Eleven and twelve,
that’s how old we are.
I can’t imagine
being as old as
Mother and Father,
but I also can’t imagine
not becoming as old as them.
Yes, I am eleven-and-three-quarters years old.
I used to worry about my grades
and having to eat stuffed cabbage.
I used to wonder about being invited to parties.
But now I wonder,
what will become of us?
What will become of me?
I hear my parents
and their friends
speaking of news
from Berlin and Frankfurt,
and other German cities,
where things are worse
than here in Hamburg.
In those places,
Jews are arrested
in the middle of the night,
taken from their soft beds
to the police station.
In the dark of a movie theater—
a movie theater,
one of my favorite places!—
suddenly on come the lights,
and all Jews are rounded up.
At a café, over dinner,
on a lovely summer night,
in crash the police,
and out go the Jews.
They are sent to Buchenwald,
another of the Nazis’ concentration camps,
which, I have learned,
are not camps at all,
but prisons for people
who have committed no crimes.
The news comes
from shortwave radios
that my parents and their friends
listen to every day.
Broadcasts from other countries,
with foreign reporters telling
what is happening to Jews here.
Listening to these reports
is against Nazi law.
German radio stations
don’t have bad news about Nazis,
only news about how bad
Jews are.
In bed at night,
with my sister, Ruthie,
breathing lightly
across the room,
I close my eyes
and see the Gestapo
the Nazi secret police—
bursting into our home
to take us all to Buchenwald.
But when we get there,
and the Gestapo realize
that my parents really have committed a crime,
the crime of listening to shortwave radio,
they get very angry
and send us to an even worse place.
Then I open my eyes,
because I have reached the limit
of my imagination.
I can’t imagine what might happen.
I can’t imagine what will become of us.
I can’t imagine being as old as Mother and Father.
I can’t imagine not becoming as old as them.