Without benefit of sight, she studied the space encircling her. Walls of uneven damp stone resonated with the calming temperament of possibility and transformation.
Then, suddenly, far in the distance, she heard—
Esther awoke with a start, her body covered in layers of sweat.
She grows ever closer …
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Stand straight … tall … erect …
but not rigid.
Shoulders, back.
Chin, ever so slightly tucked in.
Torso, centered … solid and attentive.
Arms and hands, relaxed at each side.
Feet, facing forward … with purpose.
Eyes, gazed downward … half open.
Looking out … but seeing within.
Self and soul as one.
Be present … clear.
Breathe evenly … consistently.
Wait … for the music to start.
Begin counting.
At the moment that is yours … let the right hand lead …
Crossing slowly in front of you from hip to hip …
and then … toward the future … your future.
Palm facing in and then leading outward …
in a clean, circular motion.
Knees bend ever so slightly to the left …
and then to the right, as the hand and arm
complete their cycle.
Repeat.
This time with more force … strength … assuredness …
determination.
You will know when to add the right foot and have it
lead with pointed toes and high arch.
Leg and knee follow direction at the precise moment … their
moment.
The left side is then brought in to sustain balance and flow.
Keep counting.
Move as will necessitates.
This space … your space … is without
boundaries or restrictions.
Let yourself flow …
Leap …
Twirl …
As will desires …
and destiny demands.
What is taking place is timeless … and endless …
and yours.
This dance is mostly done alone.
Yet … at one point … out of the corner of one eye …
you catch a glimpse of a recognizable form …
of familiar energy … of directed movement …
Striding with purpose …
Toward you.
You note presence and strength in each step.
Right arms are outstretched …
Palms connect …
Fingers interweave …
And then … release.
You pass.
Why Esther … you ask?
I understand your query.
Why … her story … above all others?
Why have I chosen to follow her journey when there have been millions … even more … who you would say experienced a similar path … a shared reality.
Please … let me elucidate … it is so very important to understand … to clearly … comprehend …
Esther is unique.
I clear my throat. I must choose my words carefully.
Truly … all humans are unique … you are unique …
And I follow all souls … whether here in this realm or beyond. I am here for all as I am here for you.
I support each in what she needs … he needs.
I know the intricacies of each soul’s karma and the perfect path of dharma … divine law … that will ensure each … everyone … is triumphant … ultimately triumphant.
It may not always appear so. For it is often … so very often … not the easy course I place before one. Rarely is it a smooth … clear … level lane neatly carved out. Seldom a straight line without forks or roadblocks … challenges … raising questions and anxiety … anxiousness about the right way … the correct way … to proceed.
No … most frequently … time and time again … it is … it must be … a more treacherous trail with steep drops … sharp inclines … boulders to hurdle … and crossroads offering too many paths …
With no clear direction.
But please understand … no matter how difficult … no matter the challenges … this is what you need … this is what you genuinely want whether you know it or not … or … more correctly … whether you remember or not that this is what you asked for … what you came for to support your progression.
And it is my job … my role … my purpose … the very reason why I exist … and my great honor … to provide each and every one of you with what you need when you need it.
Again you ask … why Esther?
I shift on my lotus flower and lean forward on my right leg, the one resting on the ground.
I chose Esther not because of the circumstances in which she found herself. This is a story told time and again. No …
I chose Esther because she is a woman … a soul … who experienced … who truly and deeply … to the core of her being understood … understands … love. Pure love. The truth of love and its power and its strength … and its purpose.
But … you implore … I hear you shout … their relationship did not work … their bond … it did not last. It could not have been real. Tadeusz abandoned her. He denied … rejected their love and she was torn apart … devastated. Left all she knew and ran away.
And you say … a part of her … the heart of her died inside.
And I respond … but did it?
Do you remember when first they met? Ah no … you do not yet know this.
So you cannot recall what took place … what really happened. And no … not just on the surface … the outer skin … but within … deep … deep within … at the center of her … at the center of him … truly at the center of us all.
Please … let me take you back … back to then … back to when it all began.
Envision this …
In your mind’s eye … listen to me closely … clearly … you will see … you will learn … you will understand that she felt him before she saw him … his essence … that is.
She knew him …
The one bakery on Przeworsk’s main road had been especially hectic that day. When Esther arrived to work after her school day was finished, she found a line stretched out the front door. Most unusual, she thought, even for a Friday afternoon when everyone’s preparing for shabbes. She rushed in, quickly put on her apron, tied her hair up under her cap, and set about assisting customer after customer without a break. This pace continued until 4:40, when it seemed the last patron had been served and had headed home to prepare their evening meal. Bayla, who typically only worked the morning shift but had stayed on to help, took her leave then. “Mama will be wondering what’s become of me. I’ll see you on Monday. A gutn.” Esther was left alone with the responsibility to sweep up and close the bakery before the sun set.
When the shop door swung open one last time, the tiny bell that usually sounded a soft tinkle seemed to clang as loud as the town’s church bells announcing a new hour. But now—instead, it was ringing in the advent of a future she had not anticipated and a history she had long forgotten.
Esther was behind the counter, her back to the door, but at once she felt energy surge, like a current rippling through her. She turned, slowly, tentatively, as if she knew, somewhere hidden inside, in a place long dormant, that once she turned around her life would turn too.
The young man standing before her, simply dressed, was of average height and build, though broad shouldered and solid. A mass of thick, dark, wavy hair framed his head and face. What immediately stole her breath were his penetrating blue eyes, the color of the deepest part of the lake at the west edge of Przeworsk. They were eyes of recognition that spoke a language shared only by two.
“Gut shabbes,” he said. “Good Sabbath.”
“Gut shabbes,” she stammered back, flu
stered, her heart pounding.
Although Esther was nearly sixteen at the time, the age when her older sister had married, she took no interest in nor saw a need for boys. Her life was too full with school lessons, family chores, younger siblings, needlework, and her Friday afternoon job at this bakery. She had kissed a boy once. When that pesky Milosz had chased her into the woods and practically tackled her for a clashing of teeth and an overabundance of saliva—an incident leaving no appeal for further exploration. And the intricately practiced flirtations her sisters and girlfriends engaged in seemed like silly wastes of energy. Always, Esther had more interesting things to do.
But seeing this boy before her, something new—and simultaneously very, very old—roused in her core. As though a butterfly, finally breaking through its cocoon, were fighting its way out, commanding attention.
“Ikh heys Tadeusz,” he said. “My name is Tadeusz.” The sound of his voice thrust Esther out of her racing mind and into the present and this moment and this man.
“Enshuldik mir. I’m sorry,” she said, turning bright red. She recognized he had spoken but did not understand the words. “Please. What did you say?”
“Ikh heys Tadeusz,” he repeated. “Mayn meshpokhe—My family—moved here a few weeks ago. My father is the new teacher.” Explaining in two brief sentences why they had never met.
In Poland, as in most European countries in the early part of the century, it was unusual for families to relocate. Inevitably people were born and died in the same small village, and Przeworsk was no different. Esther lived in the house Bubbe Royza had, and assumed she would always live there too—never foreseeing the personal turmoil and world events that would impel her journey elsewhere.
Ah yes … he bought his challah for the Sabbath meal and went on his way that evening. But both were changed … elevated. Enlivened in a way most only dream of … in truth … most cannot imagine.
The connection … their connection had been made … understood.
The agreement to meet that these two souls had made long before their bodies gestated from single eggs … had been realized …
This is destiny. This is the exquisite beauty of truth.
And for a while … a short while … less than the snap of a finger really … they moved forward and … danced as one.
I pause and take in a deep breath before I continue.
But as often happens … sadly … I watch again and again … and again … as such beauty is undone. I know … I understand the human incarnation is a challenging one … the most challenging one … for there are incalculable temptations and conflicts that fog the mind and deny the truth. More often than not … there is one who runs from the other’s essence … their fundamental nature … headlong into their fears … and a fate inevitably filled with sorrow and regret.
In this case it was Tadeusz who denied what was … who rejected their commitment … their story … their heart … this most precious gift. And instead pursued a fate that would ultimately lead to transition from his mortal self … his end …
Well … the end of this chapter … his chapter … this physical chapter.
Always in this changeover … clarity is renewed … and the impact of action understood. Yes … some karma is released … knowledge heightened … but …
I wonder why in the human incarnation … why true bliss is so very feared.
Yes … Esther suffered with a loss and a pain that at times felt as though her soul had been severed …
Yet she gained a force and a will that could not be matched.
Significantly … critically … she never forgot … not for an instant … the inciting incident. The distasteful fuel that fed her … challenged her … supported her … and would … ultimately … be her salvation.
On one level … the most simple and surface level … it was bitterness … anger … distrust … those emotions only too familiar to the abandoned … to the spurned. But at the center … at her core … it was the knowledge and the truth and the power of love that propelled her forward and saved her … on every level …
And this … this is what truly matters … for us all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
No matter how deep …
or how thick …
or how encrusted …
The crux cannot be hidden.
The truth …
not denied.
It was a solitary moment on an early fall afternoon.
Zami had just left on a walk with Ans that would likely include a visit to the nearby park. Esther’s assignments from Hendrik were completed, and each piece had already been folded neatly in anticipation of tomorrow’s pickup and the delivery of a new mound of fabric, pattern designs, repairs, and alterations.
Such an occasion of quiet repose was scarce. Esther’s thoughts, characteristically focused on the matter at hand, as well as the next three tasks to accomplish, now wandered. Reflections bounced like pebbles skipping across a pond. Without grasping how or why, they led her to uncover the kiddush cup kept concealed in the left side lining of the small suitcase that had carried their meager belongings to Leiden. This was the first time she had looked at it or touched it since leaving Wuppertal.
Esther held the cup tenderly in her right hand, tracing the skillfully etched Hebrew letters that circled its top with the index finger of her left.
Some … times … some … thing … so tangible … releases … the intangible …
Memories and images of a life long departed floated all around, leading Esther to the last Sabbath meal shared with Bubbe Royza and all her family. This was the Friday night before her wedding, only two days away. There had been jollity and much laughter that evening. Blissfully, Esther had gone about her chores, helping with the cooking, the setting of the table, the lighting of the candles, and the serving of the meal. Mostly oblivious to the constant chatter and light-hearted banter taking place around her.
“Un vos shtelstu zikh for—And what do you imagine Tadeusz is thinking about right now?” Jakob asked, a wicked glint in his eye. “I believe, most likely, he is thinking about what happens—nokh der khasene—after the wedding!”
Tonka blushed a bright red and straightaway hid her face behind a napkin.
“Yakov, shvayg! Jakob, you shush! I don’t want to hear any of that kind of talk,” reprimanded Mama with a scowl.
“Now, Grendel, let them have their fun. We don’t get enough simkhes—happy events,” interjected Tate good-naturedly. A broad grin extended across his face. “There are never enough things to celebrate. It’s fine if these children get a little silly.”
Mama’s eyes rolled at her husband. She gave him the look that said “fun is fine as long as no lines are crossed.”
Bubbe Royza sat in her favorite mustard-colored chair in the farthermost corner of the large room. Ostensibly concentrating on her needlework’s elaborate demands, she smiled softly at the banter occurring across the room.
“Can I see your ring again, Esther? Zay azoy gut! Please, Esther! Zay azoy gut! Please,” begged Tonka.
All the sisters nodded their heads and shouted in unison, “Zay azoy gut!”
“Maskim. Oh, okay. But this is the last time. You must be surprised when you see it on my finger at the wedding. Or pretend to!” said Esther as she ran to their shared room to retrieve this special object of desire hidden in its small box beneath her undergarments.
“O, s’iz azoy sheyn! Oh, it’s so beautiful. Simple, but also very elegant,” Tonka said. “Did Tadeusz really make the ring all by himself? He didn’t have any help? Are you sure? How did he know how to do this?” Tonka asked, always the most inquisitive. Although she already knew the answers, she enjoyed hearing the story again and again.
Esther was patient with her favorite sister.
“I’ve told you Tadeusz studied welding, so he knows how to heat and melt metals. Even though he had never made rings, or any type of jewelry, for that matter, he is iz er azoy talantful mit zayne hent—s
o very talented with his hands. He had the gold from his grandfather’s—zeyde’s—watch that no longer worked. He knew his zeyde, may his memory be a blessing—an emfindlekher mentsh—a sensible man, would be pleased with its new use.
“The two rings are not identical, which is custom, but they are made from the same original piece of gold,” Esther recounted proudly. “This is what matters to us.”
“Oh, Esther,” Tonka said. “Du, du host aza mazl! You are so lucky!”
No envy could be detected in her voice. Only happiness for her sister and that this special man would soon be a real member of their family.
Esther’s thoughts then shifted to a few days later. To the moment when her embittered, aching self tossed that ring into the deepest part of the lake as she headed away from Przeworsk, never looking back.
So engrossed in thought and memory, Esther did not hear Ida climb up the attic stairs; did not hear her say, slyly, “Etta, it was so quiet up here I wanted to make sure everything was okay. Also, I need some light blue thread and recall you using the identical color a few days ago. Oh dear, you look very pale. Are you feeling unwell?”
But Esther did hear—
“Etta—Etta,” Ida repeated stridently, “was ist, das Sie halten? What is that you’re holding?”
Jolted back to the present time, space, and four walls of her attic room, Esther immediately thrust the cup inside her dress pocket. But not before Ida had taken a good look at its distinctive engraving.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
And then …
“Ah—jetzt verstehe ich—now I understand. It’s all become clear. Alles. Every little detail that has puzzled me since you arrived now makes sense. That cup revealed what I needed to know. I’ve seen ones just like it, with the odd script. Before the war. With others. When there were others—everywhere—just like you,” Ida said. Her face expressed a blend of self-satisfaction and triumph.
“Sie sind jüdisch—You’re Jewish, aren’t you, Etta? If that is really your name! Admit it!” The accusation spewed with venom. “Und, Sie sind hier—versteckt? And, you’re here—hiding? This explains why your story doesn’t come together. Why it doesn’t make sense when I’ve examined—thoroughly scrutinized, mind you—the information you’ve shared.
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