Wildflowers of Terezin (11 page)

"No, no." Duckwitz finally turned back to the conversation and cleared his throat. "Listen to me. The disaster is going to take place."

"The disaster," echoed Hedtoft, obviously not following.He would in a moment. Meanwhile he rubbed his high temples in confusion as Duckwitz continued.

"That's right," he said. "All the details have been planned.Two ships will be in the harbor to transport five thousand.Trains for the remaining twenty-five hundred. Unless you do something in the next forty-eight hours, your poor fellow citizens are going to be deported to an unknown destination.All the names and addresses are known."

Now Hedtoft nodded slowly as his eyes widened. By this time he had to understand. Did Duckwitz have to spell it out for him even more explicitly?

"I'd always suspected something like this would happen," said the Dane. "But when?"

"October first, starting at ten o'clock in the evening. It's calculated precisely so they'll all be in their homes for their holiday. Apparently, it's one of the major Jewish celebrations, whatever they call it."

"Just three days . . ." Hedtoft spoke as if his head was spinning."How will we—"

"I've already spoken with the Swedish government. They've agreed to take in as many refugees as you can transport across the Sound."

"I see. But over seven thousand! I assume no one else knows? What about Best?

"No one else." Duckwitz shook his head no, which left Hedtoft to marvel at the sheer lunacy of what they were discussing in a corner of the comfortable Labour Library.

But there, now he'd gone and said everything. What else was there to be spilled? Or how much more treason could there be? Yet Duckwitz now felt a strange lightness, as if a load had been lifted and he could walk out of the library without ducking his head in shame. He accepted Hedtoft's strong handshake, and he could already sense the Danish politician's mind moving ahead.

"I'll pass the word along immediately," said Hedtoft, still pumping his hand. "Henriques will want to know; he's the head of their community. And Dr. Marcus Melchior, the acting chief rabbi at the Krystalgade Synagogue."

"Whatever is appropriate. I leave it up to you."

Duckwitz nodded as his mind drifted to schnitzel und spätzle.

"I can't tell you how much we appreciate what you've done."

Hedtoft understood what the information might cost.

"I'd best be going," Duckwitz answered, finally turning away."My wife is holding dinner for me."

"Yes, of course." As they parted ways Hedtoft flashed one of the warm smiles that helped make him one of the most popular Danish leaders in the city. "But if anyone asks . . ."

He paused as Duckwitz looked back over his shoulder.

"I will have absolutely no recollection of this conversation."

KRYSTALGADE SYNAGOGUE, KØBENHAVN

WEDNESDAY, 29 SEPTEMBER 1943

There may be times when we are powerless to prevent injustice,

but there must never be a time when we fail to protest.

—ELIE WIESEL

S
o you're feeling a little guilty, are you?"

Hanne's mother held on to her arm as they walked down Krystalgade toward the synagogue for the Wednesday morning service. But what kind of a question was that?

"Mor!
I'm not coming to the service because I'm feeling guilty. I'm coming to the service because I have today off, and because you asked me."

"Anything else? What about the start of Rosh Hashanah tonight?"

"Well, sure. And I want to be here with you."

"Of course you do." Mrs. Abrahamsen clutched a small black leather purse in her left hand. "You haven't been to Sabbath services in two months, and now on the Day of Judgment, when the destiny of all mankind is recorded on the Maker's Book of Life, now you come."

"Mor, you are far too dramatic." Hanne tried to keep it light as she smiled. "And it's only been a few weeks."

"You think blowing the shofar is too dramatic? You think the New Year's meal is too dramatic? I think you could use a little more drama in your life, maybe. A child or two, perhaps."

There. Hanne knew her mother would be slipping it in, sooner or later. And she tried not to roll her eyes.

"Please don't start with the children thing again."

"Why not? A mother has a right to express her opinion, does she not?"

"Not if it makes you sound like . . ." Hanne searched for words.

"Watch your tongue."

"I am, believe me. But you should hear yourself. The typical Jewish mother, pressuring her daughter to have children.Sometimes it's just too much for me to believe."

"I say the same thing. Sometimes it's just too much for me to believe."

"All right, fine." Hanne waved her free hand for emphasis as they neared the synagogue, less than a block away. "How about this: How about if I go out and get pregnant next month. Tell me if you want a boy or a girl. I'll have both.Then will you be satisfied?"

Hanne's mother stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, looking up at her taller daughter, and waved a warning finger.

"I don't like the way you joke," she told her.

But Hanne couldn't help smiling back.

"I'm sorry, Mor. It's just that you're always bringing it up, and I don't know what else to say."

They started walking again.

"Don't say anything, just do. You know that Aron would marry you in a minute."

Hanne sighed and pressed her lips together. Her mother was right about that much. Problem was . . . she didn't know what the problem was. Or if there was one. Who would be a better match than the son of her deceased father's best friend? And in a moment her mother would begin reminding her all over again why she should marry Aron Overgaard, and as soon as possible.

"He has money, you know, and plenty of it. So he needs a little fattening up? That's not hard to do. What's the problem? I thought you always liked him."

"I
do
like him, most of the time. He's very sweet. He brought me flowers at the hospital the other day."

"There, see? And?"

"And he's very sensible. Men like him are very sensible."

Yes, and everything about him looked the part—from his serious brown eyes and his dimpled chin to the prominent nose. Sensible.

"Well, then. What else can you ask for? You told me once that you thought he was the one."

"I was only fourteen at the time." She counted cracks in the narrow sidewalk as they neared the synagogue. He would be there today. She couldn't avoid him. But she certainly didn't want to hurt him, either. She could imagine the hurt puppy dog look on his face if she ever did.

"So just tell me this." Her mother wasn't giving up that easily. "What if he did ask you to marry him? What would you say?"

"Actually, Mor, he already did."

"What?" Her mother nearly exploded. "You never told me this. You never tell me anything! Should I not have known about this? What did you say?"

"Relax. That was ten years ago."

"Oh. You give me a heart attack with that kind of talk, and for what? Sometimes I wish your father was still alive just so he could discipline you. Here you are, twenty-five years old, and you still need someone to discipline you. You need a husband."

"I know. I miss him, too."

Hanne's mother let the answer slip by, perhaps not realizing.

"So what did you tell him?"

"Who? You mean Aron?" Hanne thought they'd better agree on terms, here. "I think we're talking about two different 'hims,' here."

"Aron, of course I mean Aron. The man who asked you to marry him. I was married when I was eighteen, you know.Fifteen's not that much younger than eighteen."

"You can't be serious. I told him I was going to be a doctor and that I wouldn't have time for men."

"You said that? Why am I not surprised?" This time Hanne's mother nearly dragged her black pumps across the sidewalk, looking more dejected with every step. "And look at her today. My daughter the prophetess. My daughter the nurse.The still-single nurse."

"Mor," Hanne said with a smile as she squeezed her mother's hand, "you're incredible."

"Your father would have been proud to hear you say that.Now if only you meant it in a nice way."

"You know I did."

Hanne would have been happy to keep the verbal sparring match going if not for the somber greeter standing between the familiar iron outer gate and the blond brick building's main entry. The Hebrew inscription above the outer door read "Welcome in the name of God." Tobias Simonsen, a young man who worked at the Tuborg brewery, must not have read the inscription.

"Please hurry inside and find a seat," he told them with an urgency that seemed quite out of place for the holidays. Tobias, in a hurry? He looked up and down the street for any other stragglers before following them inside the lobby and slamming the door shut behind them. The sound reverberated throughout the building, sending a shiver up Hanne's spine as she helped her mother climb the stairs to the women's balcony, lofted high above the pews below.

"Strange how they're celebrating the high holy days this year," Hanne's mother wondered aloud as they found a seat by Gitte Lewenstein next to the railing, looking down some eight meters or so to where the men sat. At the front of the synagogue, the ornate platform enclosed with a railing held the eight-armed menorah as well as a podium for the rabbi and the ceremonial scrolls of the Torah.

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" Hanne wondered aloud as she searched the crowd.

Fru Lewenstein shook her head and knit her crooked fingers together on her lap; she looked as confused as anyone else.

"All they've been doing is rushing around and whispering to each other down there." She leaned across to speak to Hanne's mother. "No telling what they're up to, but I'll tell you one thing: It's not the service we're expecting."

Still Hanne looked out across the sea of men's dark hats and the occasional yarmulke. The ornate prayer hall normally seated around 650, with standing room for another 100. This morning plenty of open seats remained, but the nervous buzz told Hanne that Fru Lewenstein was right about one thing: Something was surely not as it should have been.

"I think they're going to make some kind of announcement."Fru Lewenstein pointed toward the front. By that time Aron had found his usual place near the platform, but only nodded nervously when he looked up and picked them out of the crowd peering down at him from the balcony. Hanne raised a tentative hand in greeting.

Finally Rabbi Melchior stood up in front, dressed not in his customary dark robes, sash, and tall pillbox cap, but in a rumpled black suit and tie that looked less pressed than slept in. And though he did at least wear a fedora, his hair stuck out to each side as if he had thrown it on in quite a hurry.

What could be so wrong that he would not have dressed for the occasion?
Hanne still could not guess.

For a moment he stood fidgeting with his round-lens eyeglasses, pulling them off and then placing them back on his nose, then pulling them off once again. Eventually he got his glasses adjusted, so when he raised his hand the hall fell instantly silent.

"Thank you all for coming," he said, his baritone ringing throughout the hall. It sounded more like a greeting at a funeral, rather than the prelude to a two-day high holy days celebration. He paused for a deep breath before continuing."But there will be no service this morning."

A soft gasp of surprise spread through the congregation until he held up his hand once more to continue.

"Instead, I have very important news to tell you. Last night I received word that Friday evening the Germans plan to raid Jewish homes throughout København to arrest all Danish Jews for shipment to work camps."

Again he paused, as if gathering strength to continue. Fru Lewenstein winced in pain at the announcement, bringing her hands to her cheeks in shock. Others around her looked as if they had been slapped. Hanne couldn't bring herself to look at Aron's reaction, only kept her focus on the rabbi as he stood before the congregation and bravely went on with his announcement.