“The rioting and fighting that is going on in the streets terrifies me, and the rise of that National Socialist party isn’t good for us at all,” Yousef moaned.
“I agree with you. But what can we do? Our parents have all our family money. You and I have nothing. We can’t possibly leave Germany without their consent. And so far, they aren’t consenting. Anyway, if you could leave, where would you go?”
“I don’t know.” Yousef shook his head.
CHAPTER TWO
The boys studied the Talmud for an hour. The entire time, Eli watched the girls playing out of the corner of his eye. He felt his body tingle when the girl with the red-tinged, honey-colored hair laughed or called out to her friends in her singsong voice.
“It’s getting late. We should be going home,” Yousef said
Eli nodded in agreement. But he didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay and watch the girl for as long as possible. But he got up and gathered his books together, thinking about the girl as he did so. He heard her laugh and turned to look. When he did, one of his books fell behind the bench. Yousef was already halfway across the park heading toward the exit. Eli was in a hurry to catch up with him, so he never noticed the book that had fallen.
What am I thinking? Eli wondered after he and Yousef split up to go home. She’s beautiful, yes, but she’s not a part of my world. If my parents had any idea that I was fascinated by her, my father would drop dead. He has always been so perfect. He finds it easy to follow all the rules. I don’t know how he does it. Or how he ever got stuck with a son like me, a son who is restless and uncertain of his faith or his destiny. How can I be so different from my father? I don’t think I will ever be able to lead our people the way my father does. He was born to be a rebbe. I wish I that I could be more like him. Everyone admires him. I must be a terrible disappointment to him. I keep putting off marriage. It’s too bad Yousef wasn’t his son. They could spend hours talking about the Torah, and Yousef would be happy and ready to marry a good Hasidic girl and give him plenty of grandchildren. Eli continued walking. He felt guilty because he knew he should wipe, the girl with the golden red hair, from his mind, but all he could think about was seeing her again.
Eli walked into the nicely furnished apartment he shared with his parents and his sister, Avigale. His mother was at her usual workstation, the kitchen stove.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
Eli nodded. He wasn’t hungry, his mind was wrapped up in thoughts of the girl, but he knew that his mama felt her sole purpose in life was to feed him. So whenever she asked if he was hungry, he said yes, regardless of whether he was or not. He had to admit the house smelled heavenly.
“I’m going to get cleaned up before dinner,” Eli said but he didn’t move. He just stood there looking at his mother.
“Nu, what are you waiting for? Go already? Your papa will be here in less than a half hour. He’ll want to eat,” she said as she stirred the pot on the stove.
Eli studied his mother’s face, and again he felt that familiar wave of guilt come over him. His parents were happy. They knew what was expected of them as a Hasidic husband and wife, and they had no problems living according to the laws. They were best friends. They took care of each other. Why is that not enough for me? Why do I want passion and excitement? Why can I not be satisfied with a good and wholesome life?
“Eli, go, get cleaned up. Why are you standing there just looking at me?” his mother said, looking at him with a puzzled expression on her face.
Eli nodded. “Yes, Mama.”
CHAPTER THREE
Gretchen, the girl in the park with the strawberry-blonde hair, was walking with her friends toward the exit of the park. They weren’t good friends, just girls she knew from school who had asked her to play kickball with them when they were short a team member. She hardly had time for friendships; she was too busy studying and taking care of things around the house. Her mother had passed away, and her father was working, so she had a lot of responsibilities at home. As the girls headed toward the exit they passed the bench where Eli and Yousef had been studying. Gretchen glanced over and saw the book. She didn’t want to mention it to the others. So as they left the park she turned to them and said, “I am going to go back and run to the washroom. You girls go on.”
“Are you sure? I can go with you?” One of the others said.
“Of course, I’m sure. I’ll be fine. You head on home.”
“All right, then”
Gretchen went into the bathroom and waited until she was sure the others were long gone. Then she walked toward the bench where she had spotted the book. She’d been watching the two boys for the last three Tuesdays as they sat on the bench. She knew one of them had been staring at her the entire time she was playing kickball, and she was intrigued because this was the third time she’d seen them. They were Hasidic Jews, she thought, with their long, black coats and tall, black hats. From their clothing, she knew they were a part of the religious Jewish community, which, for Gretchen and her friends, had always been shrouded in mystery.
Most of the people she knew were afraid of the Jews. There were rumors that Jews kidnapped Christian babies and used their blood to make the matzos they ate. But Gretchen’s father, who was a professor of mathematics at the university and open-minded, said this was nothing but propaganda and was not to be believed.
“I’ll tell my friends that this is silly propaganda, and it is just not true,” Gretchen told her father.
But he shook his head. “Just leave it alone. Don’t declare yourself. It will all be over soon. It’s best if you just ignore it.”
She picked up the book, knowing that one of the two Jewish boys had left it there. All of her friends had left the park. She was alone and knew she should get home, but she took a moment to sit down and look inside the book. The book was not written in German. In fact, the letters didn’t look like any she’d ever seen before. She scanned through the pages until she got to the back where written in large black letters it said in German, "If found, please return this book to Eli Kaetzel at 1627 Augsburger Strabe. You will receive a reward for your kindness."
A reward? Well, Papa and I could use any extra money we can get our hands on. If we had a little extra, I might be able to buy something nice for Papa. Some cake perhaps.
Gretchen tucked the book under her arm and headed for the address written inside. She knew it would be located within the Jewish community, and although her father had tried to convince her that the scary horror stories she had heard from her friends and neighbors were untrue, she was still a little fearful of entering the Jewish sector of town. However, she knew that her father would be happy to have the reward money she would get for returning the book. The money would allow them to buy some extra food this month.
She mustered all her courage and entered the Jewish sector. Looking around her, Gretchen saw Jewish-owned shops standing right beside those of their non-Jewish neighbors. Gretchen passed the Jewish old people’s home and the school for Jewish boys. Then she turned down Sundgauer Strausse and walked until she crossed the street on to Rathus. She walked quickly past the city hall then veered right on to Klosterter Strausse. She knew that her father wouldn’t be home for at least an hour. He had department meetings at the university on Tuesday nights.
The streets were filled with people dressed in what she knew to be the clothing worn by religious Jews. Some of the men had long, curly sideburns and beards. Some wore fedoras, and some wore tall, black hats, while other men wore only skull caps. Women hurried along the busy streets wearing long, full skirts, with long-sleeved blouses, their heads covered by scarves. Her heart raced a little, and a bead of sweat formed on her brow. Two men walked past her wearing fur hats; they were engrossed in conversation, not seeming to notice her. These people looked very different from the people she knew, and she felt odd and out of place walking all alone in their neighborhood. Could her father have been wrong? Might they be dangerous to non-Jews? She shuddered at t
he thought but kept walking until she found the address written inside the book.
As she approached the address that was written inside the book, she noticed the window shades were open. She could not help but catch a quick glance inside the dining room as she walked to the front door. A young girl with her head uncovered was carrying plates to a table. What pretty hair she has. I wonder if it bothers her to cover it all the time? If I had such thick, wavy hair, I would want to show it off.
But then she recalled that she’d seen young girls with their heads uncovered. It must only be the old ones or maybe just the married women who covered their heads. Gretchen mustered her courage and knocked on the door. It opened. There he stood, the boy from the park. He wore no hat; only a small, round skullcap covered his thick, black, wavy hair. He was beardless, but his sideburns were a single, long curl that looked strange to her. Still, even with the sideburns, there was no denying that he was handsome. More handsome than any man she knew, with his deep- coal-black eyes in which she was sure she saw both wisdom and tenderness.
Eli felt as if he were dreaming. Or as if he were experiencing some sort of a modern-day miracle. So many times he’d fantasized that he would somehow open his door, and the girl with the rosy, golden hair would be there. And now, here she was. Was it possible? Was this really real? His heart fluttered. She was even more beautiful close-up than she’d been when he’d admired her from a far.
Through the open door she saw a man who looked ancient, with salt-and-pepper hair, a long, graying beard, and wearing black pants with suspenders, walk into the dining room. He kissed the top of his daughter’s head and took his place at the head of the table.
Eli was at a loss for words. He could hardly breathe. There were so many things he longed to say. So many things she should know. If he could speak freely he would tell her how he’d thought of nothing else but her since the first time he’d seen her. He would tell her that she was the most beautiful, graceful creature he’d ever . . .
I’m here because you left this in the park, and I found it when I was leaving.” Gretchen cleared her throat and handed him the book.
“Oh,” he said, taking the book and not knowing what else to say, but not wanting to let her go. “Thank goodness you found it. And thank you for bringing it to me.”
She had forgotten the reward. All she could think of was that he was beyond handsome, with his dark, soulful eyes, and his voice was so soft and deep. What more can I say to him? I’ve given him the book. I should go. But her feet felt glued to the ground. She couldn’t move. His eyes held her captive. I could get lost in his eyes, and stay there forever. But then the older man with the beard came to the door.
He said something to the boy in a language that sounded a lot like German, but it wasn’t German. Gretchen thought she understood a few words, but she wasn’t sure. Her father had told her about that language, and she had sometimes overheard it spoken when the Jews passed her on the street. Yiddish, she thought. The language of the very religious Jews.
“Nothing is going on here, Papa,” the boy answered his father in German. “This nice young lady found my Talmud book. I accidentally left it in the park where Yousef and I were studying.”
“Give it to me, Eli,” his father said, speaking half in German, half in Yiddish. The boy handed the book to his father, who wiped it with a white-and-black shawl that he wore around his shoulders and then kissed it. Turning to the girl at the door, Eli’s father said in German in a kind voice, “Thank you so much for returning my son’s book. We very much appreciate your kindness.” The old man smiled and then added, “ Goodbye now. Have a safe evening.” Softly, he closed the door.
A feeling of wild excitement passed through Gretchen. She’d never felt this way about anyone before. This boy was mesmerizing. His eyes were as dark as coal, yet they were kind and gentle. His lips were full and soft, and she wondered what it might feel like to kiss him. Turning the corner, Gretchen realized it was getting dark. She began to walk as quickly as she could out of the area. The street was quiet, overly quiet. There were no cars on the road, no honking, no people outside. Just the night settling in. An owl hooted, sending a disturbing signal to all other night creatures.
Gretchen looked around her. I don’t feel comfortable here in this neighborhood at all, I am an obvious outsider. Who knows if those old wives' tales are true? My father is a scholar, but he doesn’t know everything. He just thinks he does. And a lot of people say the Jews are dangerous. Why would they say it if there weren’t some truth to it? That old man at the house looked so scary with his long, gray beard, and he was so mean. Gretchen shivered. She heard footsteps behind her. Her heart began to race as her feet took flight. She was running as fast as she could.
“Wait!”
Gretchen heard a man’s voice behind her. It wasn’t the voice of an old man. It was the voice of a young man. She ran faster. But within minutes, her pursuer caught up with her.
“Wait. Please, I have something for you,” the young Jewish man said. He stood beside her, breathing heavily from the effort of running. Gretchen stopped and turned. She looked up into his eyes. It was him. Oh my gosh, she thought. It’s him.
She bent over just a little in order to catch her breath.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, looking down at the ground, not meeting her eyes. “But you certainly do run fast.”
She was still trying to catch her breath. “I suppose I do.”
“I owe you this,” he said, handing her a bunch of change in a cloth pouch. “I promised a reward if my book was lost and returned. Here is the reward money.”
“Oh, thank you,” Gretchen said, taking the money. She smiled remembering that there had been the promise of a reward. But, her thoughts were only of the man and how he had left her spellbound. She waited for him to speak.
Eli stood still for several moments not knowing what to do or say next. Then Gretchen began to walk away. He knew if he did not speak, he would never have the opportunity to speak to her again. She was not a part of his world, and within the next few seconds, she would be out of his life and gone forever. It was forbidden for him to talk to girls. Even more forbidden to talk to girls who were not Jewish. But something inside Eli was nudging him hard. By nature, he was not a rule breaker. However, he could not let her go. Not now. Not yet, so he took a step out of his well-defined life and said, “It’s getting dark outside. Perhaps I should walk you home. I would like to ensure your safety.”
Gretchen looked intently at him, studying him, trying to understand him and his ways. He was handsome; that was for certain, and he certainly was different from anyone she ever knew. But what she found very odd was that she was not afraid of him at all. Something inside her wanted to know more about him, more about his strange clothing and his odd lifestyle.
“Yes,” she stammered. “I would be grateful to you if you would accompany me home. I was feeling a little uneasy out in the darkness, being alone and all.” Her words sounded clumsy even to her own ears.
“Of course,” he said without hesitation. Even though he knew what he was doing was out of character for him. I am talking to a girl, he thought. A shiksa. My father would die if he knew. And yet, my whole body is tingling. My heart is fluttering. What is this odd and magnificent feeling? It feels a little like becoming lost in prayer. It’s ecstasy. Hashem, forgive me for my impudence. I don’t understand what is happening to me. I am so filled with emotions that I cannot explain.
“I’m Gretchen Schmidt,” the girl said.
“Eli Kaetzel.”
As they walked through the streets, Eli noticed that a few of his neighbors were peering out of their windows. By tomorrow, his father would have a full report of the walk his son had taken with a shiksa through their little sector of town. The neighbors would tell him everything and, of course, embellish it. They always did. His father was going to be very angry with him; he knew that. Once the news spread that he was seen walking down the street wi
th a shiksa, it was going to be difficult for his father to arrange a match for him. But at that moment in time, with the sun setting behind the buildings casting golden rays on the earth, Eli Kaetzel didn’t care about anything. He was walking on concrete, but it felt like he was walking on air. Perhaps she’s Jewish, he thought. Perhaps she could be my b'sheirt. My one true love. Wouldn’t that be something wonderful?
“What language is that book written in, the book I brought back to you? I noticed it wasn’t German,” Gretchen asked.
“Aramaic. It’s a text on the Talmud.”
“Talmud?”
“It’s a sacred book. It’s something I study.
“What is it exactly? A Jewish book?”
“Yes, a Jewish book.” He smiled ruefully. She’s not Jewish, he thought, his heart sinking in his chest like a hunk of lead. “A religious text.”
“Like the Bible?”
“In a way. I suppose you could say that,” he said, looking down at her. She was a full head shorter. Gretchen smiled. When she did, he noticed a sprinkle of tiny freckles under her bright blue eyes.
“I guess you speak two languages, then?”
“Oh no. I speak far more than two. I speak Hebrew and Yiddish. Of course, I speak German. And my father’s brother lives in Poland, so when he brings his family to visit we speak a mixture of Polish and Yiddish. But the Talmud is written in both ancient Hebrew and the language I just mentioned, Aramaic.”
“My father would find you fascinating,” Gretchen said, and then she smiled.
“Oh?” he said. “I’m not so sure. I wonder what he would think of you walking and talking with a Jewish man.”
“We are not doing anything wrong, so I don’t know why it would be something he would disapprove of.”
“Then somehow you don’t know how non-Jews feel about Jews, do you?” There was a note of sad cynicism in his voice.
She avoided answering. His question made her uncomfortable. She was quite well aware of the hatred of Jewish people. The dislike of Jews was no secret among her friends. They told jokes about the horrible, moneygrubbing Jews. They talked about a Jew-free Germany. And of course, there were the scary rumors too. But she couldn’t bring herself to discuss any of this with him. He didn’t press the question, and they walked without speaking for several minutes. Then, to break the silence, she asked, “What is the language that you speak daily, German? Because your German is perfect.”
The Smallest Crack Page 2