A Family Shattered: Book Two in the Michal's Destiny Series

by Roberta Kagan

  Taavi, November 1938

  Taavi Margolis would have fought back at the police station when he was arrested the day after Kristallnacht, if the young boy who sat beside him on the bench had not coaxed him to silence. The boy was a stranger, just a young Jewish boy on the brink of manhood. He reminded Taavi of Benny. Poor Benny had died on the street the night before, beaten to death by a gang of thugs. Taavi had been in his apartment with his wife and daughter Gilde when he heard his older daughter Alina screaming outside. He looked out the window and then ran out of the building to help Benny. What else could he do? Could he let a bunch of hoodlums kill an innocent boy and stand by and do nothing? What kind of man would that have made him? He rubbed the bump on his head where an Oberleutnant had hit him with a club. It was crusted with blood, as was his face. Now Taavi had overheard that he was being sent to a work camp. A work camp? Where? For how long? What would become of Michal and his two precious daughters, Alina and little Gilde? How about his business and his business partner, Lev? Once he realized his predicament, he swallowed his pride for the sake of his family and begged the policemen to let him go home. He apologized profusely for his behavior the previous night and even promised that he would adhere to any demands they made. Pride meant nothing to him at that moment. All he wanted was to see his family again. There was no doubt in Taavi’s mind that Michal and his daughters would be frantic by now. He wasn’t worried about them having enough money. If worse came to worst Lev, his best friend and business partner, would support them. Taavi could count on his oldest and dearest friend. But, he knew Michal, and he was sure that she would not sit at home safely and wait for his return. Quite frankly he was afraid of what she might do. She never ceased to amaze him. When he’d met Michal she’d been an innocent religious girl from a small Jewish settlement in Siberia. But when they’d come to Berlin and they’d gone through a period of separation, she’d grown into a strong and capable woman. And the woman she’d become was a fighter. There was no doubt that Michal would try to find him. Taavi was quite sure of it. If she came to the police station, the bastards might hurt her, and he would not be there to protect her, to stop them. This angered and frustrated him beyond measure. As he sat watching the policemen, he was unaware that both of his hands were in fists.

  A group of oberleutnants came with guns pointed at the prisoners and loaded them into the back of an open truck. They were surrounded by armed guards and Taavi rationalized that there were too many armed men for him to attempt to overpower them.

  The truck headed north and stopped in front of a building surrounded by a large gridiron gate. Taavi looked around him; an icy fingernail traveled up his spine and he trembled slightly at the thought of being trapped and caged like an animal. Barbed wire surrounded the building in front of him, making escape almost impossible. His heart began beating hard and fast.

  “Come on, let’s get moving.” The guard held a gun pointed at the prisoners as he yelled in German, “What are you waiting for?” As they got off the truck, the guard nudged them forward with the butt of his rifle. “Let’s go or I’ll shoot you dead on the spot.”

  The prisoners were running, but they could not move fast enough to please the armed guards who were pointing guns directly at them. Taavi was running too. He didn’t even realize that he was running. He had become part of a herd, a herd of broken men being led like cattle, probably to slaughter. Once they were all inside the gates, Taavi heard the iron doors slam shut behind him. It was the most profound and terrifying sound he’d ever heard. Above him, he saw a sign that said “Work Makes You Free.” A few of the prisoners had begun to cry. They were terrified. But their whimpering disgusted Taavi. Taavi would not cry. He would never give these bastards that satisfaction. He would rather die.

  Next the guards used their rifles to direct the men. Those who were too weak or old to work were forced to into one line.Taavi and the stronger men were sent into another. The separation became clear as the weaker men were led away. Some were begging;again, Taavi had to turn away. He knew that their begging would not help them. Whatever the guards had in store was out of the prisoners’ control. Pleading would only humiliate them further and Taavi couldn’t bear to watch.

  When Taavi got to the front of the line he was stripped of his clothes. As he stood naked, his strong, muscular body taunted one of the guards who was consumed with jealousy because he was fat and white like a doughboy. The doughboy hit Taavi in the face with the butt of his rifle. For a single moment Taavi’s hand formed a fist and he drew his arm back. If need be, he was ready to fight to the death. Then he remembered Michal and his daughters. His hand unclenched. He felt the blood pour down his cheek and across his chest, but he didn’t raise his hand to wipe it away. Taavi just glared at the guard, but he continued to walk in the line and do as he was told. Next his thick, golden brown hair was shaved off completely, and then he was sent to a shower where he was deloused. Next Taavi was ushered into another line where he was handed a black and white striped uniform.

  “Mach schnell,” another guard was yelling as a group of men were dressing in a large room. Taavi put the uniform on and followed the rest of the group.

  He did what they commanded, not because he was afraid of dying, but because he was waiting for the right moment, the right opportunity to escape. There had to be a way out, but it was not through that barbed wire. He’d seen that even if somehow he was able to get through the fencing, there was a watchtower with guns pointed directly at the front. No, that wasn’t the way out. But he would keep searching until he found a way. He had to get back to his family. They needed him, especially with all the hatred towards Jews that was exploding in Germany right now. Visions of his family alone and unprotected sent waves of panic through him. However, he kept reminding himself: Taavi, keep calm, watch, wait, the right time will come. Taavi was shoved along with the rest of the group into a room filled with bunks. There was not much space. The prisoners were piled together. He was surrounded on both sides by men. The room was overfilled and it stunk of sweat and filth.

  On one side of Taavi was a man in his late teens and on the other was a middle-aged man closer to Taavi’s age of forty-two. It was hard for Taavi to keep his head. He wanted to overpower one of the guards, take his gun and begin shooting. He’d kill as many as he could. But, the chances of his getting out alive were slim and he knew it.

  “I’m Yigal,” the younger man said to Taavi.

  “Taavi.”

  “I’m Ber,” the middle-aged fellow Taavi’s age introduced himself. “How long do you think they intend to keep us here?”

  “I don’t know.” Taavi was irritable. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone. “I have a wife and two daughters who need me, so I hope they let us out soon,” Taavi said, then he turned away, letting the men know he wasn’t interested in having a conversation.

  There were men everywhere, scrunched together on the bunks, spread on the floor. A scraggly man with collarbones and cheekbones jutting out of his skin and a red, angry rash covering his arms said to Taavi, “There’s an epidemic of lice here. That’s the worst part of it.”

  “Thanks for letting me know,” Taavi answered.

  “I’m Fredrick,” the man said. “I’m a political prisoner.” Then he laughed. “That means that I’m a communist and I hate Hitler.”

  “I’m a Jew. That makes me a criminal.” Taavi laughed too. There was something about Fredrick that made him smile.

  One of the other Jewish men who’d been arrested on Kristallnacht gave Taavi a look of disdain. “And that’s funny to you, that being Jewish makes you a criminal?” he said.

  “We can try to make jokes, make this easier. Or we can feel sorry for ourselves. I prefer to tell jokes, a smile can make the day a little brighter,” Taavi said.

  “I prefer to get out of here,” the other Jewish man said.

  “That goes without saying,” Fredrick answered. “But until we do, I have something I’d like to discuss with you.” He looked dir
ectly at Taavi.

  “Why me?”

  “Because you’re big, you’re healthy, and you’re strong.”

  “I want to stay out of trouble. I am not looking to join in any kind of a revolution. I have to get home to my wife and children.”

  “You think you are going to get out of here?”

  “I hope so,” Taavi said. “I am not looking to join any groups.”

  “Let’s see if you still feel that way in a month or two.”

  A loud bell rang.

  Two guards carrying rifles entered and demanded that the men move quickly and line up outside for roll call.

  Discreetly Taavi glanced at the lines of men in black and white striped uniforms and wondered what was in store. How long would they keep him imprisoned? He had no idea how many men there were, but it looked like hundreds. From what he gathered in the half hour that he had been in the barracks, most of the men were either political prisoners or Jews who had been arrested during the demonstration the night he had been arrested. When he’d first arrived at the camp with a truckload of other Jews, he was stunned to see how many other men had been sent to the camp with him.

  There were plenty of armed guards as well. They patrolled the men to prevent an escape. Taavi’s eyes darted through the crowds looking for a way to break out, but it was far too well guarded. From where he stood, he could see a watchtower with three men inside … their guns aimed directly at the men in case anyone should attempt to escape.

  “You will line up every day when you hear the bell. If you are not here when your name is called, we will hunt you down and you will be shot. It’s that simple. If you will notice, there is a watchtower. You are under surveillance at all times. Try to run and you are dead,” the guard said. He was a heavyset man with the perfect posture of one who is confident in his work. Back and forth he paced, well-armed, well-fed, clean and well-dressed, an absolute contrast to the men he lorded over.

  It was late afternoon. The sun had begun her descent in the west, sending out her last rays of golden light before the moon hovered in the sky and the darkness and shadows began to appear.

  Another bell sounded. The men lined up for dinner. It was a long line. Each of the new men was given a bowl and a spoon. “Don’t lose that,” Fredrick said. “You won’t get another one.”

  Fredrick was behind Taavi. When they got to the front of the line, they were each doled out a ladle of liquid with a quarter of a potato and a few dead insects floating on top of an oily broth. Then they received a crust of stale bread.

  “This is disgusting,” Taavi said, looking at the soup and feeling like he might puke.

  “Eat it. You’ll need the nourishment. They’ll have us in the brickworks in the morning, and the work is hard. Let me tell you. Take any food you can get. It will keep you alive.”

  “I can’t eat this,” Taavi said, shaking his head.

  “Then give it to me. I’ll eat it.”

  Taavi handed Fredrick his bowl. Fredrick drank the soup without using the spoon. Taavi thought of the insects he’d seen floating in the greasy water. His stomach lurched and he looked away.

  That night Taavi slept surrounded so closely by other men that he could not move his body. It was hard to determine when these men had last bathed, but they did manual labor every day and the strong and terrible smells on either side of Taavi were inescapable. He’d never felt so closed in, so trapped, and it was well after midnight that he finally drifted off into a light sleep.

  Before sunrise the alarm bell sounded. A loud, clanging, high-pitched noise shook the barracks. “Come on.” Fredrick pulled Taavi’s arm. “Get up.”

  Taavi’s back and shoulders were stiff from having slept in such confined quarters, but he shook the haze of sleep from his head and rose. One of the guards entered the room, pointing a rifle at the men, and demanded that they get in line for roll call.

  “Schnell. Schnell,” he yelled.

  This time a tall scarecrow of a guard with thinning hair combed over his balding scalp walked the length of the lineup while several other men stood holding guns aimed at the prisoners in case anyone should decide not to cooperate.

  “It seems to me that someone has stolen a half of a loaf of bread from the kitchen. Do you know what that means? It means that there will be no bread today for anyone unless you can tell me who the thief is.” He paced, his eyes like those of a panther, back and forth, glaring at each man, studying him to see if he was weak, if he was prey. Taavi noticed that none of the men let their eyes meet the guard’s eyes. They all looked down at the ground and no one dared speak.

  “So … you are protecting your fellow inmate, the criminal? I think I know who might have done this,” he said, pulling a young man out of the crowd.

  “Was it you?”

  “No … No.…” The man shook his head. Taavi watched the guard poke him with the rifle butt. Looking closer at him, Taavi saw that he was just barely a man, still closer to a boy.

  “Then was it you?” the guard put his gun against an old man’s chest.

  “No. No, it wasn’t me.”

  “Then it was him, am I correct?” The Nazi pushed the gun into the old man’s chest as he asked if it was the younger man he’d originally questioned.

  “Yes … it was him.” The old man’s body was shaking. He was clearly weak and afraid. The guard was enjoying this. He was smiling, waiting to see if the old man would sacrifice a young life for his own life. “Yes,” the old man said, “it was him....”

  “Point to the thief. So we can all see that you are turning this criminal in for his crime,” the Nazi said.

  The old man bowed his head and pointed to the young man.

  The Nazi turned the gun on the younger man and shot him directly in the face. “This is what happens when you steal.”

  The old man began to cry. He fell to his knees. He knew he had caused the death of another because of his own fear and he was heartsick. He was old and feeble and Taavi wondered how he had ever gotten through the initial inspection when they’d first arrived. All of the men who had been unable to work had been taken away, taken somewhere else.

  “Get up, old man,” the guard said. The prisoner who was standing beside the elderly man helped him to his feet. But the guard laughed, and then he shot the old man and the prisoner who’d tried to help him.

  “He was a useless eater,” the guard said, smiling at the others who stood trembling in line, praying that the Nazi would not take a special interest in them.

  “We’ve been wasting time playing games here with these two. There will be no bread today. You have your fellow prisoners to thank for it. Go now, and get in line for food. Let this little demonstration be a warning to anyone who thinks they can steal.”

  Again the men were fed, but this time it was just a bowl of oily water with a bit of carrot.

  Taavi still could not bring himself to swallow the dirty water. He took a sip, but once the foul-smelling liquid was in his mouth, he gagged and spit it out on the ground. Then he turned and gave his bowl to Fredrick.

  They were given fifteen minutes to eat, then they were lined up and the entire group began to march.

  “Where are we going?” Taavi whispered to Fredrick, who he knew had been in the camp for several months.

  “To the Brickworks. Don’t you know, we’re creating Speer’s vision of building a new Berlin.”

  “We are being sent there to work?”

  “Oh yes. To work and the job is hell.”

  “Shut up back there. No talking,” One of the guards said. He was a pimply faced boy, who looked like he could still be a teenager. They walked for six grueling miles. Taavi had not slept well and he was already exhausted when they arrived.

  Taavi was a strong man, and he was used to manual labor. But never in his life had he worked so hard. The weather was cool, but the sun scorched his face as he broke rocks with a pickaxe for fifteen long, endless hours without even a short break. Then when the sun had gone down and the bri
sk temperature of the autumn night began to drop, the men were instructed to carry the large bricks on their backs as they walked the six miles back to the camp.

  The armed guards watched the men with a keen eye, waiting for one to fall or try to escape. Their faces told Taavi that they enjoyed the power. Taavi still couldn’t see any possible way to escape, so with the heavy load on his back, he labored his way to the camp.

  That night when the men were fed, Taavi ate. Now he was hungry enough to eat anything. He gulped down mouthfuls of what passed for soup and swallowed whole pieces of stale and moldy bread, soaking them first in the oily water to soften them because they were too hard to chew.

  What was in store for him? Would he live to see another year pass? Would he ever see his children again, his beautiful and precious wife? Then an idea came to his mind. Perhaps he might have a chance to get out if he could somehow get word to his old boss, Frieda. The cabaret that Frieda owned had grown in popularity before the rise of the Third Reich. Many influential people came and went through the doors of Frieda’s cabaret, and many owed her favors. He had not been there in the years since Hitler had taken power, but if she still had control of her business and she still had her prior connections, there was a good chance she could help him. It was not for sure, but it was a chance. The only problem was that Frieda was angry with him. In the years that he and Michal had been separated, Taavi had been Frieda’s lover as well as the manager of her nightclub. He doubted that she’d ever loved him, but she depended upon him. And that had been fine with him. For several years he lived in an apartment in the back of the cabaret, enjoying a hefty salary, large tips, and a life of wild debauchery. At the time he was young and he enjoyed those years. But he always loved his wife, and even during this time with Frieda he missed Michal. So when Michal came to him wanting to try again, Taavi was willing to give up everything to go home and be a husband to Michal. But that was not all Michal told him ... while they were apart, she had given birth to his child. He had a little girl, whom he had never seen. He remembered how his heart swelled when he learned not only was he going to have his precious love back, but he’d also been blessed to be a father. Frieda had been livid when he told her that he was leaving, going home, but his mind was made up and he walked out. Now, he needed Frieda and he doubted that she’d forgiven him. But he also doubted that she would want to see him dead. And besides, she was his only chance. Frieda was the only Aryan person he knew with friends of influence in the Nazi party who could possibly be of any help. So, Taavi began to wonder just how he could get word to Frieda. Whether she could or would help him or turn her back on him remained to be seen. First, he had to find a contact, one of these bastards who would be greedy enough to risk his life.