“Isaac, I feel that way too. I believe that the woman who owned this ring would want me to wear it rather than for the Nazis or the British to have found it. I will cherish it because it represents the love I have for you. If she, who ever she was, can no longer wear this precious band to represent the feelings she shared with her beloved, at least wherever she is she will know it is still a symbol of true love and marriage . . . it has not been melted down to serve a terrible cause like Hitler’s Third Reich.”
“My darling, my love,” he laughed, shaking his head. “You have such a way of rationalizing everything.”
Later that afternoon Isaac left the camp to look for work. While he was gone, Zofia and Shana washed clothes, while Rachel, Katja, and Mendel played tag.
“Children are wonderful. They have a way of healing,” Shana said.
“Yes they do, but I wonder how much of what happened stays with them, buried deep in their hearts only to come out later when they grow up.”
“I’ve often wondered that as well. But, after all, aren’t we the lucky ones? We survived,” Shana said, but her eyes were dull and did not have the spark a girl her age should have.
“We are fortunate to be alive,” Zofia said, rubbing Shana’s shoulder as she hung a threadbare shirt of Isaac’s on a clothesline to dry.
For a few minutes, the women worked in silence.
“Do you ever feel guilty about living while the people you love are dead? I know this sounds crazy, but sometimes I think about my family and I wish I could have died with them.”
“Then who would take care of your sister? Would you have Rachel die, too? She is so young, so full of life, and so spirited.”
“I can’t imagine her dying. The thought is terrifying to me. I’ll tell you a secret, if you want to know.”
“If you want to tell me,” Zofia said.
“Sometimes, when everyone is asleep, I still pray. Even with everything that I’ve seen, I still believe. Silly, I guess, but I ask God ‘please take me first, before Rachel.’ I couldn’t bear to lose her.”
“I understand. It’s not silly, I still believe, too. And, I feel that way about Isaac and Katja.”
Shana hung her head. “Do you think we will ever get out of Europe? Do you think that Palestine will ever be our homeland?”
Zofia shrugged. “I don’t know, but I hope so.”
Chapter 27
“Anti-Semitism is alive and well and living all around us. There are former Nazis walking the streets. Nobody would hire me. Not one person would give me a chance, because I am a Jew. Hitler is dead but nothing has really changed.” Isaac threw his hat down on the cot. “I’m tired, Zofia. I’m tired of fighting.”
“Isaac, we can never stop fighting. If we do, then the Nazis have won. Tomorrow I’ll try to find work. Maybe it will be easier for a woman. I am less threatening.”
“No. I don’t want you to have a job while I sit here in this camp depending upon the charity of the British, who for all intents and purposes are our enemies.”
“Enemy is a strong word. They just don’t want to give us their land,” she said, smoothing the golden curls out of his eyes.
“They promised us that land and now they refuse to make good on that promise.” He shook his head. “So we sit here, valued less than humans, waiting for them to give us a crust of bread. I don’t want this, Zofia. I am young, I am strong. I can work and make my own way. If I can just find a job, we can save money and then decide where we want to live. I still say we should try to go to America”
“America.” She shot him a glance “They don’t want us. It’s almost impossible to get in. You know that we have talked about this so many times before.”
“Still, if I can find work, if we have a little money . . .”
“We still have the jewelry that we took from Koppel. We can sell that if you think it will help. I’m willing to try to go to America if that’s what you want,” she said.
“Yes, we can sell it, but how long do you think the money will last if I don’t have a way of earning more?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. For now, Isaac, I think we should both keep on looking for work and stay here until we find a way to bring in some steady income.”
He reached up and put his hands to his temples squeezing as if he wanted to push every memory from his mind. “I don’t know if you have heard this story, but it haunts me, so I’ll tell you. After the war, a group of Jews were released from one of the death camps. I don’t remember which one it was. But anyway, they got out and went back to the old village where they had lived before there were Nazis, and do you know what happened?”
She shrugged. She could see by the anger in his eyes that the rest of the story would not be good.
“All of their old neighbors were there. People they’d known their entire lives.”
Again, she nodded. His eyes blazed dark and ominous.
“All of their friends and neighbors started a pogrom and killed them. They gathered them together and stuffed them into a barn. Then they lit the barn on fire. Do you want to know why, Zofia? Do you want to know?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “Because they didn’t want to give up the land and possessions that had belonged to the Jews; the stuff the Nazis gave them when they rounded up their Jewish neighbors and their friends. These people who they knew; the doctors who delivered their children and then treated them when they got whooping cough. The bakers, who baked their bread, like my parents. We, Jews, are worth less to them than the horses in their barns. Our lives mean nothing. To the gentiles outside of this DP camp, this prison without bars, we are nothing but a threat. They don’t want us. The British won’t help us, and we’re stuck here living like animals.”
“Isaac,” She whispered. “Isaac, let me get you some water.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what to do? I’ve heard that many people are posing as gentiles, but I won’t do that. I won’t cover up who and what I am. Too many Jews have died because they were Jews. I won’t disgrace their memory. I’d rather go back to living in the forest, to living off the land the way we did when we were hiding from the Nazis, than to deny my birthright.”
“I would never want you to pose as a gentile. Never! I am not ashamed that we are Jews.” She put her arms around him, but he shrugged her off, got up, and walked away.
“You don’t know what it is like to be a man.”
“No, I am afraid I don’t,” she said, getting up and going to him.
“I feel like a failure. My responsibility as your husband is to take care of you, to give you a good life. And how can I do that? I have nothing to give you. I can’t take care of you. I am worthless. You are my wife, the love of my life, the only woman who has ever touched my heart, and in turn, all I can give you is a home in this depressing, pathetic place. My father would be ashamed.” He shook his head.
She turned him toward her. His brow was deeply furrowed. Sympathy for him began to creep over her as she looked into his eyes.
“Zofia, Zofia,” he whispered. “What will become of us?”
“Please, for now, just try to be calm. We’ll find a way. We are Jews. It’s part of our makeup to find a way to survive when it seems impossible. Haven’t we done that all throughout history?” She smiled and winked at him.
He looked at her and she saw the anger fade from his handsome face. Then he laughed, throwing up his hands. “It’s no wonder I love you. You know how to make me feel better no matter what we have to face. You are my light in the darkness.” But even as he embraced her, she felt a tear slip down his cheek.
Zofia held Isaac for several minutes in silence as she ran her fingers through his soft blond curls. Then she looked up into his eyes, and a bolt of overwhelming sadness shot through her heart as she noticed that a web of wrinkles had begun to form around his eyes. Her hand went to his face, and then, as if she had the power to take his pain, she gently tried to smooth the wrinkles away. He smiled at her. It was a sad, defeated smile tha
t hurt all the way through her. Zofia took Isaac’s hand in both of hers. The skin was coarse and callused. She raised it to her lips and tenderly kissed his palm. She felt the tears begin to take form in the back of her eyes. He reached up with his free hand and caressed her chin.
“We will find a way to get through this,” she whispered. “You’ll get work. It will take some time, perhaps, but you will. And we will be a family.”
“Have I ever told you that you are beautiful?” he asked.
She looked away. It had been a long time since Zofia felt beautiful. From the sun, her skin, which had once been soft, milky, and white, was now rough and the color of cinnamon. It had been a very long time since her eyes sparkled with the innocence of youth, but they did shine with the wisdom of age. And although her body was strong, the bones of her rib cage were visible. A long time ago, she’d believed she was beautiful, but now she knew that Isaac only saw her that way because he loved her.
It made her happy and sad at the same time. He loved her and she rejoiced for the wonderful gift of his love. But she lamented the loss of her youth.
The wind kicked up and a bouquet of multi-colored dried leaves danced across the yellowing grass of the open field.
He touched her face. “You are beautiful, Zofia. Don’t ever doubt that,” he said, as if he were reading her mind.
She smiled a wry smile at him. “I love you, Isaac.”
“We’ll find our way,” he said and he took her in his arms. “Together, we’ll find our way . . .”
Chapter 28
The winter rushed in on the coattails of a blizzard. Wind and snow danced through the DP camp. The British handed out used coats and sweaters that had been donated by Jewish organizations to shield the survivors against the cold. Zofia and Shana volunteered to help in the kitchen while the children played on the floor of the dining area. Mendel, Rachel, and Katja had become inseparable. The three were together all the time. They had no toys, so they fashioned games out of sticks and rocks. The two women watched as the children played.
“I’m glad they have each other. It is hard for us as adults to live in this camp; can you imagine how difficult it must be for a child?” Shana said.
Zofia nodded, but she didn’t agree. From what she could see, the children were quite content with their surroundings. And for that, she was happy.
Outside, an army truck came barreling through the storm, covered with snow. It slid on the ice as it came to a stop.
“Look at that truck,” Zofia said. “Can you see the small flag with the stripes and the stars?” Zofia smiled at Shana, “Look, do you see it? It’s right by the driver, over there by the window.”
“I see it,” Shana said.
“They are Americans.”
The vehicle held two men and a pile of boxes.
“I think they are bringing supplies,” Shana said.
“Thank God; we’re running low on food.”
The men got out of the truck and began to unload the cargo at the back of the kitchen. From where Zofia and Shana were working they could see them clearly.
“Look at the one with the thick dark hair. He is so handsome,” Shana said.
“Yes, he is,” Zofia said.
“I wish I had a better dress.”
“Don’t be silly. You are a lovely girl,” Zofia said, casting a sidelong glance at Shana. How selfish she had been. She had never even thought about how Shana must feel. Shana was still a young woman; she should be out dancing and not stuck in a DP camp. Zofia remembered how she’d felt when she was imprisoned in the Warsaw Ghetto. She had been about Shana’s age then. She was angry every day because she felt that her youth had been stolen.
Shana was talking about the American, but Zofia was not listening. Her mind was flashing back to the Warsaw Ghetto. She remembered standing with her friend Fruma in the dark alleyway. Her daughter, her baby Eidel, was asleep in her arms. She knew that this was the last time she would hold Eidel as a baby. Her hands were cold, her body shivering, as she handed the child to a man who worked with the black market. To this day, she remembered the kindness in his eyes, the gentle way he took Eidel in his arms. He was such a strong man, yet so very tender, very much like her Isaac. She even remembered his name, Karl Abdensern. She never knew what became of him, but he was the man who would save her daughter’s life.
Zofia could still feel her body swaying as she was standing there, leaning against Fruma, who held her tightly. Zofia could hardly breathe and she was afraid she might faint. He took the child, and as he did, she felt an icy, cold fist shoot through her breast. Her arms were empty, helpless, hanging at her sides, without purpose, and she was yearning for the weight of her baby to fill them. Her eyes followed Karl as he nimbly climbed over the rooftop carrying her child. For an instant, she caught a glimpse of Eidel’s face in the moonlight, and then Eidel was spirited over the top of the building and she was gone. Her daughter, her Eidel, went over the wall, out of the ghetto, and to the safety of her dear friend Helen.
As Zofia and Fruma walked back to their apartment, she felt as if her heart would never mend. At that moment in time, she believed that her life had ended. How wrong she had been. God sent a light into the darkness of her life, the light of true love. When she looked into Isaac’s eyes and felt completion in his arms as they made love, she knew that whatever she had been through was all worth the suffering because it had ultimately brought her to him. Every day that Zofia had suffered under the sadistic torture of Manfred Blau, the Work-detail führer, when she was in Treblinka, she had thought of Eidel. That was the only thing that had kept her from committing suicide. The only way Zofia could fall asleep was to think about the day when she would hold Eidel in her arms again. Sadly, this did not come to pass, but God had seen her through. He had sent her Katja.
Katja, who filled her need for a child; Katja, who became her heart and soul. She thought that with Katja in her heart, she had no room left to love anyone or anything else. But then God had been even kinder, for then there was Isaac, alive. And now, even though she was here in this DP camp, with an uncertain future, she was filled with happiness, more happiness then she could ever have imagined. She had Isaac and Katja, and she knew Eidel was where she belonged. Zofia’s life was not perfect but it was very good. She took a deep breath. Yes, it was very good.
“Zofia, he’s looking over here,” Shana said. Her face glossed over with a pretty peach blush. “What should I do?”
Zofia smiled, drawn back to the present time by Shana’s words. “Nothing. Just smile at him.”
Shana smiled and then looked away quickly. She whispered to Zofia, “Is he smiling?”
“Yes,” Zofia whispered back.
“I gotta say, boing,” the other soldier said, nudging his companion with his elbow. “That gal across the way that you’re staring at . . . She’s one gorgeous dame.”
“Shut up,” the soldier with the wavy dark hair answered. “Act like a gentleman. You’re embarrassing me.”
“Hubba, Hubba! Leblanc, you sure got good taste,” the other soldier answered, laughing and pushing his dark-haired friend.
“Get outta here.” The dark-haired man called Leblanc answered, shoving his friend.
A few minutes later, LeBlanc walked over to where Zofia and Shana sat. He carried two oranges, a rare treat.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said with a smile. Zofia saw how white his teeth were, his skin was clear, and he looked healthier than anyone she had seen in a long time. “My name is Larry Leblanc, but my buddies call me Lucky. I brought these for you . . .”
Lucky handed each of them an orange.
Shana had become almost fluent in English.
“I hope I’m not being too bold, but may I ask your names?”
Shana cleared her throat. Zofia could see that her young friend was tongue-tied. “I’m Zofia and this is Shana.”
“Nice to meet both of you. May I sit down?” he asked.
“Hey Romeo, get over here and help m
e. Who made you Sergeant today?” the other American said with an easy laugh.
“Excuse me. I have to help my fellow soldier, then, if it’d be all right with you, I’d love to come back and talk. Would that be all right with you?”
Shana nodded.
“Okey dokey, then,” Lucky smiled.
Shana and Zofia watched Lucky as he sauntered back to his counterpart.
“Okey dokey?” Zofia repeated. “What does that mean?”
“I have no idea,” Shana said and they both giggled.
When Lucky returned to find Shana, Zofia got up and left with the excuse that she needed to find and speak with Isaac about something. She asked the children to accompany her, leaving Shana to talk to Lucky privately.
Chapter 29
Several days passed and the Americans were still at the camp. Zofia could not miss the glow on Shana’s face. It was as bright as the sun on a summer day. Shana had always been a pretty girl, but now she was truly beautiful. She could be seen walking with the American, both of them whispering, sometimes her arm tucked into his.
Zofia was happy for her friend. Perhaps Shana would marry this boy and move to America. That would be such a blessing for Shana and Rachel. America, everyone wanted to go to America. Everyone but Zofia and Isaac. They still dreamed of Palestine.
One morning Zofia awoke early. When she turned over, she felt that Isaac had left the bed. She watched as he stood before the mirror. He did not know she was awake. Slowly he removed his yarmulke and the mezuzah that he wore around his neck. Even from where she lay quietly on the cot, Zofia could see that he had tears in his eyes. He was still unaware that she watched him. He carefully folded the articles he treasured, the articles that defined him as a Jew. He slid the small cardboard suitcase out from under the bed that contained his tefillin and his bible. He picked up the book and tenderly kissed it, and then he placed all of the items in the suitcase and whispered under his breath. “God, please forgive me. I must deny the blood of my ancestors so that I may find work in order to feed the ones I love.”
The Promised Land (All My Love, Detrick Series) (All My Love Detrick Book 3) Page 12