by Robert Elmer
"What's your opinion of what we saw? Quite impressive, don't you think? I was pleasantly surprised."
"Pardon?" Steffen wasn't sure if he meant the dispensary, or Theresienstadt in general.
"I mean, for example, the dispensary seemed to have all the latest equipment and very clean conditions. Honestly, I had been expecting far worse, but I thought it all rather impressive, don't you think?"
Steffen paused before he responded. How could he pass along what he knew without endangering the source?
"Pardon, but did we actually see any of the equipment in use?"
"What are you saying? That we should have waited there and observed patients being treated? You know we didn't have time for that. Besides, that would have served no purpose."
"Yes, I know. It's just that everything there may have been set up to impress us, yet it might not have actually been used there. It might be gone even now, for all we know."
Again Herr Madsen wrinkled his brow.
"Gone? Why would someone go to such lengths? As far as I could tell, everything in all the other areas of the city was of adequate quality and in good repair, as well. The schools.The recreational facilities. The café and the dining areas.The performing arts center. The library. Even the central park. Did you notice all the flowers?"
"I heard the park had been barricaded until just hours before our arrival. Off limits to all residents."
"Who told you that?"
"Just . . . chatting with people along the way. One hears things."
"I'm sorry, but that sounds rather conspiratorial. I'm much more willing to take things at their face value."
Herr Madsen returned to his report, which would apparently include glowing praise for the situation and administration of Theresienstadt. Steffen wondered how he could bring light to the lies.
"Please, Herr Madsen. Just think about it for a moment.The kommandant had us on such a tight schedule, and on such a carefully planned route. We weren't allowed to go out on our own. What if things were different in the rest of the camp?
"I wouldn't call it a camp, Steffen. Besides, we could have been days exploring every last corner of the city, and for what purpose? I believe we saw a reasonable cross section."
"I believe we were shown a façade. A false front. I don't think that conditions beyond our view were anything like what we were led to believe they were. I suspect that as soon as we left, those nice facilities were all taken away."
"Steffen, please. You're making strong accusations here that cannot be backed up with fact. This is wild speculation only. I would expect a much more levelheaded assessment from you."
"Perhaps, but don't you think we could include some of those . . . reservations in your report? At least we could raise the questions."
"I'll do nothing of the sort. All I can report on is what I observed. And all that I observed was encouraging. I cannot go spreading rumors based on things you may or may not have heard from someone on the street. Can't you see how irresponsible that would be? Unethical, even."
"Wait, wait." Steffen raised his hand as he felt his own temperature rising. "I think if we're going to be talking about unethical and irresponsible, the only unethical or irresponsible course of action right now would be to allow ourselves to be used by the Nazis, and not to report on the whole truth.That's unethical and irresponsible."
By this time Herr Madsen studied Steffen through narrowed eyes. When he finally spoke his words sounded guarded and measured, doled out for maximum effect.
"Listen, Steffen. I'm sorry if you feel I'm missing something.But you begged me to be able to come along on this inspection.You said you wanted to see things for yourself, and we accommodated you to that end. Now you were able to see for yourself, and I'm just a bit puzzled at your reaction."
"No, let me explain. I—"
Herr Madsen held up a hand to cut him off.
"I believe you have explained yourself adequately and well, and you know I have valued your opinion. Frankly, however, I'm not sure what else you can expect, because there's really very little else you can do to change this situation, one way or the other. Unfortunately these people will remain in Theresienstadt, but now we've seen the conditions, and they are apparently adequate. This is what I will detail in my report."
"And you won't even—"
This time Herr Madsen silenced the objection just by lifting his eyebrow, and he went on.
"If you feel you've accomplished your goal and you'd like to focus all of your efforts once again on your work at the kirke, I would fully understand. Or if you'd like to continue helping with efforts to send supplemental medical and food supplies into Theresienstadt, you're more than welcome to do that, as well. The German authorities have pledged their continued cooperation in that regard. Although quite frankly, after seeing the place for myself today, I'm much less apprehensive about the condition of our people or the critical need to send them these things."
Steffen nodded. Herr Madsen just didn't understand, and it did not appear that he would entertain any further objections.What else could Steffen do to convince the outside world something was not right in Theresienstadt?
"I'd like to continue volunteering, if I may." Steffen wasn't sure if Herr Madsen would hear the whispered words, but apparently he did.
"Good. Then I assume your representation of what we saw and experienced today will align closely with mine. It would be most confusing to our public if they received mixed messages.Do we agree?"
"I understand." Steffen understood that Herr Madsen did not want to embarrass himself or lose footing with German officials. After all, he depended on those same officials for the goodwill necessary to conduct inspections such as the one today. He had much to lose.
But then again, so did Steffen.
After the Red Cross visit Hanne stood at the door of the dispensary, watching transport after transport rumble by on the main street, rattling the windows. She choked on the exhaust fumes but willed herself not to back away. A young man caught her eye from the rear of the fifth or sixth truck, and he still wore the bandage she had wrapped on his elbow last week after a minor work accident. She caught her breath and waved.
"Jakub!" She couldn't help calling out his name, and for a brief moment their eyes met. He raised his hand in a sad goodbye, with the awful look of one who knew he was being taken to a place from which he would never return. What was he, barely fifteen years old?
"So many," she whispered, and she made no attempt to stop the tears now running down her face.
If only she could turn away from this death parade. And she would have, except that she knew she must stand as a witness. Who else would do it? No one else walked the streets and no one even dared peer out from nearby windows—as if looking at these poor souls might bring misfortune.
So by default Hanne stood like a soldier, her stomach churning at the sight of each truck in the long line. And she hated the fact that she recognized so many, like Jakub or his aunt and uncle, who had worked with him in the gardens just outside the city walls, pulling weeds, hauling manure, and tending vegetable starts for twelve hours a day.
But they had played their roles for the Red Cross visitors, perhaps all too well. They had done what the Nazis had demanded, thinking their cooperation might buy them a greater measure of safety. Instead for their complaisance they had received a one-way ride to a death camp in occupied Poland, if rumors could be believed. Wherever they were going, most surely they would not be coming back.
Finally the last truck rumbled past and disappeared in a cloud of smoke, on its way out of the same city gate through which Hanne and the other Danish Jews had once entered.The gendarmes shut the chain-link gates, their dogs straining and snapping at the air from the end of their short leashes.After a minute or two a large rat scurried across the street and after a look around disappeared into a sewer drain. After that two small children peeked out of a street-level door, then chased each other around the corner. Finally a mother followed them outsid
e, keeping a wary eye on the gate and the dogs. One by one this weary cast of survivors took to the streets again.
Now Hanne could finally turn back to the empty clinic, though her head throbbed with the awful truth of what was happening there—as if she needed yet another reminder. At the same time, yet another reminder stared her in the face: All the nice new equipment that had been set up around the clinic for yesterday's visits had already been pulled out and shipped away to its intended destination. Probably a German field hospital, or perhaps an actual clinic in Berlin—one that did not treat Jews. She could make out the marks on the linoleum floor where they had been parked for their short display.Dr. Janecek stood staring at the empty room, as if mourning the loss, as well.
"They waste no time," he declared, hands on his hips. "Do they?"
"Did you hear the trucks?" She motioned toward the door.He nodded.
"I heard."
"All those people we worked so hard to help," she said, rolling up a stray bit of gauze and tossing it on the exam counter."And they're just taken away to die. What's the . . ."
Her voice faded away. She could not finish her question, so Doctor Janecek kindly filled in the words for her.
"What's the use? What's the point? Hanne, you know the answer. We all die. Some sooner. Some later. You and I, we just do what we can today, and we leave the rest to HaShem. He has brought us here for a reason, you and I."
She nodded absently as he went on. Like other observant Jews, Dr. Janecek used the respectful term for God, HaShem, to avoid misusing the Lord's name. Thus HaShem, or "The Name."
"You remember it is written? 'HaShem is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. Those who know your name will trust in you, for you, HaShem, have never forsaken those who seek you.' "
Hanne thought she recognized the words of a familiar Psalm, but still she had no answer. He rested a hand on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Hanne. You've seen much more than you want to see, I'm sure. It's all meshugge, you know. Insane. So if you'd like to take a break, I would understand. Even if you'd try to find something else to do, I would understand that, too. Like it, no. Understand, maybe. But you do such good work, and you have such heart. You're like a wildflower that has bloomed here in Terezin. We still need you here."
A wildflower. How sweet of him to say such a thing. She nodded as a mother came into the clinic with a crying child in tow. What else could she say? Perhaps he was right: HaShem had brought her here for a reason. In her mind there really was no choice.
"I'd like to continue working here, if I may." She nodded at their new patients. "The children. They need someone."
"I had a feeling you'd say that."
He smiled crookedly, despite what they'd been through the past couple of days, and helped her clear off the nearest exam table. They might not have the latest equipment, and they might not have many supplies. But they could do what they could, with what they had.
34
SANKT STEFAN'S KIRKE, KØBENHAVN
SUNDAY MORNING, 25 JUNI 1944
God creates out of nothing. Wonderful you say.
Yes, to be sure, but he does what is still more wonderful:
he makes saints out of sinners.
—SØREN KIERKEGAARD
So glad you made it home safely." Pastor Viggo was the first to greet Steffen on Sunday before the service as they both stepped into Sankt Stefan's foyer. Steffen smiled and sighed as he looked up to see morning sunlight streaming in through stained-glass windows.
Home!
"So am I." He shook Pastor Viggo's hand. "So am I. And you know I'm grateful to you for filling in last week."
"It was nothing." Pastor Viggo casually waved off the thanks. "I could preach that week's sermon in my sleep. And I probably have, several times."
They laughed at that, but Steffen had to rub a bit of soreness in his throat and in the glands below his jaw.
"You're feeling all right?" asked Pastor Viggo.
Steffen rolled the stiffness from his shoulders and cleared his throat. "Maybe just a little something I picked up along the way. Ingenting. Nothing serious."
Or so he thought. But by the time he stood up in front of the congregation that morning, he knew that the "little something" was perhaps more than just a little.
"Pardon me." He took an extra sip from a glass of water under his podium and tried to work through his hoarse voice.That only made it worse, and he had to pause several times before getting through the lackluster sermon. Afterward Pastor Viggo patted him on the back and told him they could certainly postpone the lunch gathering they'd planned.
"No, no. I'm fine, really." Steffen had always thought that he could talk a sore throat out of existence, and that denial carried with it nearly as much power as prayer. He put on a brave face. "Besides, they've all been waiting to hear about the trip. I don't want to disappoint them."
So he didn't, and he met with seven couples in the small overflow room they used for a modest library. Pastor Viggo's wife had brought extra pickled herring for him along with a rare loaf of excellent pumpernickel, which made it all worthwhile.
"I haven't eaten this well in months," he admitted to the little group, and it was the truth.
"But you have to tell us what you saw on your trip," said an older gentleman named Jens Lund. He was one of those who sat in the second pew every week without fail, intent on the sermon and singing off-key. "Was it as pleasant as we've heard?"
Steffen suddenly felt a little too hot around his collar, and he thought perhaps someone should open a window. He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. He thought about what Herr Madsen had told him about not spreading rumors, and he thought about what Hanne had told him, and what he knew to be true. And Pastor Viggo stood up for him.
"The pastor is still a little tired from his travels," he said."Perhaps he would prefer to bring us a full report a little later."
"No." Steffen held up his hand. "I've been home two days, now, and I'm as rested as I'm ever going to be. Just a little warm, perhaps. Is it just me, or is anyone else warm?"
The rest of the small group looked at each other and shook their heads. Viggo's wife still kept a knitted shawl wrapped around her shoulders. All right, then; it was just him. He sighed and went on. These people deserved to hear the truth, not a whitewashed official rumor, especially after all their faithful giving. He mopped his forehead again and cleared his mind.
"Herr Lund, you asked if Theresienstadt is as pleasant as you've heard, and I must tell you the truth: What we were shown was clean and nice."
The little group seemed to relax at his announcement.Obviously they'd been waiting for some good news, hadn't they? But as he looked from face to face, he knew without exception he could trust each one.
"But that's not the whole story," Steffen went on. "Because we were deceived. Deliberately and systematically deceived."
He made sure to emphasize the "deceived" part, as if he were delivering a pointed sermon. And everyone in the group seemed to hold their collective breath as Steffen explained.
"The Red Cross officials and I were only allowed access to a narrow section of Theresienstadt. They made certain we never veered from their predetermined route. It was decorated and painted and made to look pleasant. Beyond that there's a much darker side, where people are starving and where they live in constant fear of being transported to death camps in other places. Living conditions are harsh and medical treatment is poor at best."
He mopped his forehead once again, wishing he could shrink away. But he had more to say, and they deserved to hear it. He even noticed Margrethe standing in the hallway, as well, holding a mop and listening. Well, perhaps she should hear his report, as well.
"Perhaps Theresienstadt isn't the hell we feared. But to borrow an analogy from our Catholic friends, it is the worst kind of purgatory. It's the doorstep to the worst kind of evil you can imagine, and in Christian conscience we must continue to do everything we can to help those wh
o are unjustly enslaved there by their Nazi captors. Jens, since you asked, we are being deceived. And I was sickened by what I witnessed there."
Perhaps literally, as well. He looked around at the wideeyed little group of faithful people. Poor Jens Lund sat with an uneaten bite of pickled herring still on his fork, hoisted halfway to his gaping mouth.
"I'm sorry." Steffen held the side of his head to keep it from throbbing, but he couldn't help now feeling as if he had stepped into a furnace. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you all with such a grim report. And thank you, everyone, but I'm afraid I do need to excuse myself. Perhaps I do need a little nap, after all."
With that he dropped his napkin and pulled himself to his feet, a little unsteadily at first, then made his way to the door.Pastor Viggo intercepted him with an arm slipped around his shoulders.
"I'll walk back to your apartment with you," he offered, but Steffen shook his head no.
"There's no need. It's just—"
"Your face looks flushed, my boy. I think it's a touch of something serious."
"I'll be fine in the morning. But thank you for your concern."
He smiled and waved again at the others as if everything was as fine as he made it out to be, then felt a touch of conscience as the fever shook him in cold shivers. His head and shoulders ached.
Perhaps I shouldn't have been so stubborn, he told himself.Perhaps it would have been better to have Pastor Viggo walk him home, after all.
He paused at the street corner just outside the church to lean against a building as a wave of nausea swept over him.By this time his throat had nearly clamped shut in pain and he gasped for breath. A passing bicyclist slowed and stared but did not stop, but Steffen did not notice as someone else came up behind him and took him by the arm.
