The Takeaway Men

by Meryl Ain

  “Really, Mama?” They both looked at her with wide-eyed amazement.

  “Really,” she said. “Santa Claus is make-believe.”

  “Who leaves all the presents under the Christmas tree?” Johanna asked.

  “The parents wait until the children are sleeping, and then they put the presents under the tree to surprise them when they wake up in the morning.”

  “So Santa Claus is not real?” said Bronka. “And it’s a lie that he puts the presents under the tree?”

  “Well, not exactly a lie,” Judy said. “Maybe just a nice story that makes everyone happy.”

  “It would make me happy to have a tree with presents under it,” said Johanna.

  “But we have eight nights of Hanukkah, and you get one present for every night. The first night of Hanukkah is tomorrow, and we will light the first candle on the menorah. And you’ll get your first present tomorrow night.

  “Okay, now sing me the other song,” Judy said.

  Judy was even more shocked when the girls started to sing, “Oh Come All Ye Faithful.”

  They are going to public school, she thought. I thought there was no official religion here. Should I tell Aron? No, I better not. He’d just get cranky and brood about it and take it out on me and the girls. Should I discuss it with Faye? No, she was likely to march into the school and tell them off. We don’t want or need that kind of attention. Well, I guess this is what they do in America. At least, they’re not persecuting Jews, like in Poland.

  Bronka picked up on her mother’s troubled expression, and said, “Shira Yudenfreund told me that her mother went to school and complained to the principal about the song.” Shira was the daughter of the part-time cantor at their synagogue.

  “And what happened after Mrs. Yudenfreund complained?” Judy asked. “Did the teacher say the Jewish children don’t have to sing the song at the concert? Or did the teacher choose another song?”

  “No, we still have to sing it at the concert,” Bronka said. “But Mrs. Betts said that if any of the Jewish children don’t want to sing the ‘Christ the Lord’ part, they don’t have to.”

  “Oh, really?” asked Judy.

  “Yes,” said JoJo. “Mrs. Allen said that if there are any Jewish children who don’t want to sing ‘Christ the Lord,’ they can sing some other words instead.”

  “And what are the other words?” Judy asked.

  “Dominum,” both girls answered in unison.

  “Christina Rosen said her mother told her that ‘Dominum’ means ‘Christ the Lord’ in Latin,” Bronka added.

  “Hmm, I see,” Judy said. “Maybe it would be a good idea not to sing these two songs in this house. I think there are other songs that Papa and Faye and Izzy would like better.”

  The next night, as they lit the first Hanukkah candle, Judy made a mental note. She had to admit that even though Jesus and Christmas were part of her hidden past, Hanukkah paled next to it. Hanukkah could never compete with Christmas. Christmas was compelling, all consuming. It had always been a magical, special day, even in Poland, when she was a child. Hanukkah was even frail as far as Jewish holidays were concerned, she reasoned. For example, Passover was far more powerful. But still Judy thought she could see the value of Hanukkah, even though it was a weak counterbalance to the lights and the Christmas trees and Santa Claus and the colorfully wrapped presents. Jewish kids needed their own winter holiday.

  Faye had knitted the girls pink angora hats with white trim. Aron gave them each a quarter for Hanukkah gelt. He had planned to give them a coin on the first and last night of the holiday. Tomorrow night, Faye had told Judy she would give them socks she had knitted. As she thought of the interaction from last night, she decided to discuss with Faye the possibility of going shopping and picking out a more exciting present for the eighth night. It was easier to be a Jew in America than in Poland, but it still wasn’t easy. Whatever anyone says, this is still a Christian country, she thought. And when you’re a Jewish immigrant in Bellerose, you don’t quite fit in, no matter how many Christmas carols you know.

  JUNE, 1953

  BELLEROSE, NEW YORK

  IT HAD BEEN A BEAUTIFUL sunny afternoon as the girls played in the backyard of the Rosen home. The temperature had hit eighty, signaling that summer was just about here. There was only a week left of school, and then they could spend the rest of the summer having fun, engaging full time in their creative play. The enticing smell of Mrs. Mariani’s meatballs wafted up from her basement kitchen.

  The three Rosen girls were showing Johanna and Bronka their new Debbie Reynolds paper doll book. There was a cardboard cutout figure of the actress and then a host of beautiful outfits, including a bathing suit and a ball gown, which they could attach to the Debbie figure with paper tabs.

  Tori, who was eight years old, was clearly in charge. She didn’t always play with her younger siblings and their friends, but today she was there, her “big sister” presence clearly apparent. For starters, she told the younger girls that the movie star’s real name was actually Mary Frances and Debbie was just her stage name.

  Bronka thought that it would be great to have a stage name. She hated her own name, particularly because no one else shared it with her. She wished her name was Susan or Linda or Carol or Barbara—a name other girls had. Even her sister had a better name. Johanna easily morphed into JoJo, a cute and perky pet name. But as hard as she tried, Bronka just couldn’t think of a suitable nickname that she could use with her friends. She would certainly not be “BonBon” to anyone but her twin.

  “I’m going to be JoJo Luby,” announced her sister, who always seemed to be more comfortable in her own skin.

  “That’s cute,” said Tori approvingly. “I could be Victoria Rose or Tori Rose or Vicki Rose.

  “My dad just took us to see Debbie’s latest movie, Singin’ in the Rain, with Gene Kelly,” she added. “Have you seen it?”

  “No,” said JoJo. “I want to go. We’ve seen Debbie on TV. I love to hear her sing.”

  “You know,” Tori said. “My dad met Debbie Reynolds. He said she’s even more beautiful in person. He took pictures of her. They’re hanging in the basement.”

  “Can we see?”

  “Sure, let’s go.”

  Tori led the girls down six concrete steps and opened the outside door that led to the finished basement. They entered the bright green kitchen, which had more counter space and a bigger refrigerator than the kitchen upstairs. The room smelled of tomato sauce. Mrs. Mariani, her curly pepper-and-salt hair covered by a hair net, was stirring a huge pot on the stove. She was plump in a soft and cuddly sort of way and wore a checkered apron over her black dress.

  “We’re going to see Daddy’s photos of Debbie Reynolds,” Tori announced.

  “Do you girls want to taste the meatballs first?” She spoke with a musical Italian accent.

  “Si, Grazie, Nona,” the Rosen girls answered together.

  She began to put the meatballs in a bowl and started distributing them.

  “Here Victoria, Christina, Antonia. And do your friends want to taste a meatball?”

  “Yes,” said JoJo.

  “No thanks,” said Bronka.

  Bronka looked in amazement as her twin sister devoured the meatball. Faye had said Mrs. Mariani made her meatballs with pork. Didn’t JoJo remember that she wasn’t supposed to eat pork? But Bronka didn’t say a word.

  Perhaps Bronka would ask JoJo about the meatballs when they were alone, but for now she was glad the other girls had finished eating, and they could finally see the Debbie Reynolds pictures. Tori led them beyond the kitchen to a finished basement room with knotty pine walls, covered with black-and-white photographs. There was a light green kitchen table and chairs, a dark green couch, and a cabinet with a phonograph player and records. In the far corner was a tiny room, and next to it, a desk with more black-and-white pictures on it. Behind the desk hung a large bulletin board with so many magazine clippings that some overlapped.

 
; “That’s Daddy’s darkroom,” Tori said, pointing to the small room. “We’re not allowed in there. That’s where he develops and prints his pictures. Look at the wall. Here are some of his pictures. See if you recognize any of the famous people.”

  Not only were there pictures of Debbie Reynolds, Marilyn Monroe, Lucille Ball, Joe DiMaggio, and Frank Sinatra, but of presidents Truman and Eisenhower too. JoJo was in awe to think that her friends’ father had come so close to all of these famous people. Maybe someday, Irv Rosen would take her picture for a magazine.

  Tori led them to her father’s desk. “Look at the bulletin board. If you look at the bottom of the photos, you’ll see Daddy’s name. In small letters, it says, ‘photo by Irv Rosen.’ That means he took the picture.”

  “Who are these boys?” Bronka asked as she pointed to a picture on the bulletin board. The photo was of two young boys who were standing with an older woman. The boys were both wearing baseball caps and white shirts and ties under their coats.

  “Oh, those are the Rosenberg brothers—Michael and Robby,” Tori said. “Their parents, Julius and Ethel, are gonna be executed today.”

  “What does executed mean?” Bronka asked.

  “Killed.”

  “For what?”

  “For being spies.”

  “What’s a spy?”

  “Someone who steals secrets. They say they gave the secret of the atomic bomb to the Russians.”

  Oh, yes, the Russians, Bronka remembered. When they started kindergarten, Tori had told them about how bad the Russians were. That’s why we have to crouch under our desks, because the Russians are going to drop an atomic bomb on us.

  “Their parents gave the Russians the secret of the bomb?” asked Bronka.

  “That’s what they say,” said Tori.

  “What are the boys doing in the picture?”

  “They’re with their grandmother, Sophie Rosenberg. They were outside the White House, where President Eisenhower lives. Daddy was there to take pictures. He said it was a protest. People held signs that said, ‘Save the Rosenbergs’ because they wanted the president to stop them from being killed. Many people stood outside the White House with Michael and Robby and their grandmother.”

  “Which one is Robby and which one is Michael?” asked Bronka.

  “Robby is the younger one with the dark hair. Michael is the older one with the light hair.”

  Then Tori pointed to her father’s desk.

  “Oh and here’s a new picture of the boys Daddy just developed.” They were dressed in T-shirts and held a newspaper that read, “Spies to Die This Week.”

  Bronka was immediately filled with sadness for the boys. Robby was six years old—the same age she would be in a couple of weeks. Like her, he must be in his last week of kindergarten. His dark eyes were filled with sorrow. Michael was ten, and he looked gloomy too. But Bronka imagined that he was trying to be strong for his younger brother.

  What will happen to the boys if their parents are killed? Bronka wondered. Who will take care of them? Why are they killing them if people are marching to save them? Don’t they want to know the truth before they kill them?

  She wished the picture would come to life so she could give both boys a big hug and then tell them they could come home with her if anything happened to their parents.

  “You didn’t tell them how they are going to die,” Tina reminded her sister.

  “Do you want to know?” Tori said.

  “Sure,” the twins answered.

  “They strap them to an electric chair and then send electric shocks through their bodies, and that kills them on the spot.”

  Bronka was speechless—and terrified. She had never heard anything so terrible, except perhaps the thought of the bomb raining down on her kindergarten desk and annihilating her and JoJo.

  “How can they do that to someone’s mother?” JoJo asked. “That’s so mean.”

  “I don’t know,” said Tori. “I heard Daddy telling Mommy that he doesn’t even think it’s true that she’s guilty. He thinks they just wanted to get Ethel to speak out against her husband. But she wouldn’t.”

  “And now they are both going to hell,” said Tina.

  “What? What do you mean?” asked JoJo.

  “If you’re bad or if you’re not Catholic, you go to hell after you die,” Tina explained.

  “Everyone who’s not Catholic?” asked JoJo.

  “Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “The Rosenbergs are Jewish so they’re gonna go to hell.”

  “What’s hell?” asked Bronka.

  “It’s the worst place to go after you die. There’s fire there all the time, and it burns you and never stops,” explained Tina.

  “There are worms there too, and the worms torture you,” added Tori. “But if you’re Catholic and you believe in Jesus, you don’t go.”

  “Can anyone who’s not Catholic get out of going to hell?” JoJo asked.

  “I don’t think so,” said Tori, “unless you become Catholic. My father used to be Jewish, but now he’s Catholic. So he’ll go to heaven, not to hell. The Rosenbergs are going to hell because they’re not Catholic.”

  “But we’re Jewish,” said Bronka.

  “Are we going to hell?” said JoJo.

  “I guess so, if you’re not Catholic,” said Tina matter-of-factly.

  This is very unfair, thought Bronka. In fact, everything seemed unfair—the Rosenbergs, Robby and Michael, the electric chair, hell. Would JoJo get out of going to hell because she had eaten the meatball made with pork? It didn’t sound like she would. She was still Jewish.

  Just then, Connie Rosen called downstairs for Bronka and JoJo. As they headed for the stairs, the Rosen girls followed them.

  “Be sure to call for us again tomorrow,” Tina said.

  “Okay,” they answered.

  When they walked into their house, the Sabbath table was set, and they could smell Faye’s chicken roasting in the oven. Papa and Izzy would soon be home.

  “Let’s take a quick bath before dinner, girls,” said Judy, “and you can put on nice dresses for Shabbos. How about the pink ones that Faye just made you?”

  They sat in the bathtub together in the tiny bathroom as Judy washed their hair, first one, then the other.

  “Mama, are we going to hell?” Bronka asked. The soap was finally out of her hair and she figured her mother would be able to concentrate. “Tina and Tori say we’re going to hell because we’re not Catholic.”

  Judy had once believed in hell. It was a scary concept—especially for little children. But the truth was, she knew that the real hell could be on earth. She had seen enough in Poland during the war to know that it was man’s inhumanity to man that led to more terrible things than the Rosen girls and all of the people on 253rd Street could ever imagine.

  “No, we’re not going to hell,” she said confidently.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re Jewish. Hell is for Catholics.”

  The girls looked relieved. They relied on their mother’s word, and they trusted her. She knew more than all of their friends put together.

  With worries of hell behind them, they were tucked into their beds after dinner.

  “Do you really think they are going to kill Robby and Michael’s parents in the electric chair?” asked Bronka.

  “I don’t know,” said JoJo.

  “I think we should ask Mama if we can adopt them if that happens,” said Bronka. “Then it will be like Robby is our triplet and we will have Michael for an older brother.”

  “Where would they sleep? I don’t think Izzy and Faye have enough room for them here.”

  “I don’t know,” said Bronka. “But I’m really worried about them. They look so sad. I wish I could make them happy.”

  “But you don’t even know them,” said JoJo.

  “I feel like I do. They have sad eyes, like Papa.”

  “Let’s not go to sleep feeling so sad,” said JoJo. “Maybe Mama or Izzy or Faye
will take us to the Hobby Shop and buy us a Debbie Reynold’s paper doll set.”

  “Okay,” said Bronka. “Good night, JoJo, I love you.”

  “Good night, BonBon, I love you too.”

  Before he went to synagogue the following morning, Aron saw a picture of the Rosenbergs in the morning paper Izzy was reading.

  “What happened to them?” Aron asked.

  “They were executed last night. The article says that while the execution had been originally scheduled for eleven at night, their lawyers had argued against it taking place on the Sabbath. So it was moved up three hours.”

  Dirty trick, Aron thought. The attorneys’ attempt to stall the execution backfired. And officials could still pretend that they were respecting the Jewish religion because they had moved the time up. Disgusting. I thought America was better than this.

  Izzy went on to tell Aron that he’d also learned from the article that Julius went first and died with the initial electric shock. But Ethel, who followed him to the electric chair, did not die instantly. She still was breathing after the standard three jolts. So the executioner had to give her two more to kill her. It took four and a half minutes for Ethel to die.

  Aron could not get out of his head that they were Jewish, especially when Izzy told him that the Rosenbergs were the only two American civilians ever executed for Cold War espionage. Their sons were now orphans.

  When the girls awoke the next morning, the haunted faraway look was back in their papa’s eyes. He could barely say, “Gut Shabbos.” When they went to call for the Rosen girls later that afternoon, they were greeted by the news of the day.

  “The Rosenbergs are dead,” said Tina.

  Bronka bit back her tears. She knew her parents wouldn’t adopt the Rosenberg brothers. Maybe someday when she was older, she could really help people. But what could an almost-six-year-old do?

  She could pray for them, as she did for Papa every night. Please, God, make them smile again.

  1956

  BELLEROSE, NEW YORK

  JOJO WAS ESPECIALLY EMBARRASSED WHEN her father opened his mouth in public. He had a thick Polish/Yiddish accent and when he said words like bird, he would pronounce the “ir” sound as “oi” so bird sounded like “boid.” His w’s sounded like v’s and his r’s had a guttural roll to them. Judy still had an accent too, but she didn’t find her mother’s speech as offensive. She worked so hard to speak English well, taking night classes. She also spoke in soft tones.