MORNING PRAYERS AT the newly rebuilt shul had come to an end. Jacob removed the tefillin from his forehead and arm and waited for Rebbe Grunfeld to f inish his duties. He stood by the window of the study room, watching as a steady spring rain made puddles on the sidewalk and turned the steely gray city green. His friend Meir Wolf came to stand beside him. “Are you taking care of yourself, Yaacov, my friend? Your heart is fine now?”
No. Jacob’s heart was breaking. The Nazis were in Hungary.
Not a day went by that Jacob wasn’t aware of that horrific reality. He tried in vain not to imagine what might be happening to his family, his homeland, but his work with the War Refugee Board had made him all too aware of what the Nazis were doing to the Hungarian Jews.
“I am fine, yes. The doctors say that I did not have a heart attack. They called it a heart arrhythmia.” He did not tell Meir, but they also said that the shock he had received probably had caused it. He should rest, the doctor said. Let younger men be involved with fund raising for the Refugee Board. Don’t put himself under such stress. But how could Jacob sit and do nothing?
“I am happy to hear that you are well,” Meir said, patting Jacob’s shoulder. “And so pleased that you are praying with us again. We have missed you.”
“Thank you.” He did not tell Meir that he still questioned his decision to return to the shul. Meir and Rebbe Grunfeld had brought him home from the hospital after his collapse and had visited him every day. The congregation had showered him with food.
“We are able to have daily prayers at the shul once again,” the rebbe had told him. “The building is not completely finished, but there is now a room where we can pray. Please come back and join us, Yaacov. Prayer is more important than ever before with the Nazis in Hungary, yes?”
Jacob had agreed, reluctantly. Praying was the very least he could do.
“What’s more,” the rebbe had said, “I believe I have finally convinced the police that you could not possibly have started the fire. But it would be good if you came back to pray with us, to show them that we are united.”
Jacob still saw the two detectives roaming the neighborhood from time to time. He knew they had not given up on finding the arsonist. And they had seemed so certain that it was him. But maybe if the rebbe had convinced them, Jacob would have one less thing to worry about.
And so he had crossed the street every day to pray with the others, putting on his tefillin for the first time since Miriam Shoshanna had died. At times he silently raged at Hashem for allowing a man like Adolf Hitler to live, questioning Him, arguing with Him. Sometimes when Jacob’s faith was at its lowest ebb, he knew he was simply going through the motions of prayer. Today had been one of those days.
Rebbe Grunfeld finished storing the Torah scroll inside the ark. “So you are ready to leave for our meeting in Manhattan, Yaacov?”
“Yes, Rebbe.” Jacob unfurled his umbrella and stepped out into the rain. After a long subway ride on an overcrowded train, they arrived, damp and rumpled, at the synagogue where the meeting was being held.
The moment Jacob walked through the door, he felt the now-familiar tightness in his chest, the knot in his stomach. The weekly mixture of good news and bad, the journey from hope to dread and back to hope again always took a toll. At a previous meeting the State Department had confirmed that Hungary had been close to negotiating a peace agreement with the Allies – it was what had prompted the Nazi invasion.
On May 10, a New York Times article had said that the Nazis were “now preparing for the annihilation of Hungarian Jews.” Jacob had read those words, and for a moment he hadn’t been able to breathe. The world should be horrified. This should be front-page news, not just a small, insignificant article lost among all the others. Why wasn’t it in the headlines? No one seemed to be paying attention. Americans were focused on winning the war, not on the fate of the Jews. Especially when they had loved ones of their own engaged in combat.
“At least the fate of Hungary’s Jews is before the entire world,” the State Department spokesman had said. “Whatever the Nazis do, it will not be done in secret.” President Roosevelt had broadcast statements around the world, promising that those responsible for genocide would be punished. Leaders from Protestant and Catholic churches in America had publicly pleaded with Hungarian Christians to protect their Jewish neighbors. But would all of these efforts save Jacob’s family?
At last week’s meeting he had learned that the United States, working through neutral nations, had agreed to accept Jewish immigrants from Germany and Hungary if the Nazis would allow them to leave. Thousands of visas would be authorized for Jewish children and for Hungarian relatives of American citizens. The news had seemed miraculous, an answer to Jacob’s prayers. The visas that Avraham had tried so hard to procure for his family would finally be issued.
Today Jacob had brought with him a three-page list of names and addresses of relatives who still lived in Hungary. He was filled with hope, eager to begin filling out the visa applications. But his hope began to sink when he glimpsed the somber faces of the government officials.
“I am afraid I have bad news,” one of them began. “The Nazis have refused our offer to allow the Jews to emigrate.” A fist squeezed Jacob’s heart. “Nevertheless, we will accept your visa applications in the hope that the Nazis will change their minds in the near future.”
Jacob sat in a daze of disappointment as the rabbis and Jewish leaders debated the other items on the agenda. He wished he could go home. The strenuous emotions and angry tempers exhausted him. But he would remain until the very end in order to fill out every last visa application, just in case Hashem decided to answer his prayers.
The roomful of tightly packed tables and chairs, the rows of overstuffed bookshelves all faded into the background as Jacob listened to one of the leaders talk about the possibility of Allied bombing raids on Hungary. “Why not send American planes to destroy the railway junctions used for deporting Hungarian Jews to Poland?” the man asked.
“American bombers have been flying missions from a Soviet air base at Poltava,” the spokesman confirmed. “But they are concentrating on military targets. Besides, the railway junctions could easily be repaired, causing only temporary delays in the deportations.” Judging by his bland expression, he might have been discussing transports of cattle, not human beings.
“Yes,” the rabbi replied, “but every day that the trains are delayed, lives would be saved.”
Jacob rested his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands as he listened in despair to a proposal to bomb the Nazi deportation camp at Auschwitz.
“But thousands of Jews are being held there,” a rabbi protested. “They would all be killed!”
“The plan is to put the camp out of business. True, some Jews might be killed – but if they are doomed anyway . . .”
“Then the Germans could accuse us of atrocities. We would be the ones massacring Jews.”
Jacob listened until he could no longer remain silent. He stood, requesting permission to say something. “I speak for those of us who may have loved ones in those camps, and I beg you not to risk killing a single innocent person. Let the Nazis be accountable before Hashem for their deeds, not us.”
When the debate ended, the Jewish leaders and rabbis unanimously opposed the plan to bomb Auschwitz.
The final topic of discussion was a “blood for goods” deal offered to the Allies by the Nazis. “The lives of one million Jews would be exchanged for ten thousand trucks and other military supplies that the Nazis need,” the State Department spokesman said. “The British have refused to discuss this proposal, but President Roosevelt has ordered the negotiators to keep talking to the Germans.”
“Why should we give food and army supplies to the Nazis?” someone asked.
“Because as long as we continue to talk about it, those one million Jews may continue to live.”
Once again, Jacob asked to speak. “Food . . . trucks . . . wouldn’t you w
illingly pay any ransom they demanded if it might spare the life of your child?”
When the meeting ended, Jacob filled out visa applications for all his family members and wearily left for home. “You shouldn’t put yourself through this, Yaacov,” the rebbe said as they stood on the subway platform. “It is too hard on your health.” The underground air smelled of hot steel and too many people. The afternoon rush hour had begun, but Jacob and the rebbe managed to find empty seats in the overcrowded subway car. Commuters crammed the aisle beside them, gripping the leather straps, swaying with the train’s movement as if in prayer.
“No, it is much worse to be at home doing nothing,” Jacob replied, “wondering what is going on. As difficult as it is to know all these things, it is much harder not to know them. I find the silence unbearable.”
At last they reached the final stop and climbed the steep cement stairs, emerging from underground for the short walk home. “What about those names I gave you?” Jacob asked the rebbe. “Has there been any progress in finding those people?”
“You mean David and Esther Fischer? I have sent inquiries to rabbis in other shuls in Brooklyn. Some I have heard from, some I have not.”
Weeks had passed since Esther and Peter had shown Jacob their birth certificates and the Shaffers’ marriage license. “We found out that Mama’s maiden name was Fischer,” Esther had told him. “Now what do we do? How do we find our grandparents?”
Jacob had realized the truth the moment he saw the names. Their mother, Rachel Fischer, was Jewish. How could he have forgotten? Miriam Shoshanna had told him about it shortly before she died. At the time, Jacob had been outraged to learn that Rachel had abandoned her faith to marry a gentile. He didn’t want Miriam to have anything to do with her or her children. He had been so unbending back then – just as Rachel’s parents no doubt were. They had disowned her, considered her dead to them, and Jacob would have done the same thing. Now he saw it differently. Why allow anything to separate a family? His son, his daughter-in-law, his grandchild might all very well be dead, but the Fischers’ grandchildren were not.
“Fischer is a common name,” he had told Esther and Peter as he had stalled for time. “I will have to think about it. I will let you know if I have any ideas.”
He had asked Rebbe Grunfeld to help him. If the Fischers belonged to a Jewish congregation in Brooklyn, Jacob would find them through the network of synagogues who worked with the War Refugee Board.
Now the two men halted on the sidewalk in front of Jacob’s apartment building. The rain had finally stopped, and the rebbe shook the water from his umbrella before folding it. “These children who live upstairs from you,” he said. “They mean a lot to you, yes?”
Jacob nodded. “They do not know that their mother was Jewish, or that they are considered Jewish, as well. Their mother died alongside my Miriam. Their father is fighting the war in Europe. They deserve to meet their mother’s family. I never realized how important a family was until Hashem chose to separate me from my own.”
“Please don’t blame Hashem,” the rebbe said gently. “What you feel for your son, your longing to find him, to hear from him, to be reunited with him – imagine how much more Hashem longs for us, His children.”
The words haunted Jacob as he said good-bye to the rebbe and went up the porch steps to his apartment. He had just turned on the lights and the radio when someone knocked on his door. He opened it, expecting to see the children, but found Penny Goodrich. She wore her work uniform and carried her lunch box and umbrella.
“I saw you come home ahead of me,” she said, “so I knew the kids weren’t here with you yet, and I wondered . . . could I talk to you alone for a minute?”
“Certainly. Come in.”
She stepped across the threshold just far enough for him to shut the door, but she remained standing. “I have been thinking, Mr. Mendel. I know you told Esther and Peter that you would help them look for their grandparents, but I’m worried the children are going to get hurt. I mean . . . what if they find out something really terrible about them and . . . ?” She couldn’t finish.
“Please, come in, Penny. Sit down.” He led her to the sofa, and she slumped down on it, her body hunched over as if she expected to be beaten.
“Sorry . . . I’m sorry,” she mumbled as she tried to compose herself.
“You do not need to apologize. . . . If you want to tell me what is wrong, I will gladly listen. But if not, then I will not pry.”
She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose, then took several deep breaths as if about to plunge into icy water. “I found out who my real parents are and now I wish I never had. The truth is so much worse that not knowing. I’m afraid the kids will find out something horrible, too, and they’ll be so hurt – ”
He waited while Penny blew her nose again and wiped her eyes. “What could they learn that would be so hurtful?” he finally asked. But even as he spoke the words, he wondered how they would feel to learn that their mother was Jewish.
“My mother gave me up because she didn’t love me,” Penny said. “She couldn’t love me. She was raped.”
Her words struck Jacob with brute force. What could he possibly say? He sat down beside Penny and rested his hand on her shoulder. “My poor, dear girl.”
“I haven’t told anyone except you. I can’t tell anyone. I’m so ashamed.”
“Why in the world should you be ashamed? You are innocent of any wrongdoing. You are not responsible for the misdeeds of your father.” But he could tell she wasn’t listening to him.
“It turns out my older sister, Hazel, is really my mother. My parents – the people I always thought were my parents – are my grandparents.”
“Ah. I see.” Jacob had suspected as much on the night they had celebrated Purim, after Penny mentioned a much-older sister and elderly parents. He had kept his suspicions to himself. But he had never imagined a rape.
“Eddie would never want to marry a wife who had a criminal for a father or let her be the mother to his children. No man would.”
“Now, listen. Any man who would blame you for something you could not control is not worthy of you. Besides, I see no reason at all why you should even mention your father to Mr. Shaffer or to anyone else.”
“Eddie deserves to know there’s a criminal in my background. My father’s traits are in my blood.”
“Nonsense. Every single one of us is capable of sin, not just your father. This war has revealed mankind at our very worst, yes? Even the Scriptures show us some very revered men who have sinned. Moses and King David committed murder, yet Hashem used them in His work. Do not carry a burden of sin that is not yours. Hold your head up high, Penny. Scripture says that we must not blame children for the sins of their parents.”
Penny nodded, but Jacob could see that she would need time to think about what he had said. The wound she had received was still much too raw.
“Have you talked to your birth mother since learning the truth?” he asked.
“She wouldn’t want to see me, and who could blame her? I’m a reminder of a horrible tragedy. No wonder she never comes home to visit us.”
“Perhaps. But I encourage you to see her, just the same. What is the worst thing that she might do? Tell you to go away? She cannot change the past by refusing to see you. It still happened. And you deserve to meet your real mother. Tell me, does she know that you have learned the truth?”
“I don’t think so. I haven’t spoken to her, and I don’t think my parents will tell her.”
“Then why not go to visit her as a sister? As if you never learned the truth? You can judge by her reaction how she feels about you. You strike me as sensible enough to understand why she might have bad feelings.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mendel. Maybe I will.” She heaved an enormous sigh and said, “Anyway, I’m telling you this because I’m worried about how the kids might react if they learned some awful truth about their mother.”
“That is very thoug
htful of you.” Jacob considered for a moment, then decided to tell Penny what he’d been doing. “The children do not know it, but I have been searching for their family. I have already decided not to say anything to Esther and Peter until I learn more about their grandparents and their reasons for rejecting Rachel. I agree with you – I do not want them to be hurt in any way. I assure you that I will do my best to protect them.”
“Thank you.” She looked greatly relieved, as if she might want to hug him. “I guess I should go,” she said, rising from the sofa.
“Before you do, may I talk with you about a concern that I have?”
“Of course! I’m sorry – ”
“I am worried about Esther and the boy she has been seeing so often.”
Penny appeared shocked. “A boy . . . ? What boy?”
“He lives in the building next door, and everyone in the neighborhood has heard quarreling in that family over the years. The boy is a little older than Esther, I believe, and I fear that he is also more worldly-wise. I have seen the two of them holding hands as they walk home from school.”
“What?”
“I am sorry for shocking you. But they often stand out back in the alley for a while while he smokes a cigarette or two.”
“I feel terrible! I had no idea! I should have been more careful and asked more questions – ”
“It is not your fault.” He rested his hand on her arm to calm her. “You have never raised children before. Besides, young people like Esther often want to act grown-up. They seldom tell their parents everything they are doing.”
“My sister, Hazel – I mean, my mother. I mean . . .” She exhaled. “My parents said that Hazel started sneaking around behind their backs and that’s how she got into trouble.”
“I do not think it is nearly that serious. Esther has a good head on her shoulders. I only meant to say that school will soon close for the summer, and I think she should be supervised while you are at work. I may not be home every day to watch over her now that my work takes me away so often.”
“You’re right, Mr. Mendel. Thanks so much for telling me. I’ll make sure the kids stay with their grandmother while I’m at work.”