November 18, 1904
Königsberg, Prussia
Dearest, darling Stephen:
I received your letter today, and I have read it a hundred times–maybe a thousand. I love you! I adore you! My heart is jumping so madly that my hand trembles, and I can hardly write. Every line you wrote told me more each time I reread it. I can feel you so close to me that my body aches at not being able to put my arms around you. Oh, my wonderful dearest, I love you and I miss you as fully as you miss me.
How can I write of what is happening when all I want to say is how happy I am that I received your letter? It took a month to come, but it was like a breath of Spring. First of all, thank you for checking on the children. I agree that it was wise to take Larisa into your confidence to help me learn what was happening. But only a week ago I received a letter from Rabbi Warnitski through a cousin of his. He said that Uncle Sam was jailed for over two months, beaten quite badly, then released the end of September. Tante Katie, his wife, had a terrible time feeding the family, but some of the neighbors helped. It seems that most of the Jewish men from Gremai were beaten and questioned about Hershel, Jakob, and me, and a large number from Slabodka and Kaunas also. I guess you know about that. I still cry at the thought of Mr. Wilson taking care of the children during those first terrible weeks. Please ask Larisa to tell him that I kiss his hand, and I will pray for him the rest of my life. Gitel has moved from Mr. Wilson’s house and is working at the home of old Mr. Katzman’s son in Kaunas, and Reba is working in Mr. Feldman’s store in Gremai. It makes my heart overflow at the kindness of people. Do you know that Mr. Feldman is doing this because he was once a friend of Papa? Even after all those years of Papa being a cripple, he was respected as much as when he was a successful businessman. I still worry about the children, but at least they are in good hands. Zelek is bragging to his playmates that his sister killed a Cossack, and Mr. Wilson just laughs. I wish he would be more careful. Young or old, the police may beat them.
I have been in Königsberg for a month now. Jakob was doing well in the hospital at Tilsit at first, and then suddenly he became worse. The doctor said it was pleurisy, then it turned into pneumonia, and now they think his old case of tuberculosis has come back. He was moved here a month ago to a sanitarium, and they are feeding him a lot of fresh milk and cream and butter. He is like a scarecrow–he doesn’t seem able to gain ten grams. I had to fight with him about eating other foods, but he refuses because they aren’t kosher. I spoke to the local rabbi, who visited Jakob. They argued for over an hour whether the Lord allows people to eat non-kosher foods to save a life, and although both of them knew quite well that the answer is ‘yes’, they had to argue anyway just to show how much they know. It ended up with the rabbi making arrangements to have kosher meals delivered to the sanitarium, but Jakob still doesn’t gain weight. The pain in his chest is a little better, but when he coughs or speaks loudly, he turns so white that I am sure he will die right there.
The police have been very helpful. Herr Eric’s assistant told me the name of an officer in Tilsit to whom I reported weekly. He gave Jakob and me identification papers. Then each week he gave me enough money for a small room and food. When I suggested that I look for work, he said we would discuss that later on. Most of the day I studied German, visited Jakob, and took long walks. When Jakob was transferred here to Königsberg, I was allowed to come also, and was given the name of another officer to whom I have to report. He also gives me enough money to live on. I have a room in an old Jewish widow’s house. Her spinster niece takes care of her, and the old dragon treats her miserably. I’ve been sewing some clothes for the niece, and she comes up now and then with a slice of hot bread or a piece of cake.
Thankfully, the police are paying all the bills for Jakob’s care. It is hard to understand why, but I think it is because Hershel must have been an important person. I told Jakob about my talks with Herr Eric, and he agrees completely with your belief that Hershel was a spy. He also said that we are being treated well because the work Hershel was doing is probably still being carried on, and they don’t want anybody bringing attention to the situation.
I am so glad you are doing well at the university, and that you had no trouble starting classes. I laughed with relief when you said that once you were across the border, you ran to the railroad station in Kaunas to prepare your story for being late. You will never really know how much we owe you. Not just my love and devotion–you had that long before the death of Hershel–but risking your life for us over and over again, and working so hard to rescue us. Jakob told me that he says a prayer for you every day, and I say mine with every waking breath.
I will be starting work next week in a men’s shirt factory. The doctor told me that Jakob will be at the sanitarium for at least six months, and I do not like the idea of taking money for nothing. The officer I report to gave his permission. It will not give me as much time to visit Jakob, but I will go as often as I can. The dragon has allowed me to use the kitchen for a little extra money each week, so I will be able to cook some food for him.
Goodbye, my dearest one. It is almost three months now since we parted. In just about eighteen more months, you will be finished university and on your way to me. I count every second, and each beat of my heart says how much I love you.
Forever yours,
Hanna
April 7, 1905
Garmisch-Partenkirchen
My wonderful, dearest Stephen:
Your letter dated five weeks ago just arrived. It was forwarded from Königsberg, so I knew you had written while my own letter was on its way. I told you I had received the lovely earrings you sent for Christmas, but I told everyone it was a Chanukah present. I will not explain Chanukah, as I would much rather tell you how much I love you. I was so happy to get a letter from Larisa giving me up to date news about the children. It is a great relief of mind to know they are well and growing. I was also very proud of your fine grades at university, especially in German.
Yes! Yes! Yes! I am ready to shout with joy at the thought that you may come to Germany during your summer vacation! Oh, Stephen, I shall pray very hard that you can make it. I am so excited that I must daydream before each sentence.
Jakob and I moved here to Garmisch two weeks ago. It is in the Kingdom of Bavaria in the south of Germany, on the Austrian border. The doctor thought it would be better for him near the mountains, so he was sent to a sanitarium just outside this village. It is beautiful here. We are at the foot of a mountain called the Zugspitze, over three thousand meters high, and the air is so pure that it tastes sweet. We came down together on the train, so I was able to nurse him a little. He is still very weak and thin as before, but I bully him into eating, and he laughs saying I am preparing him for the sacrifice. It has helped a little, I think, for each time I force him to eat a little more, he seems to take more the next meal. I have a room in a small pension about a kilometer from the sanitarium, so visiting Jakob is not difficult. Our greatest problem is food. There are no Jews nearby, so we have no meat to eat. But as we do get plenty of fish and fruit and milk, both of us get along. I am also permitted to use the kitchen and bake cakes for him every week.
Jakob had some terrible news before we left Königsberg. A rabbi in his home town wrote to Rabbi Warnitski. It seems that Jakob’s father and mother were arrested for deportation to Siberia. His congregation rebelled, demanding to go along, and there were savage beatings, and a few killed before the police took his parents away. They have not been heard of since. Jakob did not speak to anyone for a week, just prayed day and night. I think that is one of the reasons the doctor decided on the transfer.
I enjoyed my job at the shirt factory very much. It was the first time I ever saw such a way to make clothes. Like stamping out metal parts. Right after I last wrote you, I was promoted to supervisor, in charge of seven girls, and the owner increased my salary to six marks a week. With my first week’s salary, I went right out and bought a goose that weighed four kilos, and baked it so well that Jakob ate a double portion. I gave some to the dragon and her niece, too, and every morning and evening after that the dragon said hello.
Like before, I must report to the police each week, but the one here is stern. Jakob says it is because they are Catholic and, therefore, more opposed to Jews, but the Lithuanians were also Catholic and we got along. The policeman told me that they would pay for Jakob only until October, but I have not told him yet. I do not want him to worry. I have saved enough to hold out for a little while, but I am looking for work here. No, my dearest one, I will not allow you to send me money. You must save for your trip here, and I can manage. I have been told that people come here to climb the mountain in the summer and to ski in the winter, and the goods I see in the shop windows are very well made. That is good for me, for I can do that kind of work easily. And the experience I had in Königsberg on sewing machines is very useful.
I managed to send some money to Uncle Sam. My cousin, Zelda, wrote back for him to say that he was now getting along so well, what with Zelda working and me sending him money, he will be able to retire soon. Uncle Sam always joked, no matter how hard the times were. Apparently, the situation with the Jewish families has calmed down a little, and they are not being molested like before. But he says there has been much union activity and unrest with the government. Maybe the ghost of Hershel is carrying on.
Goodbye for now, my beloved. I will dream of you every night until I am in your arms again. I kiss you very tenderly.
I love you,
Your Hanna
It took Hanna only a few more days to see that mountain clothing would be in demand once the spring rains stopped, so she went directly to a store which had the largest display of material in the window. The owner was a big bellied, red-faced man in lederhosen, a wool shirt, and wearing a green Bavarian hat with a long bird feather in the band. He had two men working in the back room.
“Sure I can use another tailor,” he said loudly in the rich Bavarian accent. “But there aren’t any good tailors left in the kingdom. They can’t sew a straight seam, and when they stitch by hand, you can wait your dinner hour before they get in the pins.”
“I will make whatever you want, quickly,” she said quietly. “If you are not satisfied, do not pay me.”
He wiped his large nose while he peered at her from under the brim of his hat. He did not like working with women. Every time you raised your voice, they would cry or scream or make a face that would sour the milk of a Bavarian cow. But, Jesus Mary, he always talked loudly, so his wife had said about a thousand times since their marriage. But that is the Bavarian nature, he always answered back. We eat loud, we drink loud, and we laugh with our bellies.
“Can you cut, too?” he probed.
“Yes. I can even make my own patterns.”
He picked up his ears. She was young, but seemed confident. Not cocky, mind you, for he would never tolerate a cocky employee in the store, yet sure of her work. “Come in the back,” he finally said. He had two extra machines, she saw, both for straight stitching. On the cutting table, he laid out a pattern. “It’s a jacket,” he told her.
“I can see it is,” she replied courteously. “Do you have a model?”
“That one,” he said, pointing to a finished jacket hanging on a rack.
“What material will be used?”
He led her to a shelf and held up a bolt of cloth. “This material. over there,” he motioned towards another shelf, “is the lining.”
“The trim and buttons?” she asked levelly.
The two tailors had not looked up from their work, but she felt their eyes on her.
The owner gave her the information, and then walked back into the store.
Without a word, Hanna slipped out of her coat, brought over the bolt of material for cutting, and set to work. At noon, the two men took up lunch pails and went to a small table at the rear of the work area. One stepped out for a pitcher of beer, and then both munched on bread and wurst, talking quietly. After eating, they cleaned the table, put aside the pails, and sat smoking. Hanna had kept on working. After a half hour break, they resumed their sewing. The only disturbance during the afternoon was the sound of a customer coming into the store, and then a little later, the owner entered the work area and gave measurements to one of the tailors for another job. On the way out, he stopped briefly by Hanna’s machine, glanced at her work, then continued on. In late afternoon, storm clouds gathered, and soon it was raining. The owner switched on electric lights. He had not skimped on proper lighting, that was evident, and Hanna was grateful, for bad lighting was fatiguing, even to her clear, sharp eyes. When the tailors stopped and cleaned up their tables, Hanna did the same. She followed them from the store, saying good night to the owner, and then hastened toward her pension.
As soon as she was out of sight, the owner inspected her work. The jacket was three quarters finished, and he recognized quality when he saw it. He nodded his head in approbation, and then mounted the steps to his living quarters above the shop. His ample hipped wife and teen-aged sons were seated at the dinner table waiting for him. He washed his hands, sat down with a sigh of contentment, said a quick prayer over the bowed heads, and then dug into a roast that was baked to the crispness he liked.
“Got a new tailor,” he said from around a mouthful of food.
“What’s his name?” asked his wife.
“Ain’t a him. It’s a her.”
“For men’s clothing?” asked his wife, looking up.
“She’s good. Damn good,” he replied. He loaded up his mouth again, and then abruptly stopped chewing. “Maybe we can begin making women’s clothes,” he remarked experimentally, starting to eat once more. His wife nodded her head and smiled proudly at him.
Hanna was the first of the workers to arrive the following morning, and at noon, she had completed the jacket. She took it to the owner, who inspected it carefully.
“It’s fine work,” he said in a normal speaking voice. “You’ve got a job. Four Marks per week.”
“I’m worth more,” she said, looking him straight in the eye.
He turned the jacket in his hands again and smoothed out an invisible wrinkle. “The men in the back have been with me for a long time. They get eight marks.” Hanna said nothing, just stared at him steadily. He rubbed his nose for a few seconds, then he smiled, his round face sluicing into a checkerboard of laugh lines. “Yes, I think you are worth it. Six marks.”
Hanna smiled back.
The owner’s name was Augustus Mahler, and he was a pleasure to work for, once one became accustomed to his usual roar. Without obvious prying, he learned about Jakob and his illness, and it caused two or three great arguments with his wife, who contended that there must be something going on between the two, while Mahler hotly affirmed that somewhere on this earth was a saint or two, and why not her. From his weekend house at Starnberg, about an hour’s ride away by train, he bought a net full of fresh vegetables each week for Hanna, who boiled and pureed them into a soup that Jakob ate by the bowlfuls. By early June, a change began to take place with the disabled man. Perhaps it was the air, the sun, the soup–the good humor of the Bavarian nurses–but Jakob began to cough less, his face got some color, and he put on a few kilos of flesh. Now he started to walk, slowly, leaning on Hanna’s arm, and after a week of ambling along, he went by himself with a cane.
Every Friday, Hanna baked a small challah, packed a supper, with candles and a bottle of wine, and visited Jakob’s room. “It is kosher,” she told him about the wine. “I had it brought from München.” The other three occupants of the room took a walk out of courtesy as Hanna lit the candles and Jakob conducted the ritual Sabbath prayers.
In the first week of August, on her usual Sunday visit, she came walking swiftly to where he was seated in the shade of a tree reading. Her face was shining with excitement. Even before setting down the basket with their picnic lunch, she said, “Jakob, Stephen will be in München this Thursday.”
He had known they were writing each other, but Hanna had been careful to omit speaking of their relationship. The sudden news of the arrival of the Russian thundered against him. He realized at once why Stephen was making the trip, and it brought him face to face with his feelings about Hanna. He had grown to consider her as part of his existence, as someone who would be there to count on, to lean on, to occupy the physical space he moved in. He actually had not thought of the future. In his present state of health, the future was tomorrow only. Somewhere in those tomorrows was the reason for existence, and the yesterdays were building blocks that bridged the movement between alpha and omega. If he died before tomorrow, then all that was necessary to be learned and experienced was complete. The time given by the Lord God has been ordained in the Book of Life, and we come to Him whole. No one is too young or too old or too healthy or too ill. Within each beginning and end is totality, and since Hanna was linked with him in the day to day existence, the possibility of not having her about had not crossed his mind.
He looked at her with astonishment, really seeing her for the first time since his wound, and suddenly his mind was confused. He found it impossible to catalogue the reasons for the muddle, and although a small voice was mumbling in his ears that there was meaning to Hanna outside the Hasidic tradition, he refused to tune it to clarity. To do so, he unconsciously realized, would be to hear sounds and see images with which he did not know how to deal.
He fastened his mind on her words. “How is he able to get out of Russia?”
“Men like him can go wherever they want.” She began taking food from the basket and placing it on a nearby table.
She is too overjoyed to see my confusion, thought Jakob. Then as quickly as his mind was muddled, it became clear. “You are fond of him, aren’t you?” he asked, an emptiness lying cold inside.
She stopped her work to look at him. Her eyes were glistening with happiness. “Yes, very much.” She began arranging the bowls of food to cover her emotion. “He has been a good friend to us both.”
Jakob sat back into his chair. There it was. No matter whether Stephen had wrenched out every muscle to rescue him at Hanna’s insistence, he had still saved his life. He owed Stephen that, without the slightest shred of doubt. So did Hanna, for without him, she would not have gotten ten meters from the scene of the killings. There was nothing he could give Stephen to repay him for their salvation. He took a deep, painful breath. Nothing, except Hanna. But he did not own Hanna. He did not own even a piece of her. How could he give something he did not even have?
“Come, eat Jakob,” said Hanna, helping him to a chair at the table.
The food was lead in his stomach; the lemonade acid to his throat. And that night, as he lay in his bed, he turned his mind totally to Torah, for only there could he find peace.