Run, run, run

toward the vault,

jump on the springboard,

fly over,

land on my feet.

Two times each week

at the Bar Kochba club,

I diligently practice gymnastics.

Mother plays and plays

her piano,

music pouring

like himbeere wasser—

raspberry water—

practicing, practicing,

fragrant, flawless.

Father talks and talks

to the American officials here in Hamburg

who are in charge of the immigrant visas,

and who decide who gets to go to America,

his words dripping

like tears—

pleading, pleading.

In the summer we had good news:

Our uncle Isaac Gotthelf, who lives

in a place called Paterson, New Jersey,

sent the affidavit to the American officials

in Hamburg,

promising that he will be responsible for us—

all of us! not just Father—

if we need help in America.

And bad news:

So many Jews in Germany and Austria

want to go to America,

but America does not want us all,

and neither do other countries.

In July those countries had a big meeting,

where they decided to do exactly

nothing

about this problem.

We are lucky

because we have the affidavit from our uncle.

Some Jews in Germany

have no New Jersey uncles.

Some Jews in Berlin, we hear,

are scouring American telephone books,

hoping to find someone with their last name,

who might promise the American officials

that they will take care of their German relatives,

just please let them come to America—

like our uncle Isaac Gotthelf has promised for us.

And we are lucky

because the Nazis have given Father

our exit papers.

Yes, they say, we may leave,

just so long as we don’t take with us

the money Father has earned and saved

from his years in business,

or anything valuable that we own.

This does not surprise my father.

He explains that the Nazis

are taking money and property from Jews

whether they stay in Germany or leave.

I am sickened to hear this,

sickened to hear that in America

our life will be so different,

so less nice than it has been here.

Well, nice if you forget about the Nazis.

But we are not leaving yet,

for despite all of Father’s talking,

despite his diligence,

despite the affidavit,

despite the German exit papers—

we still have no visas from the Americans.

Diligence. Practice.

They are good for gymnastics.

They are good for piano.

But, I’m afraid,

they are not good

for everything.