The Takeaway Men

by Meryl Ain

  Perhaps that was why his comfort level was so great within the walls of the synagogue. If he closed his eyes, he was suspended in a timeless cocoon that could be anywhere. He could be in Queens, or he could be in Kielce. It barely made any difference to Aron that services were being held for the first time in a newly renovated sanctuary that accommodated three hundred worshippers. Wooden pews with cushioned seats had been permanently installed to replace the folding chairs. Sunlight crept through stained glass windows, each one depicting a scene from the Ten Commandments. The permanent ark, which contained the Torahs, was covered in a brand-new embroidered curtain of white and gold. The red eternal light hung over the ark, impossible to miss. Other congregants applauded the renovations, but what touched Aron’s heart was the liturgy. And the gold words, carved in Hebrew letters above the ark, which translated into English, read: Know Before Whom You Stand.

  He was deeply stirred by the identical prayers and the familiar melodies. As he and his fellow congregants recited the group confessional aloud, he beat his chest as his father and grandfather had done. But it was only during the Yizkor service that he broke down, sobbing. He wept for all his family and friends who had been slaughtered by the Nazis.

  While High Holy Day services were open only to dues-paying members of the congregation, the synagogue welcomed the entire community for the Yizkor service. To accommodate the influx, congregants who did not have family members to memorialize, left the sanctuary. Most of them gathered on the sidewalk outside the building. Children were also asked to leave and to attend junior congregation.

  At junior congregation in the basement, Bronka and JoJo found seats with Mindy Mandelstern, who was reserving half a row. Soon Esther Zilberman and Shira Yudenfreund joined them.

  “Oh, I love your shoes, Mindy,” said JoJo. “I wish I had a pair of flats like that. They match your dress perfectly.”

  Indeed, Mindy’s red patent leather ballet flats complemented her red-and-white polka dot dress and red belt.

  “And look, I got my ears pierced,” Mindy said, as she showed JoJo her newest acquisition—small gold hoop earrings.

  “Are those real gold?” JoJo asked.

  “Yes, my mother said she would only let me wear real gold in my ears.”

  Sharona Herbert, the rabbi’s eldest daughter, was distributing the prayer books and asking everyone to settle down. She said that Moreh Steinberg, one of the Hebrew School teachers, was about to start the service.

  While the other girls continued whispering, Bronka started thumbing through the prayer book.

  “She thinks she’s hot stuff,” Randy Lesser, the feared bully, said in a stage whisper, “just because she’s the rabbi’s daughter. She’s just a creepy girl. My father could buy and sell her father and still have a bundle of cash left over.”

  He was seated in the row behind the girls with a group of his friends, including Robert Moskowitz, the other boy who had terrorized the twins on their way to Hebrew School.

  Bronka turned her head and saw that Randy had grown over the summer; it made his appearance all the more menacing. He curled his lip and snarled at her.

  She did not know what gave her the courage to speak. Perhaps it was because her friends surrounded her, or maybe because it was Yom Kippur and she was in God’s sanctuary, but Bronka looked him straight in the eye and said, “Randy, you were told to be quiet because the service is about to start. We are about to pray for forgiveness.”

  “Who are you telling what to do—you little creep? Why don’t you tell your father to buy a new suit and to learn English?” He pronounced learn the way her father did, “loin.”

  Bronka girded herself and summoned all of her strength to refrain from answering him. It was the Day of Atonement, and she did not want to commit a new sin.

  However, Shira Yudenfreund turned around and said, “Knock it off, Randy; you’re a big bully.”

  The girls giggled and opened their prayer books as Moreh Steinberg began the service. The Hebrew teacher was a very young man—about twenty-one—and he couldn’t control the persistent whispering.

  And Randy wasn’t finished.

  “I can’t wait to get out of this crummy neighborhood,” said Randy to Robert, but he said it loud enough so the girls could hear. “Too many low-class people here. We’re like the richest people in Bellerose now. Well actually, we were pretty rich before, but now that my father won the quiz show money, we’re going to get out of this shithole. After my bar mitzvah, we’re moving to Roslyn, where the girls are prettier and the people are classier.”

  None of the girls said anything, but they were all happy to hear that Randy would be leaving town. JoJo was insulted that he didn’t think she was pretty enough. Bronka was horrified that he had cursed in the synagogue on Yom Kippur. She decided that it would be all right to add his speedy removal from the neighborhood to her prayers.

  The public confessional mesmerized Bronka. She had been intrigued with the idea of confessing ever since the Rosen sisters had explained the Catholic ritual to her. She thought about her friends going into the booth with the priest and individually confessing their sins to him. Here, it was done aloud—only once a year on Yom Kippur—with everyone together. Tina and Toni Rosen said they had confessed their one sin to the priest. But here—in black and white—there were forty-four sins listed in the prayer book for which everyone in the congregation must atone.

  She doubted that she had committed all—or even most—of the forty-four sins. Her Hebrew School teacher, Morah Cohen, had said the whole congregation had to say the prayer together because everyone must take responsibility for the community’s sins. Bronka wanted to stay on this page forever; she was so fascinated by the listing of the sins.

  As she read, she evaluated.

  “For the sin we committed before Thee by hardening our hearts.”

  No, she did not believe she had a hard heart. In fact, she knew she had a soft heart. People told her she was kind and caring. She worried about others constantly, especially Papa and Aunt Becky.

  “For the sin we committed before Thee by disrespecting parents and teachers.”

  No, she had tried her best to respect her parents and teachers. She behaved in class and followed instructions. She always tried to do exactly what Mama and Papa told her to do. Well, honestly, she did cover up for JoJo when necessary. Did that count? She decided it was better not to be a tattletale, especially since both girls trusted that what they confided in each other was never shared with anyone else.

  “For the sin we committed before Thee with vulgar speech.”

  No, that one must have been especially put there for Randy Lesser, a boy who would curse on Yom Kippur in the synagogue.

  “For the sin we committed before Thee by running to do evil.”

  That was another sin tailor made for Randy Lesser, the bully.

  “For the sin we committed before Thee through idle gossip.”

  Yes, she had to admit that was the one that really hit a chord. She pleaded guilty. She loved gossiping—or “yenta-ing,” as Faye called it. She yearned to find out what was going on behind every door of every house on the block. She wanted to know what the lives of her classmates were like. And she truly enjoyed eavesdropping on Faye and Izzy, both of whom seemed to be oblivious to her listening to their lashon hara. On the other hand, her parents did a great job of not committing this sin, as far as she knew. She never heard them say one bad word about anyone. Not even Hitler. She would have to remember to ask Esther about him.

  “For the sin we committed before Thee in eating and drinking.”

  No. She had tried to be kosher inside and outside of the house, unlike JoJo. Her twin ate all kinds of treif when Mama and Papa weren’t with them. But Bronka never snitched on her sister, even if it meant concealing a sin.

  “For the sin we committed before Thee through jealousy.”

  Yes, definitely. Jealousy was a big one—for her and for her sister. They had both sinned by being jealous. It w
as obvious that JoJo was envious of everyone who had nice things, and she wanted them for herself. Even on Yom Kippur, hadn’t her twin just eyed and envied Mindy’s earrings and Mindy’s shoes? From the time she was very little, JoJo was desirous of Mindy’s toys, and all the beautiful presents under the Rosens’ Christmas tree. And her sister preferred to be friends with the popular, pretty girls in her class who had all the nice things. She enjoyed going to their homes and seeing their pretty rooms and the clothes and jewelry that she and Bronka didn’t have. She liked that their parents spoke without foreign accents, wore beautiful clothes, and drove fancy cars. That’s why JoJo wanted to be a rich and famous singer, so she could be a real American with lots of material possessions.

  But if she were honest with herself, Bronka knew that she too had committed the sin of jealousy many times—she was just not as obvious as her sister.

  Although she never expressed it, Bronka was envious of her seemingly carefree, self-assured, and accomplished twin. She had enjoyed the spotlight they’d shared as young children—adorable little girls with curls and matching outfits. But now they barely even looked like sisters, with very distinguishable facial features. In addition, she towered over JoJo, and her petite twin was constantly showing off her singing and acting talent.

  Bronka was jealous because JoJo was the star of the lunchroom, the block, and every school play. She was envious that her twin sister could make friends so easily and did not have the fears and anxieties she had. JoJo had the ability to just let things roll off her back. Bronka hated herself for being jealous of her sister. She sometimes thought that if it were not for JoJo, she would never have been able to leave the house. Her sister gave her cover and courage, enhanced her, and made her complete. She could not imagine life without her sister, but she was still jealous of her. She envied in her sister all of the attributes she desperately wanted—self-confidence, fearlessness, friendliness, and focus.

  But she was ten years old, and people tended to see her as a shy, sweet, compliant girl. How was she going to heal the world if she was afraid to volunteer in class? She had received an “N” for “Needs Improvement” in class participation on her report card. She wanted so much to raise her hand when the teacher asked for volunteers. She knew she had something to say, and she wanted to contribute. But she was simply terrified to do it.

  She would not only atone, she told herself, but she would try hard not to commit these sins again in the New Year. Bronka prayed with all her heart:

  “For all of these, God of forgiveness, forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement.”

  When Yizkor let out, those who were not synagogue members left the sanctuary. So did many of the regular congregants. It was going to be a long day of praying and fasting that would not end until nightfall. Some left because they were going home to take a nap, and others just wanted a breath of fresh air. In addition, there were an unknown number of men and boys who wanted to hurry home to stealthily catch the beginning of the World Series on radio or TV. It was the third game between the New York Yankees and the Milwaukee Braves, played at County Stadium in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

  Junior congregation had been timed to let out a half hour after Yizkor was over so the children could reunite with their parents.

  There was a huge crowd milling around the sidewalks in front of and on either side of the synagogue. Young mothers pushing baby carriages, men carrying prayer shawls, and women sporting a variety of hats greeted one another and stood chatting. The Jewish community was out in force, and this gratified Jakob Zilberman. Hitler had failed.

  As he left the building, he was shocked to see Irv Rosen on the street. He had understood that Irv had become a Catholic; what was he doing in front of the shul on Yom Kippur? They had not been in touch since their meeting in Irv’s darkroom a month before. Jakob had concluded that if the photographer had something to tell him, he would call. Jakob was ambivalent about pursuing the Nazi guard, especially because Eva was so opposed to dredging up the unspeakable past.

  He saw that Irv was engaged in conversation with a very large man. Compared to diminutive Jakob, Irv’s companion was tall and beefy. He appeared to be uncomfortable in his suit, like a teenager who was forced to wear one for a special occasion. And the top button of his shirt was open, making his tie not lie quite straight. What he lacked in grooming, he made up for with energy. He could not stay in one spot, and he spoke as much with his hands as his mouth, gesturing constantly.

  Jakob was curious. He especially wanted to know what Irv Rosen was doing here. And the timing was perfect for him to find out. He had left his wife engaged in an animated conversation with some women at the door of the sanctuary. He’d told her he would meet her outside in about a half hour when Esther was finished.

  “I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here,” Irv said as Jakob approached.

  “I would never be so rude as to ask,” replied Jakob. “It’s none of my business.”

  “Even though I go to mass with Connie and the kids, I feel I want to honor my father’s memory by going to Yizkor on Yom Kippur,” Irv explained. “He lived and died as a Jew, and I’m his only son. There is no one else to say Kaddish for him. I feel I have an obligation to do it.”

  Jakob couldn’t think of a thing to say in response. He was too busy wondering—was the man he was speaking with Catholic, or was he Jewish, or was he both? He extended his hand and introduced himself to the stranger.

  “Hi, I’m Jakob Zilberman.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Morris Solomon. People call me Moe.”

  “Actually, we were just talking about you,” said Irv. “What a coincidence that you should show up just at this moment.”

  “Talking about me?” Jakob said incredulously.

  He couldn’t imagine what Irv could tell this huge, unkempt, threatening character that would be of any interest to him. He felt like a Lilliputian next to him. The big guy could probably stomp him out like an ant if he tried.

  “Moe is being modest. He is Detective Sergeant Morris Solomon of the Third Precinct in Queens,” said Irv.

  “I didn’t know there were Jewish policemen,” said Jakob.

  “There are actually quite a few nowadays,” said Moe.

  “Anyway, I just filled him in on the Nazi you recognized at the Fourth of July party, and he has a few questions for you.”

  “Go ahead,” said Jakob.

  “First, do you know his name?”

  “Rudolf Schmidt.”

  “And what did he do at Auschwitz?”

  “He stood at the entrance of the gas chamber with a whip. I think he was in charge of all the other guards who herded the men, women, and children to their deaths. When people cried and asked where they were going, he lied and said they were going to take a shower. He explained that the showers would rid them of lice. He lied.”

  “Do you think it would have been better if he’d told the truth? Wouldn’t that have increased the panic?”

  Jakob shrugged. “He stood there day after day, lying, telling people they were going to come out on the other end—free of lice.”

  “And what did you do there that you saw him every day?”

  “I was part of a group of young Jewish prisoners who were forced to dispose of the bodies after they were gassed.”

  “Hmm,” said Moe, thinking. “Unless he’s here illegally, there’s not much we can do. The NYPD has no jurisdiction over residency anyway. The sad truth is that America wants to move on. The US is busy courting West Germany because we need it as an ally against the Soviets. Communism is considered the big threat now. I have heard that there are actually former Nazis here who are helping the US government track down Russian spies. And even former Nazi scientists who are working on nuclear defense and rocket development for the space program.”

  “Oy vey iz mir,” groaned Jakob.

  “I’m sorry to tell you that there’s currently no taste for revenge on the Nazi bastards—here or anywhere else in the Western world. The
dirty little secret is that hardly anyone has been punished for the greatest crime in history. Sure, the big brass were tried at Nuremburg. But can you believe that only twenty-four individuals were convicted and punished for their heinous crimes against humanity? It’s kind of ridiculous to say that only twenty-four people killed six million Jews.”

  “So I guess I should just forget I ever saw him?”

  “No, not necessarily,” said Moe. “Remember that I have the power of the NYPD behind me, not to mention my own considerable strength.”

  He winked.

  “What can you do if there’s no mechanism for justice?” Irv asked.

  “Well, I would like to get my hands on that vile anti-Semitic son-of-a-bitch, though not literally, of course. I want to keep my job. But let’s say that Detective Sergeant Moe Solomon goes to Brodsky’s and pays a visit to our Nazi murderer. I could turn the siren on in the police car and park in front of the shop; that would set off an alarm. Dressed in my police uniform with my gun in plain sight, I could just ask him a few questions and see how he reacts. I can’t guarantee if I’ll find anything for which to bring him into the precinct for questioning, but we’ll see. I bet Sid Brodsky won’t be too happy to find out that his deli man is a Nazi.”

  “I could come and take a picture of the encounter,” offered Irv.

  “Would you do anything with the photo?” asked Jakob.

  “It all depends on what he says,” said Irv.

  Moe added, “It’s your call, Jakob. Do you want revenge or not?”

  Jakob wrinkled his brow. He would have to think about this. Did he want to open this can of worms? Eva would be hysterical. And what would he gain if the Nazi was not going to face punishment?

  1958

  BELLEROSE, NEW YORK

  THREE MONTHS LATER, THE LUBINSKI family ushered in the secular New Year by gathering around the TV to watch the ball drop in Times Square. Bronka and JoJo were delighted to stay up until midnight and to participate in the festivities. Izzy poured them each a glass of cherry soda to accompany the potato chips and onion dip they were devouring. Faye had also put out M&Ms to munch on, and later that was topped off with a “Happy 1958” cake from the bakery. “Sweets for a sweet New Year,” Faye had declared. Before the ball dropped, the girls watched grown-ups in tuxedos and gowns with funny hats dancing to the strains of Guy Lombardo and the Royal Canadians.