While We're Far Apart (26 page)

“Hey, Penny! Have fun with your new job today.”

“I will.” Penny hadn’t thought about her job being fun. But it would be, in a way. Up until a month ago, she had been trapped in a stuffy old ticket booth, and now she would get to drive all around Brooklyn, meeting new people – nice people like Roy. She walked into the bus station smiling. And thinking that Sally was a very lucky girl to have a guy like Roy for a sweetheart.

C
HAPTER 22

Budapest, Hungary
November 1943

Dear Mama and Abba,

Once again I am writing this letter to you so that when the war finally ends, you will know what has become of us. Everything is changing so rapidly, and I am preparing for the very worst.

We left the village a few months ago and arrived safely at Uncle Baruch’s home here in the city. He and Aunt Hannah were kind enough to take us into their home, even though they already have taken in three of Aunt Hannah’s relatives. But that’s the way it is here in the Jewish section of Budapest. With food and heating fuel so difficult to come by, many families have been forced to crowd together into one apartment.

Uncle Baruch and I and some of the other men from our building go out every day to forage for food and firewood and to work at whatever jobs we can find to earn money. This is difficult to do since I must also hide from any authorities who may try to conscript me for a labor gang. I know that I speak Hungarian with an accent since it isn’t my first language, so I must be extra cautious not to speak unless I am forced to. In spite of all my precautions, I fear that it is only a matter of time before we are conscripted into a work gang. Age doesn’t matter to the government officials. With so many of the young men fighting in the military, the Hungarian government needs laborers to keep the factories and railroads running and the roads repaired.

What little news that we hear about the war is very bleak. All of Europe is under the shadow of the Nazis. We are told that England is barely hanging on and that the Russians are suffering, as well. I fear that the Americans may have joined this war too late and that they were not fully prepared to fight when they did join. Everyone is worried that the American forces will be spread too thinly as they try to help the allies here in Europe while fighting the Japanese in the Pacific at the same time.

When Sarah and I first arrived in Budapest we felt relatively safe, but now the Nazis have begun making demands on their Hungarian allies. Everyone fears that Jews may soon be persecuted here the way they have been in Germany and Poland. Lately, the rumors have become so frightening that I decided to search for a better way to keep Sarah and Fredeleh safe. I learned that a group of Catholic nuns in a convent here in Budapest are hiding Jewish children in their orphanage. I went to speak with them last week, and they agreed to keep Fredeleh there. They will change her name to a Christian one and hide her and the other Jewish children among the war orphans. They told me to prepare a letter with all of the important information about my family in America and about Sarah’s family here in Hungary. That way, if anything should happen to Sarah and me – Hashem forbid – the Christian nuns will be able to contact Fredeleh’s relatives after this terrible war finally ends.

I told Sarah about this plan, but she can’t bear to let Fredeleh go. Our sad news is that Sarah had been expecting our second child, but with so little food to eat, she miscarried the baby. I didn’t have the heart to take Fredeleh away from her, too. And so we have decided to stay together for now and pray and trust Hashem to tell us when the time is right. If the Germans come to Hungary and force us to wear the yellow stars, we’ll know it is time to ask the Christians for help. I will put this letter with Fredeleh’s identification papers at the convent so they can send it to you in America after the war.

I continue to worship Hashem and ask Him for the meaning in all of this hardship our people are suffering. He has reminded me that our people once suffered as slaves in Egypt and that as part of our deliverance, all of Egypt was destroyed just as Europe is now being destroyed. But deliverance did come at last for us, and the Promised Land of Israel became our home. Perhaps it is too much to believe that all this suffering will bring us to the Promised Land again one day, and that Israel will be our Jewish homeland after nearly two thousand years of exile. But I believe that Hashem is able to perform miracles, and I would gladly give my life so that Fredeleh could be free one day. Imagine it, Mama and Abba, our own land where we would be free from pogroms and persecution, free to serve Hashem.

I love you both,
Avraham

C
HAPTER 23

D
ECEMBER 1943

T
HE COLD
D
ECEMBER WIND
blew straight off the East River and right through Jacob’s coat as he hurried home to his apartment. He had to hold his hat firmly on his head to keep from losing it. Snowflakes drifted from the sky, dusting the sidewalks and the meager patches of grass along the streets. Miriam Shoshanna would have said the snow looked lovely, like a sprinkling of powdered sugar.

Jacob stomped the snow off his shoes before coming inside, wiping his feet on the mat. In spite of the bitter weather, he felt more hopeful than he had in many months after he and Rebbe Grunfeld met with the American Jewish Congress. One month from now, President Roosevelt would announce the creation of a new government agency to help rescue refugees. The state department would send any money Jacob helped raise to Europe to rescue innocent victims of enemy persecution, most of whom were Jewish.

“What about Hungary?” he had asked. “Are there plans to help the Jews who are trapped in Hungary?”

The answer had given him hope. The new agency would work with neutral nations such as Switzerland and Sweden, which still had embassies in Axis-controlled countries like Hungary. Food and other aid would be distributed through them.

Jacob had just sat down and opened the newspaper when he heard Esther and Peter arrive home from school. They had fallen into the habit of coming down to his apartment after discarding their coats and boots, bringing their schoolbooks with them and staying until Miss Goodrich arrived home from work. They would sit at his kitchen table to do their homework, listening to classical music on the radio, and Jacob would help young Peter with his arithmetic. He unlocked his apartment door in anticipation, but they didn’t come downstairs right away. When they finally did, tears streaked Esther’s face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as they came inside.

“We got a letter from Daddy.” She waved it in the air. “He said that by the time we read this he’ll be on his way to England!” She rushed into Jacob’s arms, clinging to him, sobbing. He didn’t know what to say or what to do except to hold her in return. He saw Peter’s silent tears and reached to draw him close, as well. The boy didn’t make a sound, yet his thin body trembled with silent grief.

“I don’t want Daddy to fight in the war!” Esther wept.

“I am so sorry,” Jacob murmured. “So sorry.” He understood the children’s helpless anger and grief, but he had no idea how to console them. So he simply held them, saying nothing until Esther’s tears finally subsided.

“It’s so unfair!” she sniffed, wiping her nose and eyes with her handkerchief. “We need him here!”

“When your father was home on leave he told me that his job is to take care of the vehicles. He did not think he would be doing any fighting.”

“But he’s going to England! That’s where all the bombs are falling on people. You have pictures of it.” She went to the collection of newspaper clippings on his dining room table and began picking out photos and holding them up. He knew what they showed without looking at them: piles of bricks and burnt wood, buildings destroyed, homeless families huddled in the street, gazing at the remnants of their homes, air-raid wardens searching the rubble for survivors. Every afternoon Esther looked through his collection of pictures, as obsessed with them as he was. Now Jacob regretted that she had ever seen them. He took the clippings from her and laid them back down on the table.

“Come, we will go into the kitchen and have tea.”

For the first time he saw the photos the way she must see them. While he had been documenting the world at war, Esther had seen the world as a frightening, capricious place where bombs could fall out of the sky on a whim of the Almighty, crushing her father, just as the car had crushed her mother. And what could Jacob say to Esther? Did he believe, as Rebbe Grunfeld had insisted, that Hashem was his help and his shield, his canopy of protection? Could he promise these children that Hashem would keep their father safe? No, he could not.

When Esther went home today, Jacob decided, he would put the clippings out of sight. They had fueled his own anger and fear as well as hers.

“Here, I bought some cookies the other day,” he said. “Tell me what you think of them.” He pried open the tin and put it in the middle of the table as Esther and Peter sat down. The cookies weren’t nearly as good as Miriam Shoshanna’s homemade ones, but they were the best he could do. He remembered how he used to chide his wife for spoiling these children with treats – and here he was buying cookies for them.

“No one can promise that your father will be kept safe,” he said as he took down three teacups. “But worry and fear will do nothing to help, either.”

Esther sat with her elbows propped on the table, her chin resting on her hands. Peter had begun nibbling on a cookie. “Is it good?” Jacob asked him. He nodded.

“It’s going to be a terrible Christmas,” Esther said.

“I do not know very much about your Christian holidays – only what I see in the department store windows and what I hear about Santa Claus. But why will this holiday be such a terrible one?”

“Because Daddy is so far away! We won’t be able to do any of the things we used to do, like put up a Christmas tree and open presents. It won’t be the same.”

“Traditions are good. They give order and stability to our lives. But change is part of life, too. The secret is to find the balance between the two.”

“I don’t want everything to change.”

“I understand. When our son Avraham went away, his mother and I sometimes found it very difficult to celebrate our holy days. They did not seem the same without him. But Avraham is a grown man, and it would have been wrong for us to keep him a little boy forever. He has his own life to live, just as you will one day grow up and move away from your father.”

“But weren’t your holidays sad without him?”

“Yes, at first. But Miriam said we must learn to celebrate the true meaning of the holiday, with gratitude. She said that happiness is something that comes from our own hearts, not from other people.”

Jacob felt like a hypocrite saying these things. He hadn’t heeded Miriam’s advice. Jacob hadn’t celebrated anything since Miriam died until he’d eaten the Sukkot meal with the rebbe a couple of months ago.

“I miss my son, of course,” he continued. “But when I was a young man, I also left my family and moved far away from home. I am sure that my parents were very sad, but they wanted me to have a better life here in America.”

The water boiled, and he rose to make the tea. He knew just how the children liked theirs – not too strong, with more milk in the cup than tea.

“Thanksgiving Day was terrible, too,” Esther told him. “We had to eat it at Penny’s house, and her parents are old and grumpy. Our grandma came over to eat with us, but she’s sad all the time because all her sons are fighting in the war. Penny tried to get everyone around the table to say what we were thankful for, but I didn’t have any reason to be thankful.”

Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper he always carried. He wrote something on it, then held it out for Esther and Jacob to read:
Penny tried to make it nice
.

Esther lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I guess.”

I felt sorry for Penny
, he added. Jacob laid his hand on Peter’s shoulder for a moment. He was such a gentle, sensitive boy. Avraham had been that way, too, always thinking of someone else.

“Yeah, I felt a little sorry for Penny, too,” Esther admitted. “She worked so hard in that hot little kitchen, and everyone complained – except you, Peter.” She reached to take a cookie from the tin and then slumped back on her chair. She had calmed down since first coming into Jacob's apartment.

Peter wiped the cookie crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand and wrote on his piece of paper again:
Does your son live near England?

“No. Hungary is quite a distance away. Here, I will show you on a map.” He went into the dining room and retrieved one of the maps he’d cut from the newspaper that showed the movements of invading troops and locations of battles. He glanced at the picture beneath it and shuddered. The caption read, “Death Cart in Warsaw Ghetto,” and the picture showed the shriveled corpses of Jews who had starved to death in Poland. He had cut that photo from the newspaper one year ago and never should have kept it. He would put all of these pictures away after the children left.