Vénissieux Camp
August 28, 1942
Zelman Berkowicz had signed away his parental rights over Rachel a few hours before. It was the hardest decision of his life. He had always tried to do what was right, though he was all too aware of his countless failures. Father Glasberg had explained the situation clearly, and Zelman immediately understood. Zelman had learned long before that being a parent meant suffering and worry, though Rachel’s smile more than compensated for all the sleepless nights. The inability to protect her made him feel so weak and insignificant that he was tempted to follow the trend of many men around him and do away with his own life. But some ridiculous spark deep inside compelled him to keep fighting to survive, though Zelman was under no illusions about the futility of that fight. Beside him, Jankiel Raychmann’s downcast head was shaking.
“I would never have dreamed we’d have to do something like this. My daughter, my precious Hélène . . . The world has gone mad,” Jankiel said, his gaze boring a hole through the dirt below his feet.
Zelman shook his head as well but for a different reason. Genocidal tyrants like Adolf Hitler had always existed, but they only triumphed when an entire people became willing accomplices to their crimes.
“Don’t forget what happened in Egypt, when Pharaoh decreed the murder of all male Israelite infants. God sent that genocidal dictator’s daughter—his very daughter!—to take care of Moses, who went on to save our people from the darkness of Egypt and get them out of there.”
“God? Curses upon him! He calls us his chosen people?! What kind of God would allow something like this to happen?”
Zelman did not argue with his friend. Jankiel, and every other Jew in Vénissieux, had every right to be infuriated. After a brief silence, Jankiel looked up at Zelman.
“So you think there’s still hope?”
“If your children live, yes, there is.”
The men bore their sadness by continuing to debate their misfortunes. Across the camp, Rachel stared sadly at Fani. Lili had come for her. While the girl packed her violin and suitcase, Fani took deep breaths to keep from wailing.
“Don’t ever forget me,” she said as she held Rachel in a tight embrace.
“No, never ever,” the child answered. Her sweetness made Fani’s task all the more bitter.
“Someday we’ll see each other again. This isn’t the end.” Tears puddled in Fani’s beautiful eyes, the eyes that had made Rachel’s father fall in love but were only a pittance of beauty compared to her soul. “Play the violin and get all the sadness of your heart out by sharing your music with others.”
The girl walked away hand in hand with Lili to the room that held nearly all the children from the camp. Lili was depleted. The clock was about to strike midnight. Like in a fairy tale, the magic that had helped them overcome all the barriers to saving the children would run out. Bitter hours awaited them, including the moment of the children’s parents being driven away for good.
Rachel looked around at the children who were scared by the storm and the darkness. She settled down on top of her suitcase, pulled out her violin, and started playing. The cries and whining of the younger children succumbed to silence before the music. The notes filled the steaming mess hall, a lullaby for the little ones and a message of inexplicable peace to the older ones. For those moments, their hearts could rest within a refuge of ordered calm. They could almost touch the beauty hidden within the melody. It did not erase the pain but did make it bearable. Rachel’s playing lit up a piece of heaven within the hell that a few greedy men had turned the world into.