A Christmas to Remember

by Carol Matas

  Keep up your good work with the TO’s. I think it’s a great name your group chose — I remember when you were eight and I was explaining the concept of Tikkun Olam to you. Do you remember me telling you that it means “to heal the world” and you asked me if there was a Band-Aid big enough for that? Well, the world certainly needs help! I’m glad your group is educating both kids and adults about the refugees and how Canada won’t take any Jews.

  Maybe the more people learn, the more they’ll complain to the government and pressure them to change their mind. Although, Devvy, I wonder if it’s already too late. We hear such horrors over here — that the Jews who have been rounded up are being methodically murdered.

  By the time the Canadian government changes its tune, it will probably be too late for the Jews of Europe. But that doesn’t mean you should give up. All you can do is keep trying.

  Give my love to Mom and Dad, and remember to study hard for your exams coming up!

  Your older (and wiser) brother,

  Adam

  Oh how I miss him. I can’t help but remember his last visit when he took me up in the air for my first-ever flight. Adam and his fellow fliers are the bravest men in the entire world, that’s certain.

  Friday, December 10, 1943

  Shoes!! Apparently the murder victim bought a pair of shoes but someone RETURNED them later that day for two pairs of a smaller size!! For his next victim? He wanted to give them as a present to the next girl, I’ll bet, to get in her good books. Oh, very devious.

  Saturday, December 11, 1943

  Shabbat

  What a busy day. I met the TO’s downtown for a movie, although we had an awful fight about which one to see. Marcie wanted to see A Lady Takes a Chance because Jean Arthur is in it and we all love her. Ruthie wanted to see Lassie Come Home, but David said it was too babyish for us. I wanted to sneak into Dead Men Walk and Ghost and the Guest — the ad won’t show any pictures because it would be too scary!! Finally we all agreed on Lassie, and I must admit it was pretty good and had us crying, even though Roddy McDowall is quite the ham. But Lassie is amazing. I swear that dog is smarter than half the kids in my class!

  After that we went shopping for presents for friends who celebrate Christmas. I needed something for Elizabeth. I got her Devon Violets cologne for 50¢. I know she loves anything with violets. Ruthie bought her younger brother a birthday present, a cardboard Noah’s Ark for 98¢. I think he’ll destroy it in minutes, but she thought it was adorable.

  We went to The Chocolate Shop afterward and talked about what we could do for the next few weeks. We agreed that, at our school concerts, we should each try to give a talk about the refugees, if we are allowed. So I’ll ask if I can speak at ours for a few minutes.

  Now I’m going to read my new book, Poirot Investigates.

  Tuesday, December 14, 1943

  They caught him!!

  The murderer.

  He is 42 and lived in the same boarding house on Spence Street where the poor victim lived. She was just 16! And he was the one who called the police and who “found” her body! And he isn’t tall and dark — he’s small, with grey hair. Reality is much less thrilling than the picture the paper painted, that’s for sure.

  Thursday, December 16, 1943

  Churchill is very sick — with pneumonia!

  Friday, December 17, 1943

  Churchill is improving. What a relief! Without him to lead the Allies, Hitler might still find a way to win. Who knows?

  Later

  Today was the last day of school, and the day of the concert. I haven’t written to you every day this week, Diary, because I’ve been preparing my speech, as well as studying and writing my exams.

  I was given only 2 minutes for my speech! Two minutes to tell everyone about what’s going on with Jews over there and how Canada is pretending nothing is happening and how they refuse to help.

  Daddy helped me with it. He wanted me to take some things out, but I wouldn’t. Here’s my speech. I’ve written it out for posterity:

  Thank you to Principal Lester for the opportunity to give this talk.

  Teachers, parents, and fellow students, I speak to you today about an issue that you are probably familiar with in some ways, but in other ways, you might not know the entire story. We are very proud of our country and how we are fighting the Nazis and I have two brothers overseas, one with the RAF and one with the Winnipeg Grenadiers who’s now a POW. But I also have family in France and we have been trying to get them over here ever since 1941, but we can’t! (At this point I almost burst into tears and had to stop for a moment and catch my breath.)

  The Canadian government doesn’t want Jewish refugees. The men in charge don’t like Jews. (At this point some people gasped and others made disapproving noises, but most, I think, were upset with me for saying it out loud, not upset with the government for doing it.) But I know that most people in Canada don’t feel that way. (Well, I certainly hope not.) And so I ask for all of you to write the person in charge, Mr. Blair, and ask him — no, demand — that he open up our country to any refugees who can still escape. The truth is, there aren’t too many anymore, but if some manage to get to Spain or other countries, then let them come here. Only a year ago there were thousands of children in France who had visas to come to Canada, but the door was shut to them and now they might be dead. We must try to save anyone we can — even one child is important!

  Thank you for your time and for your consideration. (That was Daddy’s addition.)

  There was polite applause, but I can’t say it was a big hit. Still, I’m glad I did it, although it felt funny standing up as a Jew. I felt that everyone might look at me differently … but I can’t help that. It’s nothing compared to what the Jews in Europe are going through, is it?

  Saturday, December 18, 1943

  Baba Tema has fallen and broken her foot and sprained her wrist! And Mommy has offered me as her helper for the holidays. So no carolling with my friends. I’m to be shipped off to the North End to spend 2 whole weeks with a woman who’s never said a nice word to me in my life. And who scares me! I’ve cried, I’ve screamed, I’ve tried reasoning, everything — nothing helped. Mommy is unwavering. She is busy with a Christmas push to get special packages to the troops and says that’s far more important than my holidays. (And she doesn’t understand why carolling is so important to me anyway — especially since we’re Jewish! I tried to explain that I love the songs and that it’s fun, but she really doesn’t think it’s worth a thought, considering Baba needs me.)

  Sunday, December 19, 1943

  Today was my first day with Baba Tema. What a disaster! I was going to have so much fun this holiday. I can’t even see Marcie because Baba doesn’t want my friends over — they are too noisy, apparently. PLUS, she has a neighbour right next door who also needs help and Baba is sending me over there to help her out as well — if there should be any precious minutes when she won’t be working me until I drop!! Things are going from bad to worse. At least the whole family was here for dinner tonight, so I won’t be alone with Baba until tomorrow.

  Monday, December 20, 1943

  War news is excellent. General Montgomery’s army overran enemy positions in Italy and so did U.S. troops. We’re winning, we’re winning, we’re winning! Oh, and tomorrow is the first night of Chanukah, so the family will all be back then, thank goodness.

  Baba made me eat oatmeal for breakfast and said I should be happy for it. I don’t mind it if it’s covered in sugar and milk, but with no sugar and made with water, it’s disgusting. And to top it off, I had to cook it! For both of us.

  Night

  After breakfast Baba quizzed me about what I knew about Palestine and apparently it isn’t enough, because she made me sit for an hour at the kitchen table while she watched me with an evil eye as I read a book on Palestine and Zionism. I told her I understand that we want and need our own Jewish homeland, but that wasn’t enough for her. And then she made me read aloud from a newspa
per article on Hadassah and what they do. And then she had me shovel the walk and her neighbour’s walk, and then make lunch — herring!!! Herring, ugh, double ugh. And then she had me clean up and study some more, and write letters for her to all these politicians and even to people in Britain. She seems to be very important. I wonder if you need to be tough as nails like she is to be important.

  Tuesday, December 21, 1943

  I don’t even know where to start!

  Baba has banned Peril at End House, the Agatha Christie novel I’m right in the middle of! She says that my obsession with made-up murder and mayhem is unhealthy. Unhealthy! I might have mentioned the waitress murder a few times, just to make conversation, because sitting in silence with Baba is so uncomfortable, as well as being boring. She doesn’t like to “chit chat,” as she says. And she says that if I’m reading, it should be something worthwhile, like a history book, and she’s given me the history of England with a special emphasis on the British Mandate, Palestine. How do you read that when it’s night and you’re snuggled up under the covers?

  Night

  Adam was one of the fliers involved in a huge raid over France that downed seven Nazi planes! It’s in the paper today! And I’m not even at school so I can boast about him. The Allies dropped 2000 tons of explosives on Frankfurt yesterday too.

  I complained bitterly to Mommy and Daddy when they were here tonight for the Chanukah party. But Mommy is working till midnight every night packing boxes for the troops, and Daddy is treating an entire group of fliers in from the base at Gimli and is also overwhelmed, so it seems I’m on my own. The party was so subdued, with just me as the only child there getting presents.

  We lit the first candle on the Menorah, and Daddy retold the story of the Chanukah lights, just as he does every Chanukah: how the Maccabees had fought Antiochus, and won, but there was only enough oil to keep the eternal flame in the Temple burning for one day, yet the flame burned for eight days and that was the miracle. He added that we would beat Hitler too. And then Baba said, “Bah,” or “Pshaw,” or something like that, and added that Chanukah had really been a civil war between the traditional Jews and those that had been assimilated into the Syrian culture and were praying to Zeus. I barely listened, because this same fight between Baba and Daddy happens every year.

  I was given a little chocolate and some Chanukah gelt and that was it. Daddy almost fell asleep after dinner.

  Wednesday, December 22, 1943

  I spent this morning reading the history book out loud to Baba, as she is not convinced that I am actually reading it on my own. When I finished the chapter on the Arab riots of 1921, she said, “Is that enough murder and mayhem for you?” Before I could answer she had me fix our lunch, and then as soon as I’d washed up she sent me next door to spend the entire afternoon with Mrs. Norman. Mrs. Norman is an older woman, not as old as Baba but lots older than Mommy. She needed help making a scrapbook. She has bad arthritis in her hands and can’t glue or cut anything. Her dining room table was covered in newspapers — articles about the war and about certain regiments and certain battles. She told me that she wanted everything sorted into three piles. There was to be a pile for each son. And then she said to me, “Of course, two of them are dead. One at sea, one in the Battle of Britain. The third is in Japan with the Winnipeg Grenadiers and we don’t know what has happened to him.”

  I told her that my brother Morris is also there and that we had had news that he was alive. So had she, about her son Matthew, but she said she had no faith that the Japanese would keep him alive to the end of the war.

  I felt so sorry for her. Two sons dead, and a third, who knows? And then she told me that her husband, who had been in poor health, died of a heart attack after finding out about his second son.

  I can’t even understand how Mrs. Norman is still alive. I think I would have died of grief like her husband. She must have seen that in my face because she said, “The boys are alive in here” — at that she put her hand over her heart — “and so is my dear Paul. If I die then they really will be dead, with no one to keep their memory alive. That’s why I’m trying to make these scrapbooks, but my hands won’t co-operate.”

  So I told her that I’d be happy to help and immediately got down to work, partly because I didn’t know how or what to say to her. Most of the articles were marked with a pen, although they still needed to be clipped, and then put in order by dates and times. She had lots of family pictures as well and wanted them interspersed with the stories from the Free Press and sometimes The Globe and Mail and even some papers from London, England, that she had managed to get.

  As I sorted and picked out an article she would talk about the attack or the operation and what she had heard about it from her sons, as opposed to what the papers had said. Of course, her sons couldn’t write too much because of the censors, but when they came home on leave she heard quite a few stories. I suggested that we should write those down and put them in the scrapbook too. So she told me the story and I printed it out on a piece of foolscap and then we pasted that in as well. It was dinnertime before I knew it and we had only gotten a quarter way through the first scrapbook.

  I said goodbye and hurried back to Baba’s to make her dinner. She asked me how the afternoon was. I told her how sorry I felt for Mrs. Norman. She just nodded and didn’t say anything and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

  Thursday, December 23, 1943

  I spent the morning cleaning Baba’s house and then writing more letters for her. They are odd letters and I don’t understand most of them, and when I ask Baba she just tells me to write what she dictates. It’s almost like she is writing in code. I know this sounds crazy, but I’ve started to wonder if Baba is a spy. She keeps writing letters about buying hammers and nuts and bolts and where they should be delivered and how. What does Baba have to do with nuts and bolts and hammers? She has told me that we must work to make Palestine a homeland for any Jews who manage to survive, but she says that won’t happen without a fight. All right, Diary, here’s what I’m thinking. Could hammers be code for GUNS? Now I’m really scared of Baba!!!

  I spent this afternoon with Mrs. Norman again. We managed to get one complete scrapbook done. Baba had told me to invite her for dinner and so we both went over to Baba’s and showed her the scrapbook. For a moment Baba looked like she might almost smile. I mean, I think I saw the corner of her mouth turn up just a little.

  I made noodles and cut some onions up and fried them and mixed them into the noodles with a little cheese and Mrs. Norman said it was very good. Baba just grunted.

  Friday, December 24, 1943

  When I woke up this morning Baba said that if I wanted I could go back to the South End and do my carolling with my friends tonight. Daddy says he misses me and he’ll come pick me up around 3. I jumped up and down and screamed, I was so happy. And then when I’d gone quiet, she said, “Of course you’ll have to disappoint Mrs. Norman, who still needs help with her project.” And then she stared at me and didn’t say anything more.

  Well, I wasn’t going to let her ruin my fun by some stupid stares. I hadn’t seen my friends in days and I’d been working hard and I deserved to go!

  I cooked Baba lunch and then I wrote more letters for her and waited impatiently for Daddy to arrive. I was so happy to see him.

  “Christmas Eve!” he said “And it looks like it’ll be a beautiful night. Mild weather and a light snow — perfect for carolling.” He turned to Baba. “You must have been happy to have Devorah here,” he said to her.

  She looked straight at me and said, “Happiness can mean very different things to different people. And it can come in many different forms.”

  Daddy laughed. He never takes Baba very seriously. “Oh, Mama,” he said, “everything doesn’t need to be a lesson.”

  She raised her eyebrows as if she didn’t agree with that.

  I put on my coat and we went out to the car. As Daddy started driving, I asked him what Baba had meant. He thou
ght for a moment and then said, “I suppose she means that happiness and fun can be two different things. You want to have fun tonight. She doesn’t put much store in fun. But I think you should have fun.”

  “She won’t even let me read my murder mysteries,” I told him. “She’s against fun altogether!”

  And yet, something was nagging at me.

  I kept thinking about Mrs. Norman, all alone in her house on Christmas Eve, with no husband, two sons dead and one missing, and then I’d get mad and try to stop thinking about her, and finally Daddy said, “You’re muttering and shaking your head.” And that’s when I sighed and asked him to take me back to Baba’s house. He laughed, thinking I was joking, but I wasn’t. So he turned the car around and as we drove back there I told him about Mrs. Norman and the scrapbooks. When we got there he gave me a big hug and I could see he had tears in his eyes! I asked him what was wrong and he said “Nothing,” but before I got out of the car he told me he thought I was growing up very fast.

  When I entered Baba’s house she was trying to put some water on the stove to boil, but she couldn’t manage, so I helped her and she told me that we should ask Mrs. Norman over again. She didn’t seem at all happy to see me, but that’s no surprise. When I went to Mrs. Norman’s to invite her over she was so happy she hugged me! We worked on the scrapbooks until suppertime and then we went over to Baba’s and she had already put a brisket in the oven so I made potatoes and she made some turnips to mix in with them and we had quite a delicious dinner. AND we had wine. Mine was mixed with water — but still! In fact I’m feeling a little tipsy as I write this.

  Monday, December 27, 1943

  Well, this will go down as the strangest holiday ever, that’s for sure. I spent all of Christmas Day with Mrs. Norman, plus the last two afternoons, and we finished the scrapbooks! She was so happy!

  And when I went to Baba’s to make dinner she told me I could have my Agatha Christie book back. I asked why. She said because I enjoyed them and that was all right, but that I should try to remember that there were real people being murdered every day by the Nazis, especially Jews, and that we should pay attention to the real world. And then she said, “Those boys next door were murdered. In war, true, but by Nazi thugs, or by people obeying the orders of Nazi thugs.”