladies," she told them, tugging gently at her mother's elbow. "You heard what the rabbi said. We need to go now."
By that time others around them had taken Rabbi Melchior's admonition to heart, as well, and were pressing toward the exits. The good news was that Fru Lewenstein's little husband had pushed up through the retreating crowd to collect his wife. When he found them he slipped a protective arm around her shoulder, mentioning something about taking a train to a relative's summer beach house in Gilleleje, up the coast, to hide there. But then they were gone.
"Actually, that sounded like a good idea," Hanne told her mother, who still said nothing. But by that time Aron had found them, and he waved over several heads for them to follow him to a side entry.
"I'm going to be staying with my cousin in Roskilde," he told them, as soon as they'd joined him. "You will come, too.And your mother, of course."
Under normal circumstances her mother would surely have appreciated Aron's invitation. But even now she just followed the crowd with her wide eyes as they hurried toward the exits, flowing past on all sides. Hanne wasn't even sure if she heard what Aron was saying.
"Roskilde?" Hanne quizzed him. "No. That's too far away, and the wrong direction. You heard what Rabbi Melchior said about making arrangements for Swed—"
"Of course it's far away," Aron interrupted her, his dark eyes blazing. "That's the point. But listen, there's no time right now to discuss it. We're getting as far away as we can, as quickly as we can. I'm certainly not going to wait here in the city for the Germans to pick us up. As soon as you can pack your bags, we'll leave immediately."
"Wait. We?" Hanne tried desperately to think, to make sense amidst the noisy panic that swirled all around them."Aron, please. I just don't think that's a good idea. Listen, I have contacts at the hospital. I think they would help us.There are a lot of good people there."
"Absolutely not." Aron shook his head again, as if her ideas weren't worth discussing, and he, the final arbiter, had made an executive decision. "I just need to ask Tobias a few things, and then we'll go."
How could he say that? And how could he even think of going all the way to Roskilde, some thirty-five or forty kilometers to the west? Hanne could not say that she liked seeing this side of Aron, though she wasn't at all sure how to react.
But now, where to hide? How to hide? Who would help them? Hanne couldn't yet answer. In fact, nothing seemed clear, except one thing: Going to Roskilde would be a fatal mistake, no matter what Aron said. This she knew beyond a doubt. She looked to her mother who ran a hand along the rich walnut trim of a nearby exit door, as if seeing it for the first time. After what they had heard, perhaps it would be the last. Either way, her mother didn't seem to hear the exchange. And Hanne had a sinking feeling that their lives might depend on what she decided right here, right now.She pressed her lips together and held Aron's arm before he turned to go.
"We can't go with you, Aron." Her voice came out as a squeak, she thought, and he looked at her as if he hadn't heard.
"What are you saying?" His eyes clouded even more. "You can't be serious."
"We're going to the hospital. I know there's going to be help there. You should come, too."
He opened his mouth to say something, but the hurt look in his eyes told Hanne more than she wanted to know. How easy it was to hurt someone, without even trying.
"Aron!" Tobias Simonsen came up through the crowd, in a hurry like everyone else. "Are you coming?"
Now it was Aron's turn to choose, and he looked from his friend to Hanne, and back again. Finally, he turned back to Hanne.
"I won't leave the country without you, Hanne. Wait for me?"
"Aron, I can't—"
"Aron, honestly." Tobias wasn't about to wait any longer."We need to go."
So Aron turned to go, but not before squeezing Hanne's hand in his.
"Shana tovah, Hanne," he told her, and the traditional holiday greeting could not have sounded more out of place. "I'll see you again."
"A good year to you, too," she replied, as someone in the back of the synagogue sounded the shofar. The echoing sound of the ram's horn always gave Hanne goose bumps, even more this time as she watched Aron disappear through the crowd.
But she knew where to go, now, and she knew what she had to do. She took her mother's cold hand and headed for the door.
"Let's hurry," she said, as they left the synagogue and headed back out to Krystalgade. They just had two days now to hide—and escape the only home Hanne had ever known.
11
BISPEBJERG HOSPITAL, KØBEBHAVN
WEDNESDAY, 29 SEPTEMBER 1943
&
nbsp; To save one life is like saving the whole world.
—JEWISH PROVERB
Only a few hours after the announcement in the synagogue, Hanne found herself back at the hospital on her normal shift, feeling anything but. She studied the clipboard by a patient's bed, forcing her eyes to focus, seeing nothing but panic.
Settle down, she told herself. Everything's going to be all right. People here at the hospital will help.
"The glass of water, nurse?" The woman in the bed looked up at her with weak puzzlement. "You said you'd bring it?"
Hanne breathed again, tried to bring her thoughts back as she replaced the clipboard into its holder at the foot of the bed.
"Yes, of course. I'm sorry." She turned and nearly ran into Ann-Grete, one of the morning shift nurses, who must have just stepped into the room. Ann-Grete held her by the arm as they stepped out into the hallway.
"It's all arranged," Ann-Grete told her in a quiet voice as her eyes scanned the hallway first one way, then the next."You're taking my apartment, and I'm taking yours. We'll trade personal things but leave the furniture in place, so we don't attract too much attention."
"But Ann-Grete, this is more than an inconvenience to you. This is—"
"This is just what we do. If the Germans think they know where to find you, they'll find me instead."
"But then what would you tell them?"
"How about, 'Look at me! Do I look Jewish to you? Hanne doesn't live here anymore!' "
Hanne sighed. "Oh, but they'll know. They're very good at that. All they'll have to do is check the personnel records."
