The meeting hall of Karl Rink’s SS unit was packed with men young and old, all wearing black uniforms. Outside was early November cold, and inside the hall, dense with clouds of cigarette smoke, a tense expectation prevailed.
Rink, however, was relaxed and at ease. Ever since he had joined the SS, he had mainly provided security for the senior members of the party. No one mentioned his Jewish wife and he was sure that fact was forgotten. To his great joy, Mira’s fears had also subsided a little over time.
At seven on the dot the commander of the unit, Reinhard Schreider, stormed into the hall. He climbed onto the stage and raised his hand. “Heil Hitler!” A forest of hands went up and the hall echoed with shouts of “Heil!”
A silence fell when Schreider, his face enraged and his voice thundering, began his speech about an incident that had made headlines: a few days earlier, a Jewish student named Hershel Greenspan had entered the German embassy in Paris and shot to death the diplomat Ernst von Rath in revenge for the Nazis’ expulsion of his family from Germany.
“We’ve all heard about the awful crime in Paris,” shouted the commander hoarsely. “And you know who’s guilty?”
“The Jews!” the hall thundered unanimously.
“If the Jews think we’ll ignore what happened,” added Schreider, “they’re very wrong. We will give them what they gave us. Tonight, all over Germany, demonstrations are being held against the Jews, and I call on every one of you to recruit as many friends as possible and go out into the streets.”
He gave clear orders: to destroy the shops and apartments of Jews, to burn down synagogues, to locate Jewish businessmen and outstanding figures in the community and arrest them on the spot. Thousands of other activists of the Nazi Party all over Germany received similar orders at the same time from their district commanders.
Karl Rink went out into the cold street, into the night that would be remembered as the abomination of “Kristallnacht.” He knew he was expected to act as a loyal SS man, that his comrades were relying on him to carry out the order to strike the Jews. His commanders appreciated his devotion, his obedience, his loyalty to the principles of the organization. He had been promoted faster than others, got a job in SS headquarters, a good salary, and a motorcycle. As a loyal member of the party, he always carried out every order from his superiors. Now, on the evening of a pogrom against the Jews, he hesitated for the first time.
He thought of Mira, her parents, and her family. Ever since they had gotten married, he treated her family like his own flesh and blood. When he was with them, he didn’t talk about his work, never said a word against the Jews, never harmed them or their property, as his companions did, and he was offended when the family broke ties with him when they learned of his activity in the SS. This evening, he was ordered explicitly to commit acts he had never thought of doing, but he was part of a unit whose members had sworn to obey orders and he had no idea how to avoid carrying out the mission.
He was forced to go with them that night when they assaulted Jewish shops in Berlin and smashed display windows, had to watch them burst into the apartments of terrified Jews, beat them up, and destroy their furniture. He tried to stay as far away as he could without arousing suspicion, and he breathed a sigh of relief when things returned to normal in the morning. He made his way home slowly, past heaps of smashed furniture thrown out the windows of Jewish houses. He tiptoed inside, careful not to wake his wife and daughter. He got into bed silently but couldn’t sleep, picturing the pale faces of the Jews who were victimized by the Nazi thugs. He knew he wouldn’t dare tell Mira and Helga about it.
He woke up late in the morning. Helga had already gone to school and his wife looked dejected.
“I heard about what happened last night,” she said. “Tell me the truth, Karl. Were you there, too?”
“I was, but I stood aside.”
She looked at him directly.
“How long will you be able to stand aside, Karl? How long before you’ll have to hurt Jews yourself? I could still somehow understand your motives when you joined the party. Many unemployed people had to do that. It was a time of great dreams, of belief in Hitler’s power, even though I knew and told you explicitly that someday the Jews would fall victim to the Führer’s lunacy. You don’t fit that group of thugs. You don’t fit because you’re my husband and the father of our daughter. Don’t forget for one moment, Karl, that I’m a Jew, and Helga is a Jew like me according to Nazi law. For her sake and mine, promise me you’ll leave the SS.”
Karl was perplexed. He was torn between his wife and the party, but his faith in Hitler was still strong, in spite of everything.
“The party has done a lot for us,” he said. “I was unemployed, we didn’t have a penny, and suddenly Hitler came and everything changed. There are also decent people in the SS, Mira. What they did to the Jews was the result of anger about the murder in Paris. Everything will calm down, I promise you.”
“Don’t you understand that the situation will only get worse?”
“You see things in the wrong light, Mira.”
He was pouring himself a cup of coffee when, suddenly, the doorbell rang. Karl went to open it and stood face-to-face with an SS man he didn’t know.
“Schreider wants you to come to him,” said the messenger.
“When?”
“Right now.”
Ever since he had joined the SS, Rink had never had a chance to meet the commander of his unit in person. He wondered why Reinhard Schreider had summoned him to an urgent meeting.
“What could he want with you?” Mira wondered. “Maybe he wants to punish you for not taking part in the destruction?”
Karl didn’t reply. He left the house, started his motorcycle, and went to SS headquarters.
Life in the Stolowitzky mansion went on as usual even as war clouds were lowering over Europe. The rapid development of the German army, the annexation of Austria to the Third Reich, and Hitler’s rule over the entire Sudetenland in Czechoslovakia did stir concern in Poland, but the Stolowitzky family continued going to the summer estate, entertaining guests, and skiing in the mountains. Business was flourishing and money flowed in. There were no more blackmail and kidnapping attempts. “There’s no reason to worry,” Jacob would say to soothe those around him and himself. “In the end, Hitler won’t dare go to war.” He was optimistic about the future. He knew that even in the worst case, he wouldn’t be especially hurt. Most of his money was in a safe place—in the armor-plated vaults of the banks in Switzerland.
Meanwhile, every afternoon, when it wasn’t too cold or rainy, Gertruda went for a walk with Michael. Before they left they would report to Lydia for a final check. Michael would ask his mother seriously: “Are we dressed properly for the Stolowitzky family?” And Lydia would smile and reply: “Of course, you’re dressed just fine.” She would give Gertruda a few zlotys and wish them a nice time.
Gertruda and Michael would go out the gate, usually accompanied by Emil, cross the street, go into nearby Chopin Park, pat the peacocks walking around freely, eat ice cream or cake in Café Belvedere, and sail in the colorful boats on the lake. They also loved to ride downtown on the trolley, watch the trains coming and going at the busy station, and look into the display windows packed with goodies.
Emil occasionally drove them out of town. They went to little villages whose residents looked admiringly at the rich people from Warsaw, bought apples and cherries from farmers at the side of the road, and strolled on paths among the vegetable plots. Emil didn’t hide his attraction to Gertruda. He courted her ardently and showered gifts on her, which she politely refused. She continued to ask him to leave her alone.
On a spring day in 1939, when Gertruda and Michael went out as usual, the sky was blue and a bright sun stood overhead. They strolled on Yeruzalimska Street, and at a small kiosk Gertruda bought chocolates for Michael and herself. When they sat down on a bench and munched on the treat, a brown puppy came to them, wagging his tail. Michael patted him and the puppy licked his hand.
“You think Mother will let me bring him home?” he asked.
“No, Michael,” replied Gertruda. “You know she doesn’t like animals.”
“Too bad,” said Michael. “He’s so sweet.”
They got up and walked off but the dog followed them. Gertruda waved him away firmly. He tried to ignore it, but she was more stubborn. At last, the dog withdrew sadly, his tail between his legs, and slowly crossed the street. A trolley approached and the driver rang the bell to warn the dog away from the tracks, but the dog didn’t pay attention to the danger. Michael gripped Gertruda’s hand in fear and shouted to him, “Watch out!” The dog didn’t move any faster and slowly crossed the tracks, the trolley coming closer. Michael quickly dropped Gertruda’s hand and ran to the dog. The trolley honked again. Michael jumped between the tracks and picked up the puppy.
Gertruda shrieked in terror. She swooped down on Michael and started pulling him from the path of the advancing trolley. The dog wailed and escaped from the boy’s arms, while the trolley hit Michael’s knee and threw him onto the street. A burst of blood stained his trousers.
Gertruda anxiously bent over the child, who was groaning in pain. “Please, God, help us,” she sobbed. She pictured Michael’s mother getting the news of her son’s injury and holding her responsible. How could she bear the thought that she had been negligent in taking care of the child she loved so much?
The trolley stopped and terrified passengers surrounded the nanny and the injured boy on the pavement. Somebody made his way over. “I’m a doctor. Let me through,” he called. He was a young man, simply dressed. Gertruda whispered a prayer as he examined Michael. The doctor quickly took off his own shirt, tore it into strips, and used them as bandages to apply pressure. Then he picked Michael up and ran a few streets to the nearby hospital, with Gertruda hurrying along behind him. He took the child into the emergency room, called for doctors, and rushed to the operating room with them. The operation took a long time, and Gertruda kissed the doctor’s hand when he told her that Michael’s condition had improved and he would certainly recover soon and return home.
“Are you his mother?” he asked.
“No, I’m the nanny.”
“Go home and tell his parents,” he said. “I’ll stay with the boy until they come.”
In fear and trembling, Gertruda walked to the Stolowitzky house and told them what had happened. Lydia was shocked, but Gertruda’s fears were groundless: Lydia didn’t say a word about Gertruda’s responsibility and didn’t throw her out. She only asked her to come with her immediately to the hospital. When they got there, they found Michael sedated and the young doctor standing next to him. Gertruda told Lydia of his devoted care.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” said Michael’s mother.
“There’s no need to thank me. I only did what I had to,” he said, and left before she could say another word.
Lydia and Gertruda sat by Michael’s bed all night. The next morning, when the child opened his eyes and smiled wanly, the young doctor returned. He patted Michael and promised he would soon get out of the hospital.
“What’s your name?” asked Lydia.
“Joseph Berman.”
“You must be Jewish,” she said. “So are we.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“God sent you to us. You saved my son. Thank you.”
When Michael was released from the hospital two days later, Gertruda put him to bed. Emil found out Dr. Berman’s address and Lydia drove with him to the doctor’s house. They came to a lovely apartment house downtown and climbed up to the third floor. A brass plate fixed to the door said: DR. JOSEPH BERMAN, SPECIALIST IN LUNG DISEASES.
The doctor’s wife opened the door to them. Sounds of children playing came from the apartment and she looked inquisitively at the refined woman and her uniformed chauffeur.
“Is the doctor at home?” asked Lydia.
“Yes. He’s with a patient now. Come in, please.”
They sat down in the corridor across from the doctor’s treatment room. An old man came out soon after, followed by the young doctor, who was amazed to see the visitors. Lydia stood up and handed him an envelope.
“That’s for you,” she said.
He opened it and found a large sum of money.
The doctor shook his head.
“I didn’t treat your son for money,” he said quietly.
“But that’s your work … you’re entitled to payment.”
He gave the envelope back to her.
“That wasn’t part of my work,” he said. “I was glad I could help.”
It was hard for Lydia to understand why he refused her payment. Never had anyone refused money from her.
“Nevertheless I want to reward you for what you did,” she insisted.
He smiled. “Your thanks are enough, madame.”
She quickly put the envelope on the nearby cabinet and hurried out the door.
Karl Rink entered SS headquarters with mixed feelings. He knew that Unit Commander Schreider wouldn’t bother to summon him if he didn’t have a good reason. Karl straightened his black uniform, tightened his swastika armband, and tried to guess what his commander might say to him.
The building was humming with uniformed men running around in the corridors and congregating in groups. He knew most of them and exchanged greetings.
In the anteroom of the unit commander’s office, Schreider’s third in command, Kurt Baumer, gave Rink a friendly smile. Baumer was Rink’s close friend, his only friend in the SS. The two of them had lived in the same neighborhood as children and had come a long way to reach their present positions.
“The commander is expecting you,” said Baumer.
“What does he want?”
“I have no idea.”
Baumer led Rink to Schreider’s big office. On the wall was a large photo of Hitler and the swastika flag hung behind the desk.
Karl straightened up, raised his right hand, and shouted “Heil Hitler!”
Schreider sat up in his leather chair and returned his greeting with raised arm. He was stocky and bald, with a tic in the corner of his mouth.
“Leave us alone,” he said to Baumer.
“Karl Rink.” He addressed his underling in an official tone. “You’ve been with us now for seven years, correct?”
“Seven years and two months.”
“You’ve won a lot of praise, Rink. I’ve read the reports on your activity, your devotion to the Führer. There are good chances that you’ll be promoted and given more responsibility.”
“Thank you, Commander.”
“But I wanted to clarify a few things. First of all, I got a report on the activities of our men in the retaliation we carried out against the Jews. Among other things, I was told that you didn’t really take part in the operation.”
“I was there.”
“You were. But what did you do?”
“I participated like everybody else.”
“It was reported to me that you stood aside, didn’t beat up Jews, didn’t smash shop windows. Why?”
“I did my best,” said Karl quietly.
Schreider didn’t take his penetrating eyes off him.
“Your wife is Jewish, Rink, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And I assume you’ll tell me that has nothing to do with your standing aside in demonstrations against the Jews.”
“It has nothing to do with it,” Karl lied weakly.
“You live together or apart?” Schreider wanted to know.
“What do you mean, Commander?”
“You know, of course, that the Nuremberg Laws annulled all marriages between Aryans and Jews. In fact, you’re forbidden to be married to a Jew.”
“I know.”
“They tell me that you continue to live with your wife, against the law.”
“Correct.”
“Rink,” the SS officer continued, “our Führer is leading Germany and the whole world to a new age. Revolutionary changes are in process. We need good men who will give a hand and carry out the exalted mission assigned to us. We need you, Karl.”
“I’ll carry out every order, sir.”
Not a muscle moved in Schreider’s face.
“Of course, it’s clear to you,” he said harshly, “that you’ll have to decide between us and your wife. You can’t be faithful to the party and to the Jews at the same time. You have to separate from her.”
“She won’t get in the way.” Karl Rink tried to persuade the commander. “The fact that my wife is a Jew has never stifled my devotion to our ideal.”
“Look, Rink,” hissed Schreider, “so far we haven’t pressed you because we thought you’d come to the right conclusion by yourself. Now you have to decide: either her or us. There’s no other possibility.”
“May I ask something?”
“No.” Schreider’s patience ran out.
“I need a little more time.”
The commander glared at him.
“A loyal SS man,” he said, “has to be able to sacrifice everything for the Reich. We expect only one thing will be important to our people: victory. Family may not be the top priority for an SS man. Are you clear?”
“Yes,” muttered Rink.
“When will you divorce her?”
“Soon.”
“That’s not good enough, Karl. Get divorced this week.”
Rink stood helpless, desperately seeking an answer.
“This week,” Schreider repeated the order. “Understood, Karl?”
Karl Rink rode his motorcycle aimlessly in the wet streets of the city. He didn’t hurry home. He needed time to think, to decide, and it was hard, harder than any fateful issue he had ever confronted in his thirty-eight years. He loved Mira, and yet he felt loyal to the SS. There were many things in the organization that he loved, other things he didn’t like, mainly the treatment of the Jews. In the SS, they preached the purity of the Aryan race morning, noon, and night, blamed the Jews for all the troubles afflicting Germany. Newspapers described the Jews as abominable leeches sucking the blood of the Germans. He loathed those attacks, but still believed they were merely pitfalls on the way to the goal. His problem was that his loyalty to the party was as strong as his love for his wife. He was unhappy that Schreider had wrung a promise from him to end his marriage within the week. How could he part from Mira after such a happy life together?
When Karl came home, Mira was sitting in the living room, listening to an opera on the radio. Ever since she had been fired, she hadn’t been able to find another job. No one dared hire Jews anymore.
Mira lowered the volume and looked up at her husband. She waited for him to tell her about the meeting with Schreider.
He dropped onto the easy chair across from her.
“Schreider gave me an ultimatum.” The words broke in his mouth.
“Let me guess: he told you to choose—me or the party.”
“Yes, that’s what he said.”
“I warned you it would be that. What did you tell him?”
“I said that you won’t get in the way of my activity.”
“That convinced him?”
“I don’t think so.”
“He wants us to get divorced?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you decide?”
“I said I’d do it, but I didn’t mean it.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means that I have no intention of getting divorced.”
“What will happen if Schreider discovers the truth?”
“I hope he won’t.”
Karl got up and paced around the room.
“The party is important to me, Mira,” he said after a long silence. “The party is my future, the future of all of us, Germany’s future.”
“Your party will bring down a disaster on all of us.”
“You’re wrong, Mira.”
She sighed.
“You’re wrong, Karl, not me.”
The rainstorm in mid-June 1939 collapsed trees and made roofs fly in the poor neighborhoods of Warsaw. As always, it also disrupted phone lines. Nevertheless, through the deafening beeps and static of the phone in his office, Jacob Stolowitzky could hear a woman’s distant voice sobbing in despair.
He clutched the receiver in his clenched fist and put it tight to his ear. After a long moment, he managed to identify the voice. It was the wife of the manager of his plant in Berlin.
“Try to calm down,” he said. “I don’t understand a word.”
Her weeping slowly subsided.
“The SS arrested my husband yesterday,” she groaned. “They’re holding him in jail and won’t release him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a Jew, Mr. Stolowitzky. That’s what he’s guilty of.”
Stolowitzky turned pale. The arrest of the manager of his big steel plant in the industrial area of Berlin had come at the worst time, in the middle of negotiations with the railroad company of France about supplying hundreds of miles of railroad track. Only the German factory could quickly provide such big quantities of track. Any disruption in the operation of the plant was liable to undermine negotiations with the French. Suddenly, the enormous profit of the deal seemed uncertain.
“Where is your husband?” he asked.
“I have no idea.”
Stolowitzky gave her a few words of comfort and called the German Ministry of Defense. He had good friends there, senior officials he did business with. He often traveled to Germany to meet them and entertained them in the best restaurants. He was sure they could help him now.
He managed to reach two of them, but this time they treated him coldly.
“The Nazis are running things now,” they said. “You’ll have to talk with them.”
“I’ll leave for Germany today,” he said eagerly. “I’ll meet with anybody I have to to release my manager.”
“Not a good idea for you to come now,” one of them advised him before he hung up. “Germany today is no place for you. Remember that you’re a Jew. They’re liable to arrest you, too.”
Jacob Stolowitzky walked around his office helplessly for a long time. It was hard to plan his next steps.
The phone rang. The wife of his plant manager was back on the line.
“Mr. Stolowitzky,” she said in a choked voice. “The SS came back to the factory today and threw out everybody with Polish citizenship. Ordered them all back to Poland.”
Stolowitzky was proud of his Polish engineers. He had chosen them carefully and sent them and their families to Berlin. Without them, he knew, his plant faced a total shutdown.
“It’s awful, Mr. Stolowitzky,” the woman added. “Berlin has turned into hell. Anti-Semitism is rampant, the Jews are thrown out of their jobs or are arrested, every one of us is doing all we can to escape from here.”
The conversation was cut off.
Jacob Stolowitzky clutched his head in his hands. He had been following events in Germany in the newspaper, had read about increasing abuses against Jews, but his plant was under foreign ownership. After all, he himself was a foreign citizen who did business with the German government. It didn’t occur to him that Germany would dare do anything bad to foreign citizens.
He went home despondent, recalling the bleak deathbed prophecies of his father who had seen what was happening and understood the inevitable process of incitement against Jews. Angrily, he told his wife about the arrest of the manager and the expulsion of the engineers.
“I have to consult with my lawyer in Berlin,” he said. “I’ll go there today”
She tried to stop him.
“The Germans will arrest you, too,” she said. “There’s talk of war in Europe. Wait until things calm down.”
He took her hand.
“I have to,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in a few days.”
One of the maids packed his traveling case, and he said goodbye to his wife and son. On his way out, he met Gertruda.
“I’m going,” he said. “Take good care of Lydia and Michael.”
She looked at him with dread. Her senses told her that he was going on a dangerous trip.
“Yes, sir, I’ll take care of them as best I can,” she replied.
Emil carried his suitcase to the car.
“To the railroad station,” Stolowitzky ordered his chauffeur.
He got into the first-class carriage and sank into the soft seat. As the train moved, Jacob Stolowitzky looked out the window at Warsaw receding in the distance.
He was sure he’d be back in a few days.
School ended as usual, late in the afternoon. Twilight was falling as Helga left school and walked home, wrapped in her coat, wool gloves warming her hands, along a street where signs of the Kristallnacht pogrom were still evident. The display windows of shops had been smashed and JEW was written on their doors. Her heart stopped at the sight of SS men dragging an old Jew into a gray car. For a moment, she imagined she saw her father among them, wearing a uniform and pitiless like them, but he wasn’t there. She thought of his relationship with her mother, destroyed recently because he insisted on staying in the SS. She pictured family memories from the recent past, walks in charming landscapes, sailing on the lake of Berlin, a picnic in the forest, joyous birthday celebrations. In all those scenes, Karl Rink appeared as a devoted father, smiling, and happy. She remembered days when she was proud of him. What had happened to her father, she asked herself, what had made him change his skin, turn his back on his way of life, stick with the beasts who ruled the country she loved with a regime of thugs?
As she was still sunk in her thoughts, a group of boys blocked her way. She tried to get away from them, but they surrounded her and called her names. Their leader, a strong, fair-haired boy, approached the girl, pulled her hair, and cursed at her. Helga tried to resist but he punched her and pushed her down on the sidewalk. Her nose started bleeding. The boys laughed. “Stinking Jew,” shouted their leader, and he kicked Helga. “That’s only the beginning. We’ll be back here tomorrow.”
In pain, she stumbled home. She wiped the blood off her nose, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice. But Mira saw it at once.
“What happened?” she cried in amazement.
Helga told her.
Mira washed her daughter’s face and bandaged her nose. Helga locked herself in her room. The house felt dreary. Mira walked around like a shadow of herself. She thought of what had happened to her daughter and knew that such things would happen again, maybe worse. Yes, she’d tell her husband everything, but she didn’t believe he could do anything. She knew it wasn’t easy for him, that he was torn between the party and his family. Her heart ached at his refusal to resign from his job with the SS. She smoked nervously and drank a glass of wine, unable to think properly.
Karl Rink didn’t come home much and today, just when his wife and daughter needed him the most, he wasn’t there. When he did come, late at night, Mira was lying on the sofa in the living room, smoking.
She gave him a brief account of the incident. Karl Rink sighed in pain, went to his daughter’s room, and hugged her.
“Don’t worry,” he said in a soothing voice. “It will pass. Everything will be fine.”
Helga lowered her eyes. She knew that nothing would be fine, nothing would go back to the way it was.
“Do you know who did that?” He pointed to the bandage on her nose.
Yes, she knew. His name was Paul, the neighbors’ son. In the past he had always smiled at her. She couldn’t imagine that someday that nice boy would turn into a monster.
On June 20, 1939, the train from Warsaw to Berlin was unusually empty. Jacob Stolowitzky sat tensely in his compartment, upset by the gloomy thoughts about the danger lurking for his business in Germany. His only consolation was his upcoming meeting with his attorney. He wanted to believe that, in spite of everything, things could still be done legally in Berlin.
Facing him, in the first-class compartment, sat a German couple. The husband rode silently the whole way, and his wife clutched a whining baby. A waiter passed among the compartments, offering hot drinks and food. Jacob Stolowitzky wasn’t hungry. Nausea climbed up his throat and grew worse every moment.
At the border station, the train stopped and German guards entered the car, carefully examining Stolowitzky’s Polish passport. They asked the reason for his trip to Berlin. He said he was traveling on business.
“Jew?” they asked.
“Yes.”
They grimaced. “What business do you have in Berlin?”
“I’ve got a factory.”
“It won’t belong to you for long,” hissed one of the guards mockingly and his companion asked, “When do you intend to return to Poland?”
“This week.”
They stamped his passport reluctantly and left.
When the train continued, Jacob Stolowitzky looked out the window and saw military traffic on the roads. Trucks packed with soldiers and cases of ammunition moved along slowly in long columns, towing machine guns and field kitchens. In the railroad station in Berlin, there were more soldiers carrying equipment and weapons.
Jacob took a cab to his lawyer’s office. He saw JEWS OUT written on smashed display windows of shops on the main streets and Nazi thugs marching on the sidewalk with wooden cudgels in their hands.
The lawyers’ office was locked, and a sign on the door read: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. After feverish searching, Stolowitzky came to his lawyer’s house. He saw a man who seemed to have grown old overnight. He invited him in. The lawyer corroborated all his client’s fears: the Nazis were quickly taking over factories owned by Jews, limiting the movements of the Jews, and imposing heavy punishments on anyone who dared violate their increasingly strict orders.
“None of us knows what will happen tomorrow,” said the lawyer. “They took away my license, I lost almost all my clients who no longer want any contact with Jews. My colleague, a Jewish lawyer, who dared complain to the police against a Christian businessman, was beaten up, stripped naked, and forced to walk in the street with a sign hung around his neck by the police reading: I WILL NEVER AGAIN COMPLAIN TO THE POLICE. Many of us are escaping from here. Others are staying at home and shaking with fear.” He revealed that in a few days, he and his family were moving to Palestine. “I tried to sell my property,” added the lawyer. “But there are no buyers. Everyone is waiting for the Jews to leave and our property will go to the rabble for free.”
“What can I do to save my business?” asked Jacob Stolowitzky anxiously. “Is there any point in going to court?”
“No,” said the lawyer sadly. “They’ll just throw you out.”
Stolowitzky glanced from the window to the bustling street. Life appeared to be going on as usual, but in fact it was hell.
“I’ve got only one piece of advice for you,” said the lawyer. “Go immediately to the railroad station and return home before it’s too late.”
“The situation is that bad?”
“Worse. There are signs that war is approaching. If I were you, I would also weigh the possibility of taking the whole family and getting out of Poland. In my opinion, that’s liable to be one of the first targets the Nazis are planning to hit.”
The train to Warsaw was to leave at dawn the next day. Jacob Stolowitzky took a room in a hotel near the station and ordered a phone line home. Two hours later, he heard Lydia’s voice.
“How are things in Berlin?” she asked.
“Very bad. I’m coming home.”
Emil met him at the railroad station and drove him home. Jacob was tired. He sat down in the backseat and was silent all the way. Lydia greeted him in the vestibule.
“What happened?” she wanted to know.
He told her.
She gave him a telegram from his agent in Paris.
He read it quickly:
The contract with the French company is ready to be signed, except for a few clauses that demand your approval. You should come at once.
Stolowitzky’s eyes sparkled with joy.
“At long last, good news,” he said to his wife.
“You’re going to Paris?” she asked.
“Of course.”
He went to Michael’s room, hugged and kissed him.
“I’m going again,” he said. “When I come back, I’ll bring you a terrific present.”
“When will you come back?” asked Michael.
“In a few days.”
He phoned his agent in Paris and told him he would be there the next day.
A few hours later, in the train that left for Paris at dawn, he thought, One door was closed, but another door has opened.
Karl Rink was restless. His head was spinning and he was on edge. With clenched fists, he walked around the house of the boy who had hit his daughter, trying to decide what to do with him. He remembered the days when everything was fine in Germany, days when he could have complained to the police about the boy who had attacked his daughter and expected something would be done about it. But everything was different now. The police certainly wouldn’t accept a complaint against someone who hit a Jewish girl, and he couldn’t do much himself either. He couldn’t go into the boy’s house in an SS uniform and threaten him and his parents. One complaint from them to his superiors, and he would land in jail immediately. But Karl couldn’t just drop it. He just couldn’t let it go.
He knew the boy’s face and went on watching for him near his house, hiding behind an announcement board filled with Nazi manifestos. At nightfall, he saw him coming home, followed him, pulled out his gun, and hit him on the back of the head with the barrel. The boy collapsed with a groan of pain. “That’s for the girl you beat up,” he hissed. “If you touch her again, your punishment will be much worse.”
“Who are you?” groaned Paul. He couldn’t recognize Karl in the dark.
“Never mind,” growled Karl and hit him again with his gun.
Paul wept bitterly. “But she’s a Jew,” he tried to explain.
“Promise you won’t go near her again,” demanded Karl.
“Promise … promise …”
Karl Rink turned around and disappeared, and the boy stumbled home. His mother was scared when she saw him.
“What happened to you?”
“Somebody beat me up.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see in the dark. He said it was because I took care of some Jewish girl in our class.”
“My poor boy.” His mother clasped him to her breast. “The Jews are a curse. Don’t go near them. Hitler will take care of them.”
• • •
When Karl returned home, he found Helga and her mother sitting next to each other. The windows and doors were locked.
“Paul won’t hurt you anymore,” he said.
“You’re sure?”
“Trust me. I know.”
“I’m not sure I’ll go to school at all,” said Helga. “If not Paul, some other anti-Semite will come. I’m scared I’ll get worse than a punch in the nose.”
He wanted to comfort her but he didn’t know what to say. She looked out the window. It was raining again.
“Father,” she said, “Mother and I don’t feel safe here. It gets worse from day to day and you can’t take care of everybody who decides to attack us because we’re Jews.”
He went to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
“I love the two of you,” he said. “I love you more than anything else in the world. Please, have a little patience. The persecution of the Jews won’t last forever.”
His hand gave her a wave of warmth, as in the past.
“Thanks for trying to persuade us.” She made a great effort to get the words out of her mouth. “But that won’t help, Father. You won’t dare to look directly at the truth, you delude yourself that you can go on for a long time being in the SS and being part of a Jewish family. It’s only a question of time until something bad will happen to you and to us.”
Karl gave her a long look and then he said to his wife: “Helga may be right. The only solution is for you to leave here with her. If you stay in Berlin, there’s no guarantee you’ll be able to go on living calmly.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Mira. “This is my home. I can’t leave my parents. They’re elderly and not in good health and they need me. Nobody will throw us out of here.”
He sat down across from her with an expression of pain on his face.
“Don’t be stubborn,” he demanded.
“Leave us alone, Karl. Go away from here. Go back to your friends.”
“You have no right to risk your life. You have no right to risk Helga’s life.”
“She’s a big girl. Let her decide for herself what to do.”
Helga stood at the window and looked outside gloomily. She hadn’t seen her father smile for a long time.
“Did you hear what your mother said?” he asked.
“I heard.”
“I’m not going,” Mira repeated.
“Mother, Father’s right,” said the girl. “We can’t live here. I want you to come with me.”
“I’m staying, Helga.”
“Then,” Karl pleaded with his daughter, “you’ll have to go alone.”
“I want Mother to come with me,” said the girl tearfully.
“Mother can’t, Helga,” said Karl.
“I don’t know … let me think about it.”
“Think fast,” Karl Rink urged her. “Very soon all the borders will be closed and it will be too late.”