While We're Far Apart (51 page)

Jacob made his way to his apartment, holding on to the walls and doorframes for support. He sank onto the nearest chair to read the letter, written nineteen months ago.

October 1943

Dear Mama and Abba,

It has been so long since I’ve received a letter from you, and I know the silence must be just as hard for you to bear in America as it is for me here in Hungary. Every time I look at my little daughter and I try to imagine being separated from her, not knowing if she is well or if she is suffering, I understand how you must feel. And so after much prayer, I have decided that I must write this letter to you and trust that Hashem will allow you to receive it in America someday.

I have made friends with the minister of the Christian church here in our village. He is a very kind man, and I plan to give him this letter and ask him to mail it to you after the war ends . . .

Jacob read through the rest of the letter quickly to learn what had happened to Avraham, hungry to hear his son’s voice after all this time. He would read it again when he finished, more slowly the second time.

Avi had known what Hitler was doing to the Jews, even when the rest of the world hadn’t believed it. But his son hadn’t lost faith in Hashem.

As the prophet Habakkuk has written: “Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in Hashem my Savior.”

Avraham described how he had narrowly escaped being conscripted to work in a labor gang when all the other men in the village were taken. Afterward, Avi had decided to flee with his little family to Budapest to stay with Jacob’s brother Baruch.

I love you, Mama and Abba. And I am hoping that even if the worst happens to us, you will receive this letter, someday. I place all of my trust in Hashem, who is able to keep us in His care.

Love always,
Avraham

Two things in the letter gave Jacob hope: Avraham and his family had been in Budapest all this time, where some Jews had managed to survive. And his son had clung to his faith in Hashem, in spite of everything.

Jacob hovered near his mailbox for the remainder of June, waiting for more news from Hungary. June turned to July, and he knew from newspaper reports that several organizations were working with the displaced refugees in liberated Europe, trying to reunite families with their loved ones. With millions of people unaccounted for, it was a daunting task. In August, America dropped two atomic bombs and Japan surrendered. The war was over at last.

Jacob had just returned from prayer at the shul on a hot August afternoon when he found a thick envelope in his mailbox. According to the return address, it was from the Swedish Red Cross in Hungary. His heart pounded so hard with dread and hope and fear that he could scarcely breathe. He hurried across the street again with the parcel clutched to his chest and found Rebbe Grunfeld still in the study room.

“Yaacov, what’s wrong? You look as white as a ghost.”

“This came in the mail for me, from Hungary. I have waited for such a long time for news but now . . . I cannot do this alone.”

“You’re right, Jacob. The very worst thing you could do is read something like that alone. We need one another. And on the day when my letter comes, I know you will stand with me.”

Jacob handed him the envelope. “Here. Read it to me, please.” The contents would be in Hungarian, a language that the rebbe also spoke. Jacob sat down and waited for him to open it. He couldn’t stop shaking, as if he were standing outside naked in a bitter winter wind.

“These look like letters, Yaacov. There are several of them.”

Jacob quickly glanced at the pages. “They are not in Avi’s handwriting, though. That much I can see.”

“The first one begins,
‘
Dear Mother and Father Mendel. This is your daughter-in-law, Sarah Rivkah, writing this letter to you. Avraham asked me to keep writing to you the way he used to do so that after the war you will know what has become of us.’ ”

The rebbe stopped and thumbed through the packet. “There are several letters from her in here, all with different dates on them, like a diary.”

“Then she and Fredeleh are alive?”

“I will read the last one for you and see.”

“No, Rebbe! Wait!”

Now that news had finally come, Jacob wasn’t prepared for it. He wanted to postpone his grief for a little while longer. Hearing the truth would make everything final. “Read the letters in order, Rebbe. I need to hear Sarah Rivkah’s story unfold slowly, so it will be easier to bear when I learn how it ends.” Jacob sat down to listen while Sarah Rivkah told her story, his heart beating as slowly and ponderously as a tolling bell.

She described how they had settled in Budapest with Jacob’s brother, but eventually Avraham had been taken away to work in a forced labor gang. Before leaving, he had found a Christian orphanage that had agreed to take Fredeleh and hide her there along with other Jewish children.

“Then I can find my granddaughter there?” Jacob interrupted. “In this orphanage?”

The rebbe read a little further. “I’m sorry, Yaacov. Sarah writes that she cannot bear to be separated from both Fredeleh and Avraham. She did not take Fredeleh there.”

Jacob couldn’t blame her. He leaned back in the chair again to listen to the second letter, dated March of 1944, five months ago. The Nazis and Adolph Eichmann had arrived in Hungary. Sarah and the other Jews in Budapest had been rounded up and confined to the ghetto. Meanwhile, Sarah’s family and Jacob’s family – all of the Jews in the provinces – had been deported by train to the death camps.

The rebbe paused. “Are you all right, Yaacov? Do you need a moment?”

“I think I already knew the truth,” he said quietly. “We all knew, yes? Even so, it is hard to hear.”

The news in Sarah’s next letter was even worse. The Nazis had come to liquidate the ghetto in Budapest. They had awakened Sarah, her mother, and Fredeleh at dawn and loaded them onto the deportation trains. But then a miracle, like the one Jacob had prayed for as he and the children had lit candles at Hanukkah: A group of Swedish men had arrived to rescue them, providing false identification papers, which the Nazis had accepted. Sarah, Fredeleh, and a little baby boy were among those who had been spared – but Sarah Rivkah’s mother was taken.

The rebbe moved immediately to the next letter, which told how a Swedish diplomat named Raoul Wallenberg had used funds sent by the War Refugee Board to save as many of Budapest’s Jews as he possibly could. Sarah Rivkah had found refuge in a Swedish safe house. The rebbe paused, and he and Jacob stared at each other for a moment. All the fund-raising they had done, all the prayers . . . Hashem had been at work behind the scenes.

Jacob could hear Sarah’s despair on the next page as she finally took Fredeleh to the convent and surrendered her to the Christians for safekeeping. It meant that one of Jacob’s family members might have survived. His little granddaughter might still be alive, even if Sarah and Avi were not. Sarah then explained that the Nazis and Adolph Eichmann had returned in November, and even the safe houses were no longer safe.

The rebbe drew a deep breath as he prepared to read the last few letters.

“ ‘Dear Mother and Father Mendel,

The few Jewish men who were left in Budapest – some as young as sixteen, some as old as sixty – were taken to the outskirts of Budapest to dig earthworks to stop the advancing Russians. We heard that the Soviet army is moving closer and closer. Meanwhile, the Nazis have never wavered from their plan to deport every last one of us to the camps. But since there are no more trains, Adolph Eichmann decided to round us up and force us to walk to the German border, more than one hundred miles away.

They came for us on a day when the weather was bitterly cold, and we were not dressed for it. Many of us were already weak from illness and malnutrition. The Nazis didn’t care. Anyone who collapsed with exhaustion along the way was shot. Those who couldn’t keep up were beaten to death. Some who fell down were later found frozen to the ground. I thought of Avraham and Fredeleh and made myself keep walking. I don’t even know how long or how far we walked.

When I feared that I couldn’t go another step, Raoul Wallenberg arrived in his big black car like an angel from Hashem. “Does anyone here have a Swedish passport?” he asked. About three hundred of us were allowed to return with him to Budapest.

I prayed that this nightmare would soon be over. We could hear the battles raging around us in Budapest. But once again, just as the Russians were about to set us free, the Nazis decided to blow up the Jewish ghetto and kill everyone in it who still remained. They took us from the safe houses and marched us to the ghetto to die with all the others. Again, Mr. Wallenberg intervened, warning the Nazis that if they did this horrific deed, he would make certain that they would be charged with murder and genocide after the war. Once again, he saved our lives.’ ”

Rebbe Grunfeld paused as he struggled to clear the emotion from his throat.

“So Sarah Rivkah is alive,” Jacob murmured. “I owe this man, Raoul Wallenberg, a great debt. But how do you repay a man for such a thing as this that he did?”

The rebbe shook his head and turned to the next letter.

“ ‘Dear Mother and Father Mendel,

The war is over. The Nazis have been defeated. When I was certain that it was safe, I went to the convent to find Fredeleh. They had kept her safe and well fed, and she was overjoyed to see me. I took her home with me to the safe house and now she won’t let me out of her sight. That is fine because I cannot take my eyes off of her, either. I wanted to take the baby, Yankel Weisner, home with me, too. His mother entrusted him to my care, and I fear that he may have no family left in this world. But there is barely enough food to feed Fredeleh and myself, and so for now he will be better off with the Christians.

I still don’t understand why I survived when so many others did not. I cannot think about it. I must live day to day, feeding my daughter and myself, and searching for Avraham and the rest of my family.

We’ve learned that the Allied forces are searching for all of the Hungarians who survived the concentration camps, and when they are able to be moved they will be brought to a building here in Budapest. Fredeleh and I and the rest of us from the safe houses travel by tram to that huge old building every day to search for our families as the survivors trickle in. We hold photographs in our hands, showing them to strangers and asking, “Which camp were you in? Did you see this person or that person?” We study each other’s faces, searching for a familiar one.

When relatives or friends find each other there is much rejoicing and weeping, and everyone stops to weep along with them, our hope renewed. Perhaps we will be the next lucky one to find our missing families.

We also post notices on a board with the names and descriptions and former addresses of our loved ones, asking if anyone has seen them or knows what has become of them. The returning survivors often scribble notes on these signs, saying, “We were in such-and-such a camp together,” or “I saw him alive after we were liberated.” And sometimes they sadly tell us that they saw our loved one being sent to the left during the selection process – to the gas chamber. But I will spend the rest of my life searching, if I have to, and never, ever give up.

All our love,
Sarah Rivkah and Fredeleh’ ”

Jacob drew a deep breath as the rebbe paused to turn to the next letter. He could see that the pages had dwindled down to the final few. “Are you all right, Yaacov?” the rebbe asked. Jacob nodded and asked him to continue reading.

“ ‘Dear Mother and Father Mendel,