by Bina Bernard
“I’m in Warsaw. And there’s someone here who needs to talk to you.”
Hannah handed the phone to her sister. Lena took the receiver and sat on the bed with her back to Hannah.
“Hello,” Lena whispered. “Tak. I think is dream, too.”
As the long-lost daughter and her mother talked in Polish, Hannah could hear her sister’s halting breaths and assumed she was crying. On the other end of the phone, Hannah pictured Molly crying and rejoicing.
Hannah sat dry-eyed in the corner of the darkened room.
Now it’s my turn to ask you to forgive me, Dad. I’m so sorry I cheated you out of this reunion.
CHAPTER
19
HANNAH FELT LIKE A HELIUM balloon seeping air. Having traveled over four thousand miles to find her sister, she was content now to be under Lena’s protective wing.
“We almost home,” Lena said in English, as the tram was about to cross the Śląsko-Dąbrowski Bridge. Hannah was eager to see where her sister lived.
Lena had told her that she and her son Stefan had a modest two-bedroom apartment in a section of Warsaw where Hannah had never been. Known as Praga, it was on the other side of the Wisła River. Hannah remembered hearing during the last days of the Warsaw Uprising that the Soviet army was across the river in Praga. The Underground fighters who hoped to liberate Warsaw had expected them to come across to help fight the Germans. But they didn’t.
As Lena was showing Hannah around the apartment, her son Stefan walked in fresh from soccer practice, still wearing his uniform. Hannah watched as her sister explained to her son who their guest was. Noting the troubled look on his face, Hannah decided the boy was less than pleased to see her. Lena pushed a reluctant Stefan toward his aunt.
Hannah extended her hand to her nephew.
“Say something to your Aunt Hannah!” Lena ordered in Polish.
He took her hand and whispered, “Glad to meet you.” It was clear he felt otherwise.
“I’m glad to meet you, too,” Hannah said, also in Polish, and wrapped both her hands around his long fingers. He had Harry’s piercing green eyes. It surprised her how much he resembled her father. Heredity is destiny, she thought.
“You look a lot like your grandfather. He was a soccer player, too,” Hannah said, remembering an old photo of Harry as a young boy, also in his soccer uniform.
The boy shrugged, but said nothing. He was happy to escape to his room once his mother said, “Go do your homework. I will tell you when dinner is ready.”
“Stef has had a rough time adjusting to change,” Lena said in Polish, once her son was out of earshot. “First his father was killed, then his grandfather died suddenly. We didn’t even know he was sick. Finding out about my real parents was very upsetting for my son. Too much change . . . too fast.”
“I bet it was hard for him to accept he had Jewish blood running in his veins,” Hannah said in English, under her breath. Lena either didn’t hear or chose not to comment.
Clearly a sensitive subject for both of them. A deep sigh was Lena’s way of dealing with her discomfort when Hannah’s gaze fell on the tiny gold cross around her neck. Lena still could not bring herself to take off that cherished gift from her father. She covered it with her hand, knowing it had a different meaning for Hannah.
Her sister’s eyes did well-up seeing Lena’s cross, but not for the reason Lena suspected. The cross reminded Hannah of the last time she saw her adored grandmother. It was then that Grandma Sonia took the Star of David from around Hannah’s neck and replaced it with a gold crucifix.
“You sit, relax. I make dinner,” Lena said in English, and patted her sister’s hand. In the time they had been together, the sisters didn’t go for very long without some physical contact. Lena needed to touch Hannah to reassure herself that she was not a mirage. After months of agonizing about how she could possibly find her family, having her sister sitting in her living room seemed like a miracle. She credited Stefan, her father, with making it happen.
Hannah settled on the couch and looked around the small but cozy front room looking for similarities to her own space. On a table in the corner, she spotted an elaborately framed picture of Lena holding a cascading bouquet of white flowers, standing next to a young man. She walked over to take a closer look.
It was obviously a wedding portrait of Lena and her husband Ryszard. But what really got Hannah’s attention were the books surrounding the picture.
By carefully sounding out each syllable of the title of the first book she picked up, Hit-ler-ow-ska Po-li-ty-ka Za-gła-dy Ży-dów, Hannah translated it into English: Hitler’s Policies of Exterminating Jews.
“Good God!” she exclaimed as she realized all the books stacked on the table dealt with the Holocaust, and in equal height to her own mound of research about hidden children.
A copy of The Painted Bird, the Jerzy Kosinski novel about a young Jewish boy’s horrific experiences during the war, surprised Hannah. Unlike the other books it was in English. Hannah flipped through a few pages until she read: “I lived in Marta’s hut, expecting my parents to come for me any day, any hour.” Then closed the book.
“Have you read the Jerzy Kosinski novel?” Hannah called out to her sister.
“I try. Is too hard for me in English. I wait for them to permit it be published in Polish. And you, you read it?” Lena asked.
“No,” Hannah answered, without elaborating. To herself she added, It’s too hard for me in English, too.
The smells emanating from the kitchen attracted Hannah’s attention. She positioned herself at the doorway and watched her sister prepare kopytka—her favorite Polish dish of fried potato dumplings, smothered in butter, and sprinkled with powdered sugar. Lena hummed as she sautéed. Hannah did not recognize the song, but the scene felt familiar.
“Thank you so much for making kopytka,” Hannah said, clearly delighted at the prospect of tasting her favorite Polish dish again.
“I knew you would like it, too,” Lena said in Polish.
Molly had stopped making kopytka once she decided that cooking with butter or frying anything was unhealthy.
“I bet you’re a great cook,” Hannah said.
“Wait till you taste. Then you say what you think,” Lena said.
After they finished eating the feast Lena prepared, Stefan, who had remained silent during the meal, quickly retreated to his room, and the sisters began cleaning up.
“Now can I compliment the chef?” Hannah asked.
Lena nodded. “Please,” she said in Polish.
“I pronounce you a great cook!” Hannah said as if she were offering a benediction. To herself she added, Just like Molly.
Lena took a bow. Pleased to be appreciated.
“Sorry we don’t have dishwasher,” she said, pointing to the dirty pots and pans soaking in the sink. “In America you have such luxuries.”
Hannah nodded. “You are right, we do enjoy all kinds of mechanical luxuries in America. Actually, Robert ends up doing our dishes.”
Anyone watching could not tell that these women had not known each other the day before. They seemed comfortable making small talk. But they were strangers, wondering how to transition to being sisters again. Both agreed that having Hannah spend the night was a good way for them to start.
Lena handed her sister one of her nightgowns, strongly reminiscent of Molly’s nighttime wardrobe. Hannah wished she had thought to bring her own p.j.’s.
The first thing Hannah noticed as she walked into Lena’s bedroom was the outline of a large crucifix that had once hung above the headboard. She wondered when it had been taken down.
Propped up by pillows, the sisters stretched out on Lena’s double bed ready to begin their serious get-acquainted session. For Lena getting to know Hannah was a way to reclaim her missing first four years. Hannah wondered if it was possible for them to reestablish the closeness she was told they shared as children.
While eager to get to know each other, neither was sure
how to start. Language was an issue. Lena’s English was halting. She felt more comfortable speaking Polish. While Hannah’s Polish accent was flawless, her vocabulary was limited. When she couldn’t think of the Polish, she’d throw in an English word. Still, they managed. If they stepped on each other’s sentences, the sisters giggled.
When Hannah confessed to a fear of flying as she talked about her LOT Airlines flight to Poland, Lena brought up her impending trip to New York.
“Some reporter I am. I never even asked why you were going to New York!”
“For World Health Conference at U.N. Doctor who supposed to go to conference got sick. Head of department decided I was good substitute because I speak English,” Lena said in English, and laughed. She added quite seriously in Polish, “But I believe Stefan arranged it all.”
“What do you mean?” Hannah was puzzled. She thought Lena was referring to her son.
“My father, he has been looking after me most of my life. And I believe he still is,” Lena explained in Polish.
Hannah flinched when Lena referred to Stefan as her father. Lena didn’t react.
Alternating between English and Polish, Lena tried to explain how Stefan had been helping her from the beyond.
“When I visited Ela in Krakow she told me my parents most likely left Poland. Maybe to New York. I must find way to go look for them there, I pray,” she said in English. “And my prayers were answered,” she continued in Polish.
“How does that have anything to do with Stefan?” Hannah was still puzzled.
“I know to you is childish,” Lena said in English. In Polish she explained, “But I believe somehow he made sure my prayers were answered. He has always wanted my life to be better. That is why he left the letter and the pictures.”
Lena pointed to the two original photos lying on the night table and handed them to Hannah.
“Harry carried this one in his wallet,” Hannah whispered.
“Is not just picture. Look on back,” Lena instructed in English.
Hannah read the name, “Z. Turowski,” out loud.
“Pictures lead me to photographer who took them. That is how Stefan helped me find name of my family. Once I had name, I was sure I find you,” Lena said. Reverting to Polish, she added, “With Stefan’s help of course.”
Hannah felt the blood drain from her face. “Stefan? No! No!” she shouted. “It was Harry who helped you. He was the one who left the photos with the nuns that had the photographer’s name stamped on the back. Harry, our father, is the one who made it possible for you to know the name of your real family. All these years he blamed himself for not having done enough to find you. God, I wish he could be here!”
“Wish so, too,” Lena said. Reverting to Polish, she added, “If only we had the power to go back and rewrite our history.”
Each quietly pondered exactly what in her past needed undoing.
“I wish Stefan had told me he was sick,” Lena said, breaking the silence. “I’m a doctor. I should have saved him, I could have, if we had caught it in time.”
Silently, Hannah wished she could have found Lena while Harry was still alive.
“Why did the Archbishop think you were dead? How could he have made such a mistake?” she wondered out loud.
“I know exactly how it happened. Stefan explained it in his letter to me.”
As Lena laid out what Stefan had done, Hannah was stunned.
“You must have been so angry when you found out,” she said.
“No. I wasn’t. How could I be angry with someone for loving me so much he couldn’t give me up?”
Hannah was baffled by Lena’s response.
“What do you mean? How could you not be furious?” Hannah felt such rage toward Stefan.
“How can I be angry with someone for loving me?” Lena repeated.
Hannah could not understand her sister’s unconditional love for the man who caused her family so much grief.
“Stefan was a wonderful father,” Lena said.
Not fair! Hannah thought. My sister had a loving father. I had a loving father for less than a year. But Hannah didn't want to blame Lena. Stefan was the obvious villain.
"Your Stefan was selfish," she said defiantly.
“You not know him. He was not selfish. He risked his life for me. He believed I was Jewish child, still he kept me, even with the danger. He saved my life.”
“I’m glad he saved your life. But that life would have been very different if we had gotten you back after the war. All our lives would have been different.”
Lena shrugged. “We can’t change the past.”
Hannah had no comeback. And she certainly didn’t want to provoke an argument with Lena at the start of their relationship.
“I envy you,” Hannah said. “You are so accepting.”
Lena shook her head. “I feel out of place long time. Finally I learn to accept life way it is,” she said. In Polish, she continued, “I believe your destiny is worked out without any input from you. Maybe the life we have is what we were supposed to have.”
Molly’s words echoed in Hannah’s brain: “We didn’t get Lena back, because it was bashert, it was meant to be this way.”
“God planned all this? Is that what you think? If you ask me, it wasn’t a very good plan!”
Lena saw no need to defend God. And she was uncomfortable talking to Hannah about her feelings for Stefan.
“Tell me about our family,” Lena said to change the subject.
Her sister’s request sounded to Hannah like a childish plea for a bedtime story. Her anger subsided. Hannah, the reporter, proceeded to narrate their family saga as she’d pieced it together. Starting with the courtship of Malka and Hershel.
CHAPTER
20
MALKA LANDAU AND HERSHEL STEIN grew up in Krakow. According to them it was an idyllic place to live. They cherished the old days when the family was intact. Almost eighty thousand Jews lived there before World War II.
They had known each other since childhood. Hershel was her brother Leo’s best friend and a fixture in the Landau home. Malka was awed by him and the ambitious plans he shared with Leo at her parents’ dining room table.
“Starting my medical practice will be just the beginning. I plan to have my own clinic and even a hospital someday. It will be a place where people come to be treated, from all over the country.”
Whenever Hershel spoke to her, Malka blushed uncontrollably. She never expected him to be interested in her. Their romance came years later.
The Church may have preached that Jews were the killers of Christ, but Hershel had many close Gentile buddies on and off the soccer field. He studied hard and did well at the university, but when it came time to go to medical school, he had to go to Prague, where it was easier for a Jew to be accepted. He rarely came home. Leo heard from him only occasionally. In his second year of medical school he returned for his mother’s funeral. His mother’s death from pneumonia was the first tragedy in Hershel’s life. He never forgave himself for not being there and blamed his father for not telling him how sick she was. Hershel was certain he could have saved her had he been home.
A week after the funeral Hershel returned to Prague to finish his studies. His father and three sisters were proud but worried for his safety. Moving into the Gentile world was not something Rabbi Moishe Stein would have wished for his youngest child. One consolation was that Hershel remained closer to home than his older brothers. Before he was born, Joseph had left for America, then Jake. Sam followed when Hershel was ten years old.
By the time he came back to Krakow to open his practice, Malka was grown up. With her blonde bob she looked like her favorite movie star, Clara Bow. Although shy and under the sway of her formidable mother Sonia, Malka was more self-assured now. She was working as the bookkeeper in her parents’ printing business and bookstore and saw herself as a woman of the world. To emphasize her worldliness, Malka smoked cigarettes through a long silver holder. Actually, before he
r marriage, the largest city Malka had visited outside of Krakow was Lodz. Her view of the world was formed by the movies she saw and articles she read in Kino Magazine. Malka thought Hershel was as handsome as the movie actor Tyrone Power.
Their elaborate wedding was officiated by Rabbi Moishe Stein on September 6, 1936, three years before the Wehrmacht units occupied Krakow. The newlyweds moved into a spacious house in the center of town, outside the Jewish quarter. They easily made friends with their neighbors, who were other professionals. Dr. Hershel Stein was a happy man. His practice prospered just as he had planned. As his reputation for being an able diagnostician grew, people came from other towns and villages to seek treatment.
On June 16, 1937, when Baby Lena arrived, Hershel was thrilled, if a little embarrassed at becoming a father nine months after the wedding. As the first grandchild on Malka’s side of the family, Lena’s every grimace, burble, and smile were celebrated. Ten months later, on April 16, 1938, Hannah made her appearance. The sisters soon became as inseparable as twins.
Hershel and Malka were not only the perfect couple but they also made an excellent team. In her crisp white uniform, Malka cheerfully welcomed his patients into the ground floor office. She also kept the books, and once the girls arrived, supervised Kaja, their nanny. On the occasions when Hershel was asked to consult on a case, Malka enjoyed telling his patients, “I’m sorry, we have to reschedule your appointment. The doctor has been called away to Warsaw.” Life was good.
Everything changed when the Germans came.
Jews in Poland wanted to believe things would ultimately go back to normal, just as they had in the past. Not Hershel Stein. To avoid what he feared was coming, he wanted the entire family to leave Krakow and go somewhere where they weren’t known.
“If you stay it may be far worse than you can imagine,” Hershel reasoned, as he tried to convince his father and the rest of the family to leave. His Gentile friends introduced him to Polish citizens willing to risk their lives to help Jews. These people secured false papers and arranged for hiding places. While false papers didn’t come cheap, Hershel had the money to acquire them.