Dear Malka,
Today a telegram came from Mama telling Papa the steamship tickets and money for the journey had arrived, and we both breathed a sigh of relief. Now your trip here is beginning to feel real.
I said to Papa, “Think how proud Mama will be when she sees the store in Havana and our apartment upstairs with an indoor toilet. Did you tell her we’re going to manage Rifka Rubenstein’s store?”
“No, I didn’t. I want to surprise her.”
“She will be surprised! And happy. Our whole family will be!”
That night we had our usual rice with fried eggs for dinner. While we ate, I asked, “When are we moving to Havana?”
“In nine days,” Papa replied. “We will leave Agramonte early in the morning so we can arrive to Havana in time to say goodbye to Rifka Rubenstein and pick up the keys to the store and the apartment.”
“Nine days is very soon,” I said. “I haven’t told anyone we are leaving.”
“You must start to say goodbye,” Papa replied.
I knew Papa was right, but I wasn’t sure how I would start. How do you say goodbye to all the people who have been kind to you in a new land?
Then I had an idea.
“Papa, next Saturday is the first night of Hanukkah. Can I invite our friends to come light the first candle with us?”
“My daughter, you make me smile how you are always thinking of ways to share our Jewish holidays with those who know nothing about them. But yes, invite them, why not? And then on Monday, we’ll take the train to Havana and start a new life, counting the days until our whole family is here.”
I went and invited Doctor Pablo and Señora Graciela, and then Francisco and Juan Chang, and they immediately said yes. Then I went and invited Ma Felipa, Mario José, and Manuela. They too said yes right away, and I stayed to visit with Manuela. I was sad I’d soon be saying goodbye to her but couldn’t bear to tell her yet that we were leaving for Havana. It felt terrible keeping that secret from her. The afternoon was breezy, the birds were chirping happily, and the air smelled sweet from the guava and cane sugar that Ma Felipa had boiled in a big pot over an open fire to make squares of candied guava paste. I will miss my life here so much!
Manuela and I jumped rope, singing the rhymes together, letting the words rise into the sweet air. Finally, we got tired and ate thick slices of bread topped with Ma Felipa’s fresh guava paste that tasted so delicious. I looked over at Manuela and wondered if I’d ever have a friend as kind and caring as her again. I reached into my pocket and wrapped my hand around the smooth object I’d been carrying around with me for so long. I realized at that moment that I was ready to pass it on.
“Can I tell you something, Manuela?”
“Tell me, Esther. Is something wrong?”
“I have to tell you that all these months that I’ve been in Agramonte, I’ve been missing my sister, Malka, in Poland. It’s like a part of me is missing. I couldn’t have survived without your friendship.”
“And you’ve been a perfect friend to me, Esther, as close to a sister as I’ll ever have. I’m glad you came to live in Agramonte.”
I pulled out my gold watch. “Keep this watch, Manuela. Maybe you can sell it so you can go to school and become a schoolteacher, as you have dreamed.”
“How can I take this watch from you? Don’t you need it? I know how hard you’ve been working to make money for your family.”
“They are on their way now, Manuela. Can you believe it? I hardly can. And now I want to pass this along to you. Just promise me you’ll go to school.”
“I will,” she said. “Gracias, Esther.”
We hugged and I ran back home to Papa. Then I sat down to write this letter to you, listening to the crickets singing and the palm trees swaying in the wind—it sounds like they are whispering goodbye, goodbye.
I imagine you are getting ready to say goodbye to everything that is familiar in Poland, to the wooden house where our family has lived forever, to the pale sky and the snowy streets. It is painful to say goodbye, but sometimes there is no choice but to close a door in hopes of another door opening.
With all my love as always,
ESTHER