small family
quarters assigned to her after Anna’s birth. A cold, icy rain
rattled the window with loud drum like rat-a-tats each time the
gusting storm winds blew against it. Julia held Anna a little more
tightly in her arms, as if the gods that had changed her life now
wanted Anna as a sacrifice. With each wild rush of wind against the
window, she would stir in her sleep before the gentle voice of
Julia’s soft lullaby reassured her that all was well. Julia
wondered silently if her father and mother too were searching now
through such a similar storm, trying to find the same god to curse
for what had befallen them. Two months after her arrival in
England, she had received a one-page letter from her father. At
first, she left the letter unopened on her drop-leaf table, as if
it were some ancient scroll that would crumble into a thousand tiny
pieces should she touch it. But Julia’s fears were its contents.
Hitler’s goose-stepping green men had been in Prague since mid
March, unfurling their swastika banners from every open balcony
across the great city. Even Hitler himself came to Prague then,
racing ahead of his advancing army to Hradcany Castle, where he
posed triumphantly, as Caesar might have done in Rome centuries
before, from a high alcove window, looking down at a defeated
people.
What else could there be for her dear
father to write? Julia thought. The day of the Jew in Prague would
soon be over. Putting Anna in her crib, Julia returned to the table
and picked up the letter. Gently caressing it, she brought the
envelope to her nose, catching the faint aroma of jasmine, which
her mother always dabbed across the top of her letters, and began
to cry. Not openly, but in a whimper, like a lost child. Even with
Anna by her side, she felt more alone than she ever
remembered.
Dearest Julia,
We wait each day for the mailman to
bring a letter from you but nothing comes. There is little we are
allowed to say to you. I would like to hear from you—that, for me,
would be the best thing. Sadness fills our empty house with
you and Hiram gone. If only dear God would bring peace so we could
be together again before it is too late. This month was Grandpapa’s
yahrzeit. We lit the candle and you should too. You will remember
to let it burn for twenty-four hours. If you have no picture of
Grandpapa to put by the candle, pretend one is there and tell it
everything you can remember about him, as we have.
Don’t forget us, or your
precious homeland, and God will protect you.
Papa
There would be no more letters from
home. “Don’t forget us,” is what dear Papa had said. “What could be
more certain,” Julia cried aloud, startling Anna, who began to cry
with her. Before Julia could think further about her father’s
letter, Eva burst into the room, frantically waving in her right
hand several papers rolled up like a scroll. Her enthusiasm quickly
dampened when she saw Julia’s tears.
“ You’ve been
crying.”
“ Yes, my first letter from
home.”
Handing Anna to Eva, Julia carefully
folded her father’s letter, placed it on the table, and looked
through the window again at the heavy cold rain forming large
puddles of water in the small playground area next to the
dormitory. If only Anna were older, Julia wished. They would play
together in the small muddy oceans, having great sea battles with
great armadas made of paper, as she and Hiram did a thousand times
over when the heavy rains came to Prague. Like Ares, the Greek god
of war, their father would watch over the titanic sea wars from
high above on the back porch. There he would build more paper ships
for whichever side had less so that no one could claim victory when
the day came to an end. Those were the golden times of childhood,
when nothing else mattered except the closeness of family, the kind
old people think of as their mind slowly withers away.
Refusing to cry again, Julia turned
back to Eva, who was walking back and forth holding Anna,
quarters assigned to her after Anna’s birth. A cold, icy rain
rattled the window with loud drum like rat-a-tats each time the
gusting storm winds blew against it. Julia held Anna a little more
tightly in her arms, as if the gods that had changed her life now
wanted Anna as a sacrifice. With each wild rush of wind against the
window, she would stir in her sleep before the gentle voice of
Julia’s soft lullaby reassured her that all was well. Julia
wondered silently if her father and mother too were searching now
through such a similar storm, trying to find the same god to curse
for what had befallen them. Two months after her arrival in
England, she had received a one-page letter from her father. At
first, she left the letter unopened on her drop-leaf table, as if
it were some ancient scroll that would crumble into a thousand tiny
pieces should she touch it. But Julia’s fears were its contents.
Hitler’s goose-stepping green men had been in Prague since mid
March, unfurling their swastika banners from every open balcony
across the great city. Even Hitler himself came to Prague then,
racing ahead of his advancing army to Hradcany Castle, where he
posed triumphantly, as Caesar might have done in Rome centuries
before, from a high alcove window, looking down at a defeated
people.
What else could there be for her dear
father to write? Julia thought. The day of the Jew in Prague would
soon be over. Putting Anna in her crib, Julia returned to the table
and picked up the letter. Gently caressing it, she brought the
envelope to her nose, catching the faint aroma of jasmine, which
her mother always dabbed across the top of her letters, and began
to cry. Not openly, but in a whimper, like a lost child. Even with
Anna by her side, she felt more alone than she ever
remembered.
Dearest Julia,
We wait each day for the mailman to
bring a letter from you but nothing comes. There is little we are
allowed to say to you. I would like to hear from you—that, for me,
would be the best thing. Sadness fills our empty house with
you and Hiram gone. If only dear God would bring peace so we could
be together again before it is too late. This month was Grandpapa’s
yahrzeit. We lit the candle and you should too. You will remember
to let it burn for twenty-four hours. If you have no picture of
Grandpapa to put by the candle, pretend one is there and tell it
everything you can remember about him, as we have.
Don’t forget us, or your
precious homeland, and God will protect you.
Papa
There would be no more letters from
home. “Don’t forget us,” is what dear Papa had said. “What could be
more certain,” Julia cried aloud, startling Anna, who began to cry
with her. Before Julia could think further about her father’s
letter, Eva burst into the room, frantically waving in her right
hand several papers rolled up like a scroll. Her enthusiasm quickly
dampened when she saw Julia’s tears.
“ You’ve been
crying.”
“ Yes, my first letter from
home.”
Handing Anna to Eva, Julia carefully
folded her father’s letter, placed it on the table, and looked
through the window again at the heavy cold rain forming large
puddles of water in the small playground area next to the
dormitory. If only Anna were older, Julia wished. They would play
together in the small muddy oceans, having great sea battles with
great armadas made of paper, as she and Hiram did a thousand times
over when the heavy rains came to Prague. Like Ares, the Greek god
of war, their father would watch over the titanic sea wars from
high above on the back porch. There he would build more paper ships
for whichever side had less so that no one could claim victory when
the day came to an end. Those were the golden times of childhood,
when nothing else mattered except the closeness of family, the kind
old people think of as their mind slowly withers away.
Refusing to cry again, Julia turned
back to Eva, who was walking back and forth holding Anna,
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