Dear Malka,
This morning while Papa was praying, I was busy sewing dresses to sell, but I was already imagining the dress I wanted to sew for you, Malka, in a sea-green fabric, like the color of your eyes.
We heard a loud knock on the door, too loud to ignore. I stood next to Papa as he took a deep breath before opening it. We feared Señor Eduardo was the one knocking. But it was Doctor Pablo.
His hands shook as he held up a Spanish newspaper. “Muy malas noticias.” Very bad news.
“Please sit down,” Papa said, pointing to one of the rocking chairs.
“I cannot sit. We must take action.”
“What has happened?” Papa asked.
“Last night, the Nazis in Germany destroyed everything they could destroy that belongs to the Hebrew people. They smashed the windows of temples, of schools and stores. There is broken glass littering the streets. They are calling it the ‘Night of Broken Glass.’ Munich looks as if it’s been bombed. Many Hebrews have been killed. They have been ordered to turn in the keys to their houses and leave Germany. Those who have passports are fleeing. The ones who have nowhere to go are scared of what will happen next.”
“Oh no, no, no, no,” Papa said in a voice full of pain.
“Señor Abraham, get your family to Cuba. Hurry before it’s too late.” He pointed to the newspaper, and Papa and I stared at it in horror. The word Jude was scrawled on a store that had been ransacked.
Doctor Pablo said, “My dear friends, we must do everything possible to stop the Nazis from bringing their hatred to Cuba. The Anti-Nazi Society of Agramonte needs to organize a march. We must call attention to what is happening to the Hebrews and make sure the hatred in Germany doesn’t cross the ocean and reach us. We don’t have any poisonous snakes on this beautiful island. And we’re not going to allow that Nazi venom to take root here.”
He rushed off and spoke to Ma Felipa, Mario José, and Manuela, as well as to Juan and Francisco Chang. They fanned out all around Agramonte, sharing the news of the Night of Broken Glass and the rally being organized to keep the Nazis from coming to Cuba.
By the end of the day, men, women, and children filled the main street, Calle Independencia. Some were from the center of town and some from the hamlets nearby, from the huts and barracks that Papa and I got to know as we walked around with our heavy satchels hanging from our shoulders. The sugarcane workers called out to me, “¡Polaquita, aquí estamos!” Little Polish girl, here we are! It was sweet to hear those words. They didn’t understand the difference between Polish and Jewish, but it didn’t matter; they wanted to show they cared about us and thought we belonged in Cuba as much as anyone else.
Señora Graciela came and stood next to us. She was wearing the dress I’d made for her and whispered in my ear, “As you can see, I love this dress, Esther.”
“I want to make you another, Señora Graciela. But I don’t have black fabric. Could I use fabric that is a dark blue?”
“Dark blue will be fine, Esther. I’ll never forget my beloved Emilia, but I’ve grieved so long for her, I think she wants me to put aside my mourning clothes and feel a bit of happiness again.”
As my eyes filled with tears, Señora Graciela pulled out a freshly ironed handkerchief from her dress pocket and said, “Keep it. Let it be a souvenir.”
I remembered the handkerchief Bubbe had given me and that I’d given to the man named Jacob before I got on the train to Rotterdam. Had he made it across the ocean? Had he been reunited with his family? So many people are looking for a place to call home. I want to imagine that the world has a very large heart and can give all of us who have lost our homes a chance to start over.
Ma Felipa came with Manuela and they hugged me with so much warmth, I wanted to melt. They pointed to Mario José, who was sitting on a bench with two other men, each with a batá drum on their lap.
“The drums are to call the spirits and the ancestors,” Manuela whispered. “We need their strength to protect us from the Nazis.”
Francisco and Juan Chang arrived with a banner. Francisco had made it. In neat handwriting, he’d written in Spanish: LA SOCIEDAD DE AGRAMONTE EN CONTRA DE LOS NAZIS. On the four corners of the banner were Chinese characters.
“What do they mean?” I asked.
“They stand for faith, peace, love, and hope,” Francisco said.
“They’re beautiful,” I told him.
“I’m glad you like them, Esther,” he said with a smile.
Doctor Pablo came and grabbed Papa by the elbow. “Come on, we’ll start walking and everyone will follow.”
They set off down the street, and Mario José and the other drummers sounded the drums, softly at first and then with more force.
Manuela stood to my left and Francisco to my right. Between the three of us, we held up the banner as we walked behind Doctor Pablo and Papa.
Señora Graciela took Ma Felipa’s elbow, Ma Felipa took Juan Chang’s elbow, and they followed after us.
The crowd came next, moving to the beat of the drums. Several people added their own sounds to the music. Some clapped together wooden sticks known as “claves.” Some rattled maracas. Some scraped güiros made from polished gourds. And some banged on pots and pans. At the end of the line were Mario José and the two other drummers, playing their drums as they walked.
The march came to a stop on a clear patch of land at the edge of town. A makeshift stage had been created out of a few wooden planks. Doctor Pablo climbed up and everyone, even the babies, quieted down to listen.
Doctor Pablo began, “The Anti-Nazi Society of Agramonte thanks you for coming tonight to this rally. We are here to say we have no animosity toward the Hebrews who have come to Cuba searching for a new home.”
People clapped. Then someone said, “Let him talk! He’s not finished yet.”
Doctor Pablo continued, “It isn’t easy to be a refugee. It isn’t easy to find your way in a new place and learn a new language. No one leaves their country unless they must. The Hebrews are suffering now in the lands where they have lived for centuries. That is why they are escaping and looking for a new home in Cuba. Señor Abraham and his daughter Esther became our neighbors, and they’ve won our affection and respect. We’re here to tell them they’re safe on our island. We won’t allow a Night of Broken Glass to happen in Cuba. Some of us believe in God. Some of us believe in African spirits. Some of us believe in kindness. Whatever you believe, we come together to say no to the Nazis in Cuba!”
People cheered and sang out, “Nazis, no, Nazis, no, Nazis, no! No, no, no!”
Then the drummers came to the stage and resumed playing. Ma Felipa led several women in a slow dance, swaying back and forth, while others milled around saying hello to each other. Little children chased after one another, playing tag, and then got in line when a man came selling shaved ices with different sugary syrups.
“This is Cuba,” Doctor Pablo said, laughing. “We can only be serious for the briefest moment. Then there’s a party, an all-night pachanga.”
“But we accomplished our goal,” Juan Chang said. “That’s what matters.”
“We’re so grateful to all of you,” Papa said. “Esther and I were lucky to come to Agramonte.”
“You will have a home here always,” Señora Graciela said.
I was sadder than ever that we would soon be leaving Agramonte.
A gentle breeze blew and no one seemed in a rush to go to sleep. The hurricane season was over. We had been spared the harsh winds that made autumn an uncertain time of year. Everyone was glad to gather and enjoy the night as the moon rose in the sky and the stars shone bright.
Then all of a sudden we heard the sound of a horse galloping. My body began to shiver and my teeth chattered.
Francisco was the first to notice and came next to me to say, “Esther, it will be all right! We’re here with you.”
But I still had a terrible feeling when Señor Eduardo rode over to us, sitting high on his horse.
“Who gave permission for all these people to assemble here tonight?” he said, gazing at Doctor Pablo.
Doctor Pablo replied, “No permission was needed. This is a peaceful gathering of the Anti-Nazi Society of Agramonte.”
“¿Qué dice?”
“You heard what I said. We are taking a stand against the Nazis and their discrimination against the Hebrews.”
“That’s ridiculous! The Nazis are doing the right thing in Germany. That’s why I’m proud we now have a Cuban Nazi Party and I can be with them.” He glared at Papa and me. “How much longer do we have to put up with these people invading our country? If it were up to me, I’d have them pack their bags right now.”
Señora Graciela came closer. “Please, Eduardo, you mustn’t speak that way. Señor Abraham and his daughter Esther are good neighbors, and we want them to feel at home in Agramonte.”
Ma Felipa put her arm around my shoulders. Manuela, Francisco and Juan Chang, Doctor Pablo, and Señora Graciela formed a circle around Papa and me. Mario José put down his drum and joined the circle too.
“It’s best you go now, Eduardo. The night began in peace and we want it to end in peace,” Ma Felipa said.
Señor Eduardo cowered before Ma Felipa. Without saying another word, he rode away on his horse, leaving a cloud of dust. Everyone cheered. And the drumming and dancing went on until dawn.
With all my love,
ESTHER