With that, Karl turned and ran, Eidel asleep in his arms. Zofia watched as he held the child with one hand and gripped the rail with the other. Then he nimbly climbed an iron ladder on the side of the building. Soon he was little more than a dark shadow as he sprinted like a panther across the rooftops and out of the walls of the Ghetto.
Zofia lay awake all night, staring out the window the entire time. It was hard to believe that when she got out of bed Eidel would not be there waiting for her. Somewhere outside, far from her arms and her protection, her infant daughter was at the mercy of others, not necessarily strangers, but not her mother. It was true that Helen had been a good friend. And there was no doubt that Zofia liked her. But, this was Eidel, her child, her only child. Helen would be the one to see Eidel take her first steps, and hear her speak her first words. When she reached up and said, “Mama,” it would Helen’s arms she yearned for. Helen would be there to comfort her when she cried, and God forbid, care for her when she was sick. Helen would rock her to sleep, and teach her the alphabet. But would Helen ever feel the same way about Eidel as Helen felt about her own son, her flesh and blood? Or would Eidel always be the second best child? It tore at Zofia’s insides as she went over the answers again and again in her mind. If things had been reversed, she would surely have taken Helen’s son, she would have cared for him, but would she ever have loved him as much as she loved Eidel? If only the Nazis would disappear from the face of the earth and she could go home to live a normal life, to raise her child. Why had the Jews been cursed to suffer like this? What had they done? Tears spilled upon her pillow. Eidel, dear sweet Eidel. Her tender toothless smile, the sweet baby smell of her peach fuzz hair… Eidel, gone for now… Perhaps forever.
Chapter 36
“You have to eat. It’s essential that you eat,” Gitel said to Zofia. “You haven’t eaten a thing for almost a week. You are going to get very sick and we have limited medicine here. If you should die, then who is going to claim Eidel when this is all over?”
“You. You and Fruma.”
“Yes, but you are her mother. If you don’t want to live for yourself, then at least live so that you can go back and get Eidel and raise her as soon as the Nazis lose the war.”
“Maybe they’ll win and we will all be exterminated like rats,” Zofia said.
“They will not win,” Fruma said firmly. Her eyes glassed over again with that strange look indicating she was experiencing another vision. “But you are right. Many will be lost before the Nazis are defeated. But you mark my words, Hitler and his precious Third Reich will be defeated. Zofia, listen to me and hear me good. It is for that day when the Nazis are gone that you must stay strong. You must eat and you must take of yourself as best you possibly can. Because there are great things that you have yet to do on this earth, you’re not done yet. You have a future; don’t throw it away. Keep believing. You must. And most importantly… you must not lose the will to live you must live, you must do this, for Eidel.”
The bright light of the sun came pouring through the kitchen window.
“Where will Eidel be at the end of the war if you are dead? You cannot expect Helen to care for her forever. Every day you must remember why you are living, for your child, and let that knowledge be the flicker of light that gives you the strength to stay alive. Do you understand me?” Gitel asked.
Zofia turned away. But Gitel grabbed her arm and shook her hard. “Listen to me… Look at me… You must not give up. You cannot give up. You brought that child into the world. You owe her. Live, Zofia. Chose to live,” Gitel said.
Until now, Zofia felt as if she were already dead. She’d died as she watched Karl Abdenstern carry her only child over the rooftops and away from her grasp. But Gitel’s words penetrated through the darkness in her heart, shooting like a bold of silver bright lightening. Gitel and Fruma were right. Even though she was far away from her daughter, her daughter needed her. She must live, she must survive, and she must be there at the end, when the Nazis were defeated. She must be there for Eidel.
From that day forward, Zofia began to fight.
She grew stronger. Every day she awakened with new resolve that someday she would hold her daughter again. She fantasized the about day when she would design Eidel’s wedding dress and walk her to the canopy. The future would be filled with Hanukahs where she prepared potato latkes with thick spoonfuls of sweet applesauce for her grandchildren. Zofia would live. She would chose to live, no matter what the Nazis threw at her. She would not let them take this from her, or from her daughter. In her mind’s eye, she watched Eidel grow every day, putting her trust in Helen do to what she could not. To be the mother that she longed to be.
Meanwhile, Koppel was relentless in his empty pursuit to make her a conquest. He came to visit often, bringing gifts for Zofia. He was kind and affectionate, showing a side of himself that few had ever seen. Zofia began to feel sorry for him. Then to remind herself of who he really was, she got up early one morning and watched him as he directed his own people onto the boxcars at the trains. He didn’t see her watching. He was unaware of her presence, and so he showed the other side of his face, the side that he masked for Zofia. His eyes looked like glass when he spoke, his voice harsh and commanding as he ordered the old men, women, and children to form lines and walk quickly onto the trains. Zofia shivered. Rumors flew through the Ghetto as to what was actually taking place in the camps. Escapees had come back just to tell the others what they had seen and what had been done to them. It was hard to believe, but the news confirmed their greatest fear, that the camps were death camps. They were not work camps at all. In fact, they were places where people were killed by the thousands, and their bodies burned like old rubbish. Her eyes darted from Koppel to the old, feeble, helpless, and sick taking his direction without question. He had to know where he was sending them. The Nazis must have told him, and if not, he must have heard all of the gossip. But still Koppel smiled and offered bread with jam to those too hungry to resist, and too hopeful to believe that they were going to their deaths.
Her feelings of pity for Koppel disappeared like vapor as she watched him work.
Gitel had talked to Karl Abdenstern, and since then she’d begun to go to Zionist meetings that took place in secret at apartments all around the Ghetto. She asked Fruma and Zofia to go with her. They had refused. But as time passed, Zofia felt the need to find an outlet, and this seemed a good one. So she agreed to accompany Gitel one evening. They walked in the shadows until they arrived at a tall brick building. Then Gitel looked around, assuring herself they’d not been followed, and they slipped inside. There they climbed three flights of stairs up to a small room crammed with Jews. The air reeked of sweat. Gitel introduced Zofia to over a dozen people. It seemed as if she’d met so many that Zofia could not remember their names. They became faces that moved in front of her like a stream of players in a parade.
“This is Peter, and Michael. This is Judith and Ruth,” Gitel said.
Zofia nodded and smiled.
“This is Dovid Greenspan. Dovid this is Zofia,” Gitel said. “He is new here like you. We met last time I was at a meeting. If I remember correctly you told me that was your first time at a Zionist meeting?”
“Yes, it was,” Dovid answered. He was slender of build, and medium height. “It’s nice to meet you, Zofia, and good to see you again, Gitel,” he said, his voice refined. “So, Zofia, you too have come to join us in building our dream of a Jewish state?”
“Yes, I have.”
“You are from Poland?”
“Yes, Warsaw. And you?”
“I was born in Austria, a little town outside of Vienna, a beautiful city.”
“I have heard that Vienna was lovely before the Anschütz. Is your family still living there?”
“My parents and sisters were there when I left. God only knows where they are now. I’ve sent letters, but I never hear anything.” He shook his head. “And you?”
“Gitel and Fruma are my family.
My parents are dead, I was an only child.” She was afraid to mention Eidel. She wanted to assure Eidel’s safety with silence.
“Did you have a trade? Or were you in school?”
“I am a seamstress. I worked with Fruma, one of the ladies I live with, Gitel’s friend. Fruma and I worked together before the invasion. What was your trade?”
“I am a violinist. I played with the Vienna concert society. When news came that Hitler planned to invade Austria I escaped the Anschütz with the help of many of my non-Jewish colleagues. It was decided that the best place for me to go was Poland. Then, as you know, it was not long before Hitler came here. I don’t believe there is anywhere to escape the Nazis. They are everywhere like an ant colony.” He laughed a slightly bitter laugh. “That’s why we need a Jewish state.”
“I must agree with you.” She said. “I’m sure every Jew would agree.”
“Not so. I have many friends in the Hassidic community and they have all but ostracized me for my support of the Zionist movement.”
“Were you Hassidic?”
“No, but I knew many Hasidim from the neighborhood where I grew up. They are difficult to understand.”
“I’ve seen a lot of them, even worked on wedding dresses for a few, but I don’t know a great deal about the culture. Only that they dress strangely with little care for style or fashion.”
“They don’t care for modern styles. Their big concern is modesty. In fact from what I understand they wear their strange outdated clothing and long sideburns to make them look different from non-Jews. I’ve heard they do this so that God will recognize them.”
“God recognizes all of us, regardless of what we wear. Don’t you think?”
“I would think so, yes. But they are a hard bunch to understand. They don’t reveal a great deal about their culture.”
“Do you know about them? I’m sort of curious?”
“A little. Perhaps a little more than you, but still not much.”
There was a stirring amongst the crowd.
A young man got up onto a wooden box used as a makeshift podium he stomped his feet to get the attention of the crowd and raised his hands in the air to quiet them.
“Good evening. And a very warm welcome to my fellow Jews in search of a homeland.” Everyone cheered enthusiastically. “My name is Mordichi.”
Zofia looked at the faces surrounding her, young, old, women, men, all brimming with determination. These people were not like the others, they would not go down without a fight.
There was discussion of the escapees who’d come back from the camps with grim warnings of what lay ahead. Many people declared that they would rather die fighting in the Ghetto than be shot and thrown into a mass grave or gassed and burned. Zofia longed to be like them, to be strong, and unafraid. But the truth was that she was afraid. They talked about forming an uprising in the Ghetto, building an armory and fighting the Germans in the streets. “Kill Nazis!” they cried out. It all sounded wonderful, as these Zionists proclaimed their loyalty to their dreams and to each other. But Zofia could not imagine herself taking up arms and shooting to kill. She’d never held a gun. In fact, she’d never even struck another person. Besides, maybe it was all lies, what if it was all exaggeration, and there were no shootings or gassings. It wasn’t logical. Why would the Nazis kill the Jews if they could use them as free labor? Wouldn’t it be wiser to have them working for the war effort? She would rather work at the camp until the end of all of this then go to battle in the middle of the street and probably die there, never to see Eidel again.
So many thoughts ran through her mind as the meeting came to a close.
Zofia headed for the door.
“May I walk you home?” Dovid was instantly beside her.
“I was just waiting for Gitel.”
“I’m sure she won’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” Gitel came over “I will see you at home, Zofia.”
Dovid held the door, he, and Zofia walked out into the cool night air.
“Do you like to read? I love books. When I was not playing music, I was a volunteer librarian,” Dovid said.
She laughed. “I do like to read, but what a change for you… From a musician and a librarian, to a street fighter?”
“No, I don’t think I would be able to be a part of the fight; I wish I could. But I don’t know how to use a gun. Still, I admire those who would fight. It takes a lot of courage.”
“Yes. And so do I, but I’m not sure I could do it either. I’ve never even held a gun.”
“I keep telling myself that perhaps this will all end before I am forced onto one of those trains,” he said.
“The thought is paralyzing.”
“I know, I agree with you, but what are we to do? Run around with rifles? Someone would have to teach me and I am afraid I would waste more ammunition than I’d put to good use, just because I am not too sure of my aim.” He said shaking his head. “I probably don’t seem like much of a man to you. I’m sorry. I’ve always been a bit of a gentle soul: a violinist, a reader. I paint and draw, and sometimes even write poems.”
She smiled. “I find you manly. You are just not a violent man, not a warrior.”
“That’s terribly sweet of you to say. But the truth is, I’m a coward, not really much of a man at all, and certainly not a fighter.”
“Well…every person is different, I suppose. Until all of this stuff with the Nazis began, I don’t think too many people realized that if they wanted to live they would have to fight.
“I admire your strength. You seem to take it all in stride.”
“It’s an act. Inside I am a nervous wreck most of the time. But what can I do? I just live from day to day like everyone else.”
“You have strength about you, a presence. You know what I mean?”
“Not exactly, but I try not to wear my heart where everyone can see it.” She smiled in the darkness.
“Fair enough,” Dovid answered nodding “So, Zofia. Tell me… what are your dreams? What do you plan to do if by some miracle we should survive this mess?”
“Me? I don’t know. I don’t give dreams much thought. I would just like to be reunited with my family.” She gave a bitter laugh. “You want to hear something silly? I can’t believe I am even remembering this now, but...” She hesitated for a moment and glanced over at him in the darkness. “You know… I always wanted to be a jazz musician when I was a young girl. It was a secret dream. Not something I ever really believed would come true. But it was a nice dream, if nothing else.”
“Do you play an instrument?”
“Not really, a little piano, but nothing to speak of. I wanted to take lessons, but there was never enough money. And then all of this happened and now I can’t think of learning anything. I only think of survival. I wish I did play an instrument though, now that you mention it. It would be wonderful to fill our apartment with beautiful music. I think it would lift everyone up. Perhaps, take away some of the feelings of hopelessness.”
“Yes, you’re right, it does. Music is a fantastic release.” He turned to her and smiled. Then he took her hand and squeezed it gently. “Believe it or not, I have my violin here in the Ghetto. I managed to bring it with me. I could teach you to play, would you like that?”
“I would, actually. I would like it very much.” It wouldn’t be lessons in the American swing that she loved, but still it was music. And music was life.
“You know, sometimes I sit back and I remember so much about my life, about the way things were before the Nazis came,” he said.
“Yes, you know what’s kind of strange? I never realized how good life was until it wasn’t any more. I was never rich, but now we are practically starving.”
“I understand how you feel. Whenever I have been able to find the supplies to paint, I paint my memories. I never paint or draw pictures of the ghettos, the trains, the starving, or the dying. Instead, I painstakingly force myself to remember, to remember the beauty of a
sunset, the snow falling on Vienna at Christmas time. A concert hall filled with people and glittering crystal chandeliers, the toothless smile of a baby, an old woman smelling a bunch of flowers…” He seemed lost in the tenderness of his memories until he glanced up to see that Zofia was crying.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
“I know you didn’t. It’s alright. I guess it just made me think. I, too, have so many memories. There is so much that haunts me from the past. Sometimes my longings for what used to be are so strong that I almost can’t bear it.”
They walked in silence until they reached the stairs to her apartment building. She stopped.
“This is where I live.”
He reluctantly released her hand and gently squeezed her shoulder. “Would you like to come and see my art work sometime? Perhaps we could even start your violin lessons.”
“I would like that,” she said.
“Maybe tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow is fine.”
“Shall I come and call for you tomorrow evening, about seven?” He was gazing into her eyes. She felt the heat of his desire and it made her feel alive.
“Yes. Come tomorrow at seven. I’ll be waiting.”
“Seven, then.” His hand was still on her shoulder, massaging.
“I’ll see you then.” She said breaking free from his eyes and turning to go.
“Zofia…”
“Yes?” She glanced back at him.
“Thank you”
“For what?”
“For making this night the most special one I have had in a very long time.”
She looked away embarrassed, and then went into her building, turning quickly just once to see him standing and watching her go.
You Are My Sunshine: A Novel Of The Holocaust (All My Love Detrick Book 2) Page 16