Rena's Promise (5 page)

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Authors: Rena Kornreich Gelissen,Heather Dune Macadam

Tags: #Biography & Autobiography, #Historical, #test

BOOK: Rena's Promise
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face, as if she were saying the Sabbath prayer, and waited for the news
.
Mama cleared her throat. "Dear Family. It is very cold where I am. I love you all. Nathan
."
They stared at the floor as Zosia sobbed, "He must be in Siberia."
Herschel, Zosia's young son, became very ill and needed an operation, but the new regulations did not allow Jews to see doctors. The Slovakian Jews were being treated far less harshly than the Polish Jews, probably because of the annexation of Slovakia by Germany; they were allowed to work and earn money, they weren't being forced to wear stars, and most importantly for Herschel, they could be treated by doctors
.
"If we can get across the border it shouldn't be too difficult to get to Uncle Jacob Schützer's in Bardejov. At least Herschel can get treatment there," Zosia explained. "Who knows where Nathan is now or if he will ever be able to return home? In Slovakia I can work in Uncle Jacob's dress shop until I find work of my own, and when I'm settled I'll send for little Ester."
"I will send a note to my brother that you are coming," Mama said, "and pray for your safety and joy."
From the Schützer's home in Slovakia Zosia wrote every week, sending her letters with Gentile friends from Tylicz, who could still cross the border and trade in the marketplace in Bardejov. Herschel's operation went well, one letter said. The family's prayers had been answered
.
A few weeks later she wrote that she had been offered a position as a housekeeper in Bratislava. Bratislava was all the way across Slovakia, on the border with Austria. Zosia moved, and her letters became less frequent
.
Meanwhile, Danka and Rena worked long, hard days and often stayed up as late as four-thirty in the morning because they'd taken over Zosia's sewing business. Rena was becoming well known as the local seamstress, and one Sunday while she was busy working at her sewing machine she heard a knock at the window.

 

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She was shocked to see an Austrian officer waiting outside. He asked her if she could make two pillowcases for him. It was a question and not a command, which seemed strange in and of itself. Rena told him that she could make the pillowcases, and a week later Officer Joksch came to pick them up, complimented her on her craftsmanship, ordered two more, and handed her a few coins for her work
.
Rena ran through the house to show her mother the coins. "An Austrian officer paid me for the pillowcases!" she exclaimed
.
Mama stared at the money in wonderment. "You are a miracle, Rena. Even in all this hardship, you are able to inspire kindness in those who would normally treat us with cruelty." She hugged her daughter and hid the coins in the teapot where all of their valuables were stored
.
In early November it was ordered that the Torah, the Talmud, and all the holy books must be burned, and all the men were forced to come to the temple with their tomes. To a people who are not only deeply religious but scholarly as well, this command was unimaginable. The temple was closed for good and all the books harbored within its walls were tossed into the street. The women and children waited at home as the Jewish men of Tylicz gathered outside their synagogue. Rena, Danka, and Mama sat on the steps of their farmhouse waiting and praying that Papa would return
.
"Line up!" A tall German officer barked his orders. In a daze, Chaim Kornreich and the other men moved alongside one another before the mound of kindling and manuscripts
.
"It is against our policy for any Jew to grow these ridiculous curls or beards. Every man in this line must be shaved or shot!" Brandishing scissors like street-hardened youths carrying switchblades, the soldiers ordered the men to remove their hats and then systematically began to sever their earlocks and beards
.
A German SS man lit a torch, and in moments angry sparks began

 

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to burn the pages of their heritage. "You are no longer allowed to pray or to enter the temple for any reason whatsoever!" The latest list of proclamations was read over the raging pyre. "It is against the law to worship on the Jewish Sabbath, and to light candles on Friday night." Helpless, Chaim Kornreich and the others watched their history devoured by flames
.
A few days later, Rena heard Officer Hans Joksch's familiar voice at her window. She handed him the pillowcases he'd requested, careful to keep her eyes lowered in respect; she nodded politely to another officer standing next to him
.
"Rena, invite us into your home," Officer Joksch said.
His request turned everything upside down. Who was I to say no? He seemed like a nice man, but he was endangering our lives by entering under our roof. I could not help but suspect him of some other motive, but who would have thought what his true reason would be?
Rena ran through the house to warn her parents. Clasping her hands over her eyes, Mama prayed, "Good Lord, my Lord, protect us." Then, taking her place in the parlor, she composed herself with unnerving stillness
.
Officer Joksch and his friend acted casually and asked if there were a gramophone in the house
.
"No." Rena spoke quickly, too quickly
.
"I bet you are a good dancer, Rena."
"So-so." She stared at the floor
.
"Well, if my friend whistles something would you dance with me?"
She glanced at her parents' ashen faces. His friend started to whistle a tango as Officer Joksch took Rena's hands and they began shuffle awkwardly around the parlor
.
I was so nervous, wondering what he would do if I missed even a step, but I tried to look as if I were having a good time.

 

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His friend whistled until he ran out of breath and spittle, and Officer Joksch said, "You dance beautifully, Rena."
I could barely get the words
Danke schön
out of my mouth, it was so dry.
"Nein, nein, Fraulein. Thank
you
. You have made this day truly memorable to me and I will never forget your good faith." He bade us good eveningwithout shaking hands, of course, but still very nicelypaid for the pillowcases, and left.
Mama wept quietly, wringing her hands. Papa did not speak.
Oh, my God, how I was shaking. I don't know why I didn't stumble or how my knees didn't just buckle completely under me. Then it occurred to me that maybe I was a good dancer.
It was Sabbath, and standing in front of the mirror with her dirndl on, Rena began to plait her long hair into a single braid down her back. Even if they couldn't go to temple they tried to carry on as if everything were normal because in their hearts they could still worship. Despite what had been decreed, some of the elders of the synagogue had decided to meet anyway, but no sooner had the prayers begun than soldiers barged in
.
"You people are disobeying orders and for this you will be punished." One of the officers barked commands, pushing the men against a wall. "Today we will teach you a lesson! And today's lesson shall be that every time you meet, one of you will be taken down to the river and shot. Take him!"
Two soldiers dragged a man out the door with them, and that man was my father.
"Rena! Rena!" Joseph, the head of the Judenrat, yelled as he ran toward our house. Running to the window, my hands tangled in my braid, I leaned out to ask what was wrong.
"They have your father and they're going to kill him!" Joseph's voice quaked. "Run to the river and stop them before it's too late!"
My feet flew down the steps before he could breathe another word. "Fly, Rena!" His voice chased me down the road.

 

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I was barefoot. My hair was not braided. I didn't even have on my white armband with the blue star of David, which I was always supposed to wear. This was how I ran down the dirt road toward the rivermy hair heavy against my back, falling in my face, clinging to my neckracing across the Carpathian Hills, every step a prayer to our Lord to save my father. I did not feel the stones cutting into my flesh. I did not see the trail of blood in the dirt as I ran.
There were many bodies found along the river in the mornings, because to kill a Jew was no crime, so I knew exactly where to run. What had Joseph been thinking, though, sending me to save Papa? I don't care to admit this, but the truth is, at that moment all I could think about was having to tell Mama, I stood right there and watched them kill Papathere was nothing I could do. The thought of her pain-stricken face was more than I could bear, so while I ran I tried to come up with a plan that would save me from having to tell Mama that Papa was dead.
I could see them across the field as soon as I broke free of the trees lining the path to the river. Papa was standing against the fence as two soldiers raised their rifles level with his heart.
''Stop!" I screamed, jumping in front of him. "This is my father. If you're going to kill him, you're going to have to kill me, too." I was thinking to myself, They won't kill me, I'm a young girl. I was so naive.
"Scheiss-Jude!
Filthy dog!" they hissed.
I dared not look in Papa's face, so instead I chose to look in the eyes of his would-be assassins. "I'm not leaving my father," I told them firmly.
"Look at this girl!" they laughed in my face. "She thinks we won't kill her and her dirty Jew of a father."
I turned around and pointed to Papa's white shirt. "Look how white the collar of his shirt is. He's not dirty. How dare you tell my father he's filthy!" I didn't understand what they meant. "My mother cleaned and ironed this shirt herself." I showed them his clean collar.

 

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''You are too funny!" they laughed, cocking their guns. "You want to say a prayer, little Jew girl, before you die?" I blinked into the barrel of their shotgun. It was strange to think that such a small, dark hole could be the last thing I looked at in life.
My hands squeezed wrinkles across my freshly pressed skirt. For a second I imagined that there was laughter coming from the river road. It sounded so good-hearted, so jovial, that I wondered if I had suddenly gone mad while waiting to die.
"What are you boys doing there?" a familiar voice shouted from the road. Behind the soldiers, two men were laughing and riding their bikes.
Our death squad answered, "Heil Hitler, Officer Joksch! We're just about to kill this Jew and his daughter." They saluted him. "Would you like to do the honors instead?"
I could barely believe my watering eyes. I was not mad. I was not dreaming. There, just a few feet away, stood Hans Joksch.
"I would rather have a beer." He slapped them on the back. They laughed. "Come, hop on our bikes and I'll buy you a round!"
"Let's kill them firstthen we'll be really thirsty!"
"Why bother with them? Besides, I don't want to wait any longer." He got on his bike, indicating he wouldn't take no for an answer. "Come on, hurry up. I haven't got all day. I'm sure you'll find other Jews to kill tomorrow." The soldiers looked angrily at us but did as they were told because Officer Joksch was higher-ranking.
Their voices seemed to carry across the field forever, making it impossible for either of us to move. It was as if my feet had taken root in the ground. I did not dare to look at Papa. He did not dare to look at me. Tears of shock smarted our eyes. Slowly we started walking toward home, but in the middle of the road we sank down clutching the dirt beneath our hands. Our legs weren't going to carry us any farther.

 

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