Nuremberg, Germany
November 9, 1938
They bowed their heads over
the simple wooden table. There were three of them, and they joined
hands over the steaming meal in an unbreakable circle of love.
The rabbi’s prayer, uttered in lilting Hebrew, had been passed down through the generations from Abraham.
“Oh, for the reasons to give thanks!
“For a warm home and loving family.
“For a faithful God.
“For a congregation committed to the good works of the Lord.
“For a wife, beautiful and loyal, who has stood by me from the beginning and cared for all my needs—in the kitchen, in the bedroom, in the synagogue, in our home.”
Solomon had spoken of a wife like his Rachel in the last passage of the Proverbs. God had seen fit, in His infinite wisdom, not to give them children of natural childbirth, but He had blessed them through adoption.
Young Anna, a Gentile by birth with adorable locks of red, curly hair, would be raised Jewish. And she never would have been raised in the faith had Rachel not been obedient to God’s call.
“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name!”
They released their hands and raised their heads.
Grateful and satisfied for the bounty of the Lord’s beneficence, the rabbi reached across the table for a piece of freshly-baked bread. His mouth watered as his fingers caressed the soft loaf. The fresh aroma seeped into his nostrils, and he thanked the Lord again.
“What was that?” Rachel said.
The sudden, bright flash from outside turned the rabbi’s head from the table.
Outside the window, a ravaging fireball lit the dark sky. Across the alley, a ferocious flame engulfed the wooden frame of the temple.
“God, please help us!”
What was happening?
As he stood, the front window exploded. Shards of glass flew in every direction. The wave of heat swooshed in through the shattered bay window.
The Gates of Hell had opened in their front yard.
A second loud crash! Another stone had shattered the rest of the windowpane, sending Rachel into a blood-curdling scream.
The rabbi looked down. His daughter, Anna, slumped to the floor. Blood gushed in a pool from the gash in her scalp. The stone had struck her skull.
“Anna! Anna! Please wake up,” Rachel screamed through a stream of tears.
“Anna! Wake up for Papa! Anna!” The rabbi fell to his knees, pleading and praying.
“She is not breathing.” Rachel pulled Anna’s head against her chest, rocking her like a little girl cradling a rag doll.
The rabbi rose to his feet, backing away several steps.
His eyes scanned from left to right, first to Anna and Rachel, then out the front window to the burning synagogue, then to the kitchen counter.
The blade glistened against the images of the leaping flame, now towering into the starry sky.
He grabbed the knife and charged out the front door into the cold night.
There! Standing behind the bushes! He locked eyes with the assailant.
An eye for an eye.
A tooth for a tooth.