Pictures of the Past

by Deby Eisenberg

  For days after their arrival, the ship lingered at the port awaiting word that intense negotiations would be successful in allowing them to dock. While they floated under Cuban guard, dozens of small private boats filled with friends and relatives of the arriving refugees surrounded the large ocean liner and audible cries of longing, pleas to reunite with loved ones, filled the air. A desperate Arnold Schuman gazed with a visible hunger at his two brothers signaling to him from their small craft below and it was only the strong arms of nearby passengers that kept him from jumping overboard. And this scenario played itself out again and again at many positions along the rail.

  Finally, Captain Schroeder ordered that the ship follow a northerly path along the American coast, hoping for word that a United States disembarkation would be allowed for the St. Louis. For this stint, U.S. vessels closely shadowed her every move, and many of the passengers swore at their crews, assuming that they were guarding against any unauthorized attempts to land. Later there would be rumors, however, that Secretary of the Treasury Henry Morgenthau, from a prominent German Jewish family himself, was interested in monitoring the path of the ocean liner to ensure a rapid response should President Franklin Roosevelt acquiesce and grant them U.S. entry. But President Roosevelt could not be persuaded to fight the unsympathetic, isolationist mood of the United States. And so, despite the monumental efforts of the ship’s captain and others, eventually the St. Louis was commanded to return to an eastern crossing of the Atlantic.

  Two or three deep standing along the rail, the entirety of passengers looked longingly at the lights of the American shore blinking to them like the teasing eyes of a flirt. Here, a young teenage boy turned to his mother. “But what will we do? Papa will be waiting. Papa will be heartbroken.” Not even understanding the repercussions of their return, he ached for his father’s loss. “You and me and Julia—we’ll have each other. Papa will still write how lonely he is.”

  Another boy in his late teens assumed the stance of the mature man he needed to become. He comforted his distraught mother and said pointedly to his innocent, young siblings surrounding her, “Understand now that I will be in charge and please do not cry anymore.”

  When the ship made its final definitive turn back east toward the European continent, the adults were busy in anguished meetings discussing their plight. At this point, Sarah organized a group of children to draw pictures of their favorite things, houses or flowers or animals or the big ship, pictures they would let fly off the side of the vessel. She explained that maybe when they returned to Cuba or the United States that they would find their artwork washed up on the shore. Of course, it didn’t make sense and a few of the older children were voicing their skepticism—"The colors will wash away…The papers will sink…Fish will eat them…Maybe they will be washed on a different beach.” But none of them challenged that they would return to freedom, and therefore Sarah knew she had succeeded in alleviating, if even for a brief time, the children’s fears, while their parents dealt emotionally with the harsh reality that the ship was leaving still waters and heading into a maelstrom.

  In the late afternoons, when the children were napping, Sarah allowed herself time to be alone, time to lose herself in her own reflections, to create a positive scenario with fairy tale happy endings and dramatic reunions with friends and family. This was the one that worked best for her and kept her hopeful and directed:

  Finally the St. Louis, as it headed sadly back across the Atlantic to Europe, would be called to turn west one more time and would be welcomed at the Port of New York. Cuba’s rejection of the passengers, though frightening and aggravating, actually brought her closer to her chosen destination. When the President of the United States of America, Franklin Roosevelt, finally acknowledged the need and admitted the German refugees, he would be there personally to greet them and hear their stories. He would be so horrified by the accounts of the passengers that he would directly order an assault on Nazi Germany. All those in the jails would be freed, all those interned in the camps would be released, and medical professionals would attend to any needs.

  Hitler himself would be captured and hung in full view of the country. This would be a deterrent for any others dreaming and plotting to be dictators, scheming to destroy the Jewish people.

  At his home outside of Chicago, Taylor, who would have been desperately looking for her, would read about the plight of the St. Louis. Finding her name in newspaper accounts of the passengers, he would be ecstatic with the most glorious emotions of love and relief and would board a train immediately for New York. By the time they had been processed and she was emerging finally from the customs port to the harbor deck, he would be waiting for her with a luscious kiss and a bouquet of flowers. She would motion for a porter to personally hand him the Lebasque painting, Jeune Fille à la Plage, the painting that she had lovingly wrapped in her quilts and securely packaged, and that was bearing the address of the Woodmere residence, as a precaution—in case she was separated from it.

  And then to complete the dream, her parents, who had their home, business, and possessions all reinstated, were able to join them in beautiful Kenilworth, Illinois, for a spectacular wedding on the back lawn of the estate he had described overlooking Lake Michigan.

  She was not alone on the ship in imagining a future with happy endings. In the evenings, as the Blumbergs put their children to sleep with bedtime stories, Sarah began to wander from one discussion group to another and found that there were many perspectives on their dilemma. There was a palpable division in thought among the passengers and divisions among the divisions. First, were the true optimists, usually those closest to her age—on the brink of adulthood and understanding all of its promise, and though even to be on the ship they had to have had frightening experiences, they still maintained a cushioning naiveté.

  Then there were the verbal optimists—those were mainly the young parents, those who had to bolster the spirits of their dependents. But at night, they shared fears with their spouses, fought back tears, and worked to have alternative methods of survival.

  That second night on the return voyage she overheard the raucous voices emanating from one lounge and it was to this third group that she was drawn. Here were young men and women, mainly in their twenties and thirties, the single crowd and the young married couples she had watched interacting on the ship. They were the realists, daily becoming hardened to the futility of their plight. Even if the United States would eventually accept them, some of them now knew that they would never truly feel safe. And they no longer wished that they could recreate their old lives in the cities they fled, as some of their elderly relatives hoped, even if that were somehow possible. No, they were now talking about the Resistance Movement and they were talking about Zionism. They began holding small group meetings centered on their desire to protect fellow Jews from the Nazis now, and then to establish a nation for the Jewish people. And daily those meetings were drawing more and more interest from the general disenfranchised population of the ship.

  “I think we have all been duped,” one voice rose above the others. “We were easily allowed to ‘escape’ on this Nazi ship as part of Hitler’s plan.” Some of the others looked at the speaker skeptically, while many of the group immediately began nodding their heads in total agreement. “Think about it. Hitler has now shown to the world that no one believes we are in real jeopardy in our homeland—and he has proven that no one wants the Jews. This is the best scenario he could have imagined and it didn’t happen by chance—he orchestrated it. Imagine, even the great United States does not want more Jews.”

  And he was more than correct. Though at the time he could not have been aware of it, Hitler had actually sent an envoy ahead to stir up Cuban unrest over their own unemployment problems in an effort to ensure they would not want to accept any ship full of refugees vying for their jobs.

  So around the ship, while most passengers just wanted to find another way to get back to freedom anywhere in America and they w
ould be brainstorming with those of similar inclination, there were these others who knew there would be no safety until they had established a Jewish homeland in Palestine.

  A second speaker took his place at the front of the crowd and extended a handshake and then a strong hug to the first, who willingly relinquished his spot and sat down. This second man was obviously familiar to most of the group and projected an undeniable charisma. His voice was strong and people quieted immediately when he began. “Friends. No, that is not right. ‘Friends’ I would have addressed you only days ago—had we met at dinner. Had we by chance been seated together in the main dining room or struck up conversations on the lounge chairs enjoying the warmth of the midday sun. Had we played the game of finding connections between our home towns, our places of work, our schools, our synagogues; enjoyed the discussions that have been our heritage through the years; understood that our cousins knew each other, that our rabbis were brothers, that we had attended the same lectures, shared professors without even knowing it.”

  He stopped and looked up momentarily. Further energized by the multitude of nods, he continued. “But now I will call you ‘brothers and sisters,’ because ‘friends’ is now a word too impersonal. ‘Comrades,’ I might have said to some of you—some of you, yes, some of us who had been drawn to the Socialist principles, who had been trying to come to terms with ideologies and weigh them against theologies, and live in a world where we were deluded into dreaming that we even had a choice of such a freedom of thought. Yes, now, I address you as ‘brothers and sisters,’ because now we are closer than friends; we are family. And we know, and I will shock some of you with this veracity, we must know that if Hitler has his way, we may be the only family we have.

  “Should I say to you, ‘Thank you for coming to this room tonight’? I cannot say that, because again, that would be acknowledging a nonexistent freedom of choice, freedom of action. No, my friends, my family, you had no such freedom. Our Lord, Hashem, has directed you here. Do you not see, once again, our Biblical lessons come to life, the testing of our people? This is the price that we pay to be Jews, to have been Chosen, to have received the Covenant. And this group, in particular, this handsome and healthy and strong and hopeful and pathetically naïve gathering of young people is here as part of His design. Hashem creates and destroys at will. On our High Holidays, on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we read the words, we recite the prayers. It is His will. ‘Who shall live and who shall die…’ But we take the words of the prayer book, the Bible, the Torah, as allegory, as an antiquated reality or maybe even fantasy. The Plagues, the smiting, the cruel hand of the all powerful Pharaoh, are stories from an age gone by. We have lived in Germany, in an epicenter of advanced thinking and progress and culture. Oh yes, Jews have always had troubles, had to be more careful, even in our modern times. But now we have proven ourselves. We are more than accepted. We are so thoroughly assimilated into the society that it could not function without us. We are recognized as leaders in thought, in business, in medicine, and science. Finally, finally in our modern age, Hashem has watched over his Chosen people.

  “Oh, yes, this is what you thought. Why not? We can only believe what we are taught, what our parents taught us. Whose parents here were not good people? Fathers making a living, mothers making a home. And it was their goal to make us feel comfortable and protected, to spoil us even. Yes, of course, a little religion, lighting Shabbas candles, keeping alive the stories of the Passover Hagaddah in the spring when the Goyim had Easter and the tales of the Maccabees in the winter, when they had Christmas. We needed to know we were Jews, to know our heritage. This would ground us and give us our sense that we would have challenges, but that we were special—again, the Chosen people.

  “But now the world has come to life from the pages of a biblical history that repeats itself continuously over a five-thousand-year span, a history that we never really took literally. And we think we can make sense from this? That we can deliberate on plans of action, as if there is a plan other than the plan of Hashem. Well, yes. I surprise you now, I suppose. You can tell now, I am sure…because my speech is so confusing, perplexing…that I am the son of a rabbi. But I have been that rebel son from the Hagaddah. I have been the son searching for answers, asking questions, the wise son and the simple son all in one, because I know that the more I find out about the world, the greater my need for understanding. So I will accept some religion, because, again, you are what your parents have molded you to be. But I will take charge of destiny if I can, and if I need to, to gain your confidence, I will say that we must be here for a reason. By here, I mean literally. Not just here on earth, but here in this room, at this time. How many of you came upon this ship with a certain guilt? Now I ask you—I will be done speaking soon. So I ask you about yourselves. Raise your hands to answer. Who among you has had the Nazi terror reach into your lives? Who has had a close friend or relative dismissed from a job or denied schooling, accosted or beaten, perhaps taken for questioning, or, perhaps even disappear?” There was a stir among the audience, whispers between people, and then the slow, almost mournful raising of hands in a rhythmic wave beginning at the front seats and continuing through the rear.

  “And I knew it, although I dreaded it. Not a hand among yours is down. And so you came aboard this ship feeling as I did, I am sure. Grateful and yet bewildered at the puzzle of life. Why is it me? Why should I have this opportunity and yet my brother will not, my father will not, the entire neighbor’s family gone in the night, with no explanation, and not by their own design— no, taken. And then when this ship was turned back, yes, with you, my initial reaction was rage—rage with frustration and sadness and fear. And then, within hours, my emotions changed—‘acceptance,’ you may say, but I say ‘relief.’ The answer to the question posed—the ‘Why was I spared so far, why my new wife—and not the others we knew?’ Because…and now you must listen to me as you have not yet listened—you must listen to me without hearing the calls of your loved ones interfering with your comprehension. And this is the answer—so that you would be here in this room at this moment with these people to hear this speech—to be moved to your calling—to meet your destiny. We must take our place with the movements that have already started and we must be leaders. Some of you—already young mothers and fathers—I will give you a single goal—I will not demand that you recognize a calling to fight—I will insist that you accept the Zionist vision and proceed with the greatest speed to reclaim the land of our forefathers. There you will go and you will work to build our own society—and you will keep your children safe and you will have more children to populate the land. If Hitler has plans against the Jews, who knows how many thousands may pay for his insanity before he is stopped. But you cannot stop him, for you have precious cargo and I beseech you, the young parents, to consider not finding passage on another ship, not going on to America, but going on in the opposite direction—go to your new home due east. And wait for us…prepare the land for us. Because this remaining group I will shape into freedom fighters first, and then Zionists.”

  Three or four times during his monologue, the speaker paused to acknowledge the young woman by his side. Although his words were visibly energizing the audience, a selected assembly having interrupted now and then with the affirmations of “Yes, yes…say the words,” reminiscent of an Evangelical rally, his waifish wife remained only silent and somber faced. Often, when he did not need to use them to gesture, his hands would be stroking the back of her head or clasping the tips of her fingers, as if his own musculature could give her strength.

  When he finished speaking, the audience rose with a swell of applause and gathered around him and his wife. During a ten-minute period in which the speaker was both praised enthusiastically and respectfully challenged by an equally intellectual crowd of his peers, his wife was comforted and coddled by many of the women in attendance, and brought a cup of tea by an especially empathetic friend. Then someone waved a short stack of papers above the huddle
and encouraged them all to move to a large round table so they could exchange names and cabin numbers and formulate initiatives for further action.

  Only Sarah remained seated, drawn to a final embrace by the leader and his wife who had not moved with the others to the rear of the room. She was unable to ignore the soft, sweetness of the moment, and it awakened in her once more a strong longing for Taylor’s embrace. She watched intently as the man planted a kiss on his wife’s forehead and then raised his head to survey the room, obviously pleased that his efforts had resulted in an enthusiastic participation around the table. And as he continued to survey the room, his eyes were drawn to the beautiful young woman who was yet to leave her seat. He spoke softly into his wife’s ear, and then he grasped her shoulders and gently lifted her to a standing position, encouraging her to join the others. She rose and nodded her head; regaining any lost composure, she walked toward the rest of the group.

  And then he looked straight at Sarah and began to approach her. Sarah, however, turned to look around, unaware at first that she had been targeted, that no others were left seated behind her. And when she realized that he was walking toward her, she self-consciously began to gather her belongings, hoping to inconspicuously join the others or slip from the room.