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Marking Humanity: Stories, Poems, & Essays by Holocaust Survivors. Shlomit Editor Kriger
Читать онлайн.Название Marking Humanity: Stories, Poems, & Essays by Holocaust Survivors
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780986477010
Автор произведения Shlomit Editor Kriger
Издательство Ingram
And then came Kristallnacht. On November 9 and 10, Jewish shop windows were smashed. Some have described how men and women were humiliated and beaten on the streets. Others described how Jews were kicked while forced to clean streets with toothbrushes. However, for me, that night began in the evening of November 8, a Tuesday, as we stood on our balcony terrified by the sky’s fiery glow. All of the synagogues in my city of Hanover were looted and burned. Watching the fires, we knew that Kristallnacht was not a good night to be out. Yet, Papa disappeared again. I was told that he was going out “on business,” just as he did whenever the Gestapo came knocking.
Papa missed supper. When he finally came home, he reported that he had not been with the Christians “downstairs.” He was carrying a huge bundle covered with large rags and blankets. Was it a body? When the wrappings were removed, I could see that they had sheltered a Torah (Jewish Bible) almost as big as my Papa. He had rescued the holy scroll from our local synagogue while the building was aflame.
Mutti, my mother, scolded him. “Why take the risk? One should take precautions. And why bring a Torah into an apartment where even radios are forbidden?”
Radios! I remember when the Gestapo came to all Jewish homes hunting for radios. The men in shiny, black boots searched every room. Radios were verboten. Contact with the outside world was forbidden.
I remember feeling like the man of the house while Papa was “away on business.” I was, in fact, a frightened little boy. I don’t know if I cried or not. But I did stand in front of my mother, not behind.
“Why bring a Torah into an apartment where even radios are forbidden?” Mutti asked again. A meaningful question! A full-sized Torah on the fourth floor of an apartment building would put all of the residents at risk. “Hero” was not a word that entered the evening’s conversation. I didn’t hear talk of “hero” until years later, when we were safely settled in the United States.
Papa had no plan for the Torah. The rabbi would know what to do. Wait until nightfall. Of course, no one told the young child, a bright five-year-old, where one would find a rabbi on Kristallnacht.
When I awoke the next morning, the Torah was gone. Apparently, the rabbi did know what to do. Papa was quite pleased with himself. I was only told that, again, Papa had been “out on business.”
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