My Family for the War

by Anne C. Voorhoeve

  “I hope your other grandparents are nicer,” I muttered.

  “The O’Learys?” He gave me a sad sideways glance. “I don’t even know them. They don’t want to have anything to do with us.”

  There was no way around it. I thought about what he had just said, turned the sentences this way and that, but there was nothing good to be found. This time, I knew I had understood correctly.

  “There’s something about my mum that you should know,” Gary said.

  When he was little, his mother sat down with him and together they wrote two letters. One of them, to the O’Learys in Dublin, came back unopened. The other one resulted in a visit from his Shepard grandparents, who reluctantly decided to get acquainted with their only grandchild. At that point, Gary didn’t yet know that in their eyes, he had no right to be alive.

  The annual visit was established. Gary and his parents were never invited to Sussex, to the big house on the ocean his father told him about. But still, he felt that he must mean something to them, and that they wanted to love him, but didn’t know how.

  “At least they keep coming, even though it’s hard for them,” he said bitterly. “The others don’t even give us a chance.”

  The O’Learys had thoroughly planned their oldest daughter’s life. Amanda was allowed to attend school until she was sixteen, then go to London for a year to serve the war effort as a telecommunications assistant, and when she got back she would be introduced to suitable young men. The O’Learys didn’t have anything against Jews. They had never thought about Jews; after all, they didn’t know any. But when Amanda returned from London and introduced Matthew Shepard to them, they must have instinctively sensed that something was terribly wrong. After a single evening, which had been very pleasant and friendly, they made it clear to their daughter that she would under no circumstances be allowed to see this young man again.

  And even when they noticed they were being disobeyed, they hadn’t immediately lost their cool. They trusted that their daughter would come to her senses on her own and choose someone from her own cultural background. A Protestant would have been a big enough catastrophe, but a Jew! Insecure, the O’Learys turned to their priest, who recommended more drastic measures. Amanda was shut up in her room.

  “Mum jumped from the second-story bathroom window,” Gary explained. “She didn’t notice until the next day that she had broken her foot, but by then she was already in London. Dad had arranged for her to stay with friends, because his rabbi didn’t want to help them.”

  “Are you meshugeh?” the rabbi had ranted. “I should hide a goy?” a derogatory word for non-Jews that I had never heard before.

  “She will convert to Judaism,” came the answer.

  “But not under my roof! A Catholic cannot become Jewish. Never. She will never be anything but a converted goy…”

  They found another rabbi who taught Amanda, and a year and a half after she had fled from her home, she formally converted to Judaism. Then they had a wedding according to the Jewish rituals, under a chuppah, including stomping on a glass, dancing and singing, but without even a single relative. The newlyweds moved to Camden, into a large apartment, because they wanted to have lots of children, and lived strictly according to the kashrut, Jewish dietary laws, and the halakhah, the entire body of rituals.

  It took two years until a doctor suspected that the halakhah itself might be the reason why the children the Shepards so longed for weren’t forthcoming. “As long as a woman bleeds plus seven days,” Gary explained awkwardly, “a man can’t touch his wife. That’s usually two weeks, but sometimes longer, and then the fertile days can already be over.”

  I leafed furiously through my dictionary. Gary turned red. “I’ll just say that my parents broke a law in order to have me. They were almost banished from the congregation. Today only a few people know about it, but still, I always have the feeling that they’re looking at me strangely because I should never have been born. And in their opinion, I’m not even Jewish, because for them, only people whose mothers are Jewish are true Jews.”

  “I didn’t know you could convert to Judaism,” I said, amazed. “Before I came here I didn’t even know there were people who are happy to be Jewish!”

  “What do you think?” he replied. “Is my mother Jewish? Am I?”

  He looked at me with a smile and I could tell how anxiously he awaited my answer.

  “I think so,” I said thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ve only wanted to be Jewish since I met you. You’re contagious, you and your mother, and no one can pass something on to others that they don’t have themselves. Of course you’re Jewish,” I said triumphantly. “I’m the proof!”

  I surprised myself as I heard what I said, and even before I had finished I knew that for once I had said exactly the right thing. So I wasn’t entirely unprepared when Gary leaned forward and gave me a kiss, my first real kiss; just on the cheek, but still, my first sweet, respectful kiss from a young man! It felt like I must be fourteen, at least.

  I went to bed sure that I was in love with Gary, and certain that I had all the answers. And confused that there were people who gave up everything and broke off contact with their families, taking on hate and scorn, only to become what I had never wanted to be.

  While the Seder meal consisted of very simple foods, the actual day of Pesach was celebrated with a feast. I had never eaten anything more delicious than Mrs. Shepard’s roast, but of course her parents-in-law didn’t say a single word about it. I sank my eyes, ashamed. In my excitement following the conversation with Gary, I had completely forgotten that I let her be made invisible, and avoided her for the entire evening. Me, who knew all too well how painful that was!

  I thought about the time at school when the other children started to treat us differently. There were some who stood apart when Ruben, Bekka, or I were abused, who didn’t attack, but whose faces clearly showed that they didn’t approve. Had they been on our side? They hadn’t had the courage to help us, and it didn’t take long before they just kept their distance so they didn’t have to see what was happening in the first place.

  I had despised those children. And last night I had done exactly the same thing. I had looked away. With burning eyes I looked up at Mrs. Shepard, so long that she got nervous and it was hard for her to pretend that she didn’t notice me looking at her.

  I’ll make it up to you!

  No one said anything during the meal. How could I come to her aid if nothing happened? As the main course was coming to an end, it became clear that there wouldn’t be any further harsh words, only an icy, silent meal, then the grandparents would drive away. I could have helped the night before, with a glance or a smile. I wouldn’t get a second chance.

  It was my darkest hour in that house. With every bite from my plate, I thought of more good things I had experienced with Mrs. Shepard, and how I had betrayed her with my cowardice. By the time dessert was brought in, I was so desperate that I wanted to smash my little glass bowl against the wall. Dr. Shepard lifted the bowl with the dessert and said the blessing. Dear God, forget the stupid dessert and help me instead! I pleaded quietly.

  And then it came to me!

  “Excuse me,” I murmured. My knees felt like jelly when I stood up. I dashed to the foyer, to the wardrobe mirror. My fingers trembled. I could have done it at the table, but I wanted to see it, I wanted to see myself, before and after. I must have looked at myself in the mirror for a full minute before I returned to the dining room.

  Julia Shepard uttered a little gasp of dismay even before I sat down across from her. By the time the others looked up from their food, she had already grasped everything. There it was again, that look, with all that belonged to it, that I had hated and feared for years.

  And I felt—nothing. No rage, no fear, I just stared back at her and noticed that the look couldn’t affect me anymore. Because that was ME.

  “What is that?” Julia Shepard asked hoarsely.

  “That is a cross, Mother,” Dr.
Shepard answered quietly. “The Nazis persecute assimilated Jews too, didn’t you know?”

  “You took in a Christian?” she hissed. “From all the thousands of Jewish refugee children that are coming into our country, you chose a Christian?” She turned to face her daughter-in-law in rage. “Surely we have you to thank for this!”

  “Mum wasn’t even with us,” Gary protested.

  Mrs. Shepard sat up straight to utter her first words in this round and declared firmly, “If I had been there, I would have chosen her.” And even though I remembered perfectly well that it had been very different between us at the beginning, I knew she wasn’t lying, but confirming something I had long since known: Now that we had gotten to know each other, she would borrow me again anytime.

  Gary’s grandparents looked at each other silently.

  “Marcus,” his grandmother said, putting down her napkin, “I believe we’re leaving.”

  The two elderly people stood up. I could see how Julia Shepard was trembling, and at that moment I almost felt sorry for her. Dr. Shepard and Gary accompanied them to the door.

  “Don’t feel too sorry for her,” Mrs. Shepard said to me. “A little setback won’t hurt them. They’ve made our lives very difficult.”

  “I saw that,” I answered sheepishly. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  “It’s all right. I should have told you the truth right from the start. Are you very lonely with us?”

  “Oh, not anymore. I was just a little…”

  “Confused?” She laughed quietly, bent over the table, and I thought she wanted to take my hand, but instead she only ran her finger very lightly over it. “Believe me, it was just the same for me at the beginning. But you learned so fast, much faster than me!”

  Dr. Shepard and Gary came back and sat down. Several seconds passed. Then Gary gave me a satisfied little kick under the table and Dr. Shepard raised his glass. “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and brought us to this moment…”

  It was the Shehecheyanu, the blessing for everything new that he had prayed on the day of my arrival. Back then it had been nothing more than a gesture, but now I really felt it.

  I had arrived. I was no longer Ziska. From now on I was Frances, and would never want to be anyone else again.

  Book Two

  Blackout

  1939–1940

  Chapter 10

  News

  When I lay on my back next to the lilac bush and gazed up through the twigs and blossoms at the blue-gray spring sky, I didn’t have the energy to get up again. I thought I might just close my eyes and let my fingers grow ever so slowly into the earth. The ground under the bush was still hard from the winter cold, and I’d have to scratch and dig a little, but not too fast! Plants wilted if they weren’t given enough time to take root, Amanda said; she kept a sort of logbook for her garden, so she must know what she was talking about. She carefully recorded which plants would grow together, where in the garden they did best, and how much space and time they needed to get strong enough to flower.

  She made sure I understood that the winter rest was vitally important. By now I was convinced that my exhaustion was because I’d had no time to rest this year. My departure from Germany, Satterthwaite Hall, moving in with the Shepards, my new school, the new language, Café Vienna, my secret door-to-door solicitations, not to mention the Jewish questions, had all been crammed into just three months. And as the pages of Amanda’s logbook would testify, roots that shoot out in every direction at once don’t hold.

  Fortunately, all was not lost. There are also late bloomers, plants that take their time in spring. I was quite confident that I would get back to normal if I didn’t do anything for a while. Nothing tiring, at least: no secrets, no door-to-door visits, nothing that had the slightest connection to Germany. I would start again soon, I would help my parents any way I could—but at the moment I just wasn’t able to stay away from home any longer than absolutely necessary for school and my twice-weekly Hebrew lessons.

  After school I pedaled home as fast as I could, and even before I turned the corner into Harrington Grove I felt joy—a joy that grew and filled me with warmth as I neared our little house. I’d throw my schoolbag next to the stairs and find Amanda and Millie in the kitchen, preparing afternoon tea or supper (depending on what time I arrived) ready with a welcome kiss and the inevitable question, “How was school?”

  We took tea right in the kitchen, with plenty of sugar in mine, and Amanda’s shoulder so close that I could lean on it and moan that I had had a difficult day. I still needed this excuse—I wasn’t used to spontaneous displays of affection. Apart from the miserable weeks at Aunt Ruth’s, Mamu and I had never cuddled, and I was quite certain that we wouldn’t suddenly start when we were together again.

  I really couldn’t say why it was different with Amanda. Maybe it was because she had wanted many children, but had only been able to have one, and all that unused love stirred a need I never knew I had. That the affection was mutual was even more confusing. The way things looked, she was going to have to take the place of not only Mamu, but also Bekka until further notice. She was able to occupy several empty spaces in my life at the same time: mother, aunt, sister, friend.

  The week before we had had an extensive talk about Walter. I told Amanda that Walter meant a lot to me, but of course I was in love with Gary. Suddenly, to my horror, I remembered that I was talking to Gary’s mother. But she simply replied that she considered herself lucky never to have had feelings for two men at the same time, but she could imagine what a great dilemma that must be for me.

  In my entire life, I had never felt like I had been taken so seriously.

  It was also Amanda’s wonderful idea to invite “Wolter” to a specific occasion, namely Gary’s birthday in June. And I could hardly believe it when his answer came in the mail: He would be happy to come.

  “Frances, come take a look at what I’ve bought!” Amanda’s voice tore me out of my daydream.

  She was taking off her hat as I slipped through the garden door and into the kitchen. Her own hair peeked out from under the hat; she had been letting it grow since Pesach. Apparently Matthew had always been opposed to the idea of a wig! After that revelation, she wore a hat or a fairly unusual knitted cap. At home, she didn’t cover her head at all.

  Along with several bags and smaller boxes, the taxi driver had deposited a large package in the hall, which she and I brought into the kitchen. We removed the paper and admired the finely made gray suitcase.

  “It will be so odd, Gary being at Oxford,” Amanda murmured as she ran her hand over the soft leather. “At least he’ll come home during the holidays. “

  Uh-oh, I thought. He still hasn’t told them!

  “But that’s exactly what we want from our children.” Amanda sighed. “We raise them to be adults, to go off into the world and break our hearts.”

  She glanced at me and startled. At first I was afraid that Gary’s secret was somehow written across my forehead, but luckily she had only misread my unhappy expression.

  “Goodness, I’m so sorry! How could I say such a stupid thing? It’s of course completely different with your parents!”

  “It’s okay,” I said, embarrassed.

  “Have you written them, by the way?” inquired Amanda. “Frances, they’re waiting to hear from you!”

  “I don’t think so. They have other things to worry about. Mamu’s letters always sound like she hasn’t even read mine.”

  “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard!” Amanda replied angrily. “You can rest assured, your mother is constantly thinking about how and what you’re doing. And that’s why you’ll go straight to your room now and write home.”

  That was the other side of my foster mother: She could become very strict all of a sudden, and then it was pointless to argue. Not that I intended to; I hoped she was right. My spirits renewed, I sat down at my desk, gazed into the fresh gr
een of the tree before the window, and started writing.

  It was about time for one of us to start telling the truth!

  London, 29 May 1939

  Dearest Mamu, dearest Papa,

  I’ve been in England for four months now, it’s almost summer, and I still don’t have any good news for you. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to make door-to-door visits for the last six weeks, but I’ll be starting again soon. There are still lots of streets in Finchley!

  I want to tell you honestly how I’m really doing.

  Papa, I don’t like it that you never write to me. You always just sign Mamu’s letters. Are you not able to write for some reason? Are you really doing that poorly?

  If that’s the case, then I want you to tell me. But I hope you are well, Papa, and that there’s some other reason for your silence.

  Mamu, I would like to know what you think about what I write. I know it’s nothing special, but when you don’t respond to what I say, I don’t know what to write anymore. I also want to let you know that Bekka and I are not speaking. Maybe you should ask her what she said to me and why we don’t write each other. Then you’ll certainly find her less exceptional.

  I only hugged Frau Liebich because Bekka and I had such a terrible row.

  I miss you. Come soon!

  A thousand kisses,

  Your daughter Ziska (Frances)

  It would be a small birthday party—Gary, his parents and me, and Walter—and on top of that, it would take place several days late. But the magnificent weather that arrived on the third Sunday in June gave my foster parents the idea to pack a picnic basket and head to Regent’s Park.

  Walter was waiting for us at the “theater,” as he called the old gymnasium. He had dressed up quite a bit, wearing a slightly too-big suit and a plaid shirt, and he turned beet red as he shook hands with each of the Shepards. Then he climbed in the back with Gary and me, and I sat blissfully between my two beaus.