“Papa, Baba, it’s here!”
It was August 1936, four months after the date they had been scheduled to leave. Anna had gone out to the mailbox as she did every morning, although lately, it had been with a kind of half-hearted, lukewarm enthusiasm. She would open the box, expecting nothing, and then, having that expectation fulfilled, she would close it up and go inside.
This morning had been no different. Baba had asked her to help with some baking and Anna was looking forward to shaping some yeasty dough into donuts, frying the shapes in deep oil, and then sprinkling them with icing sugar. The goal was to eat them when they were still warm. That’s when the pastry would almost dissolve in her mouth.
She’d opened the box and was just about to close it up again when she saw the thin blue envelope shoved into the back. The handwriting on it was instantly recognizable. She grabbed the envelope, forgetting to shut the box, and ran back inside calling out for her father and grandmother.
Papa came running.
“It’s his writing, isn’t it?” Anna said, breathless.
Papa grabbed the envelope, looked up, and nodded.
“What are you waiting for?” Anna cried again as her father appeared to hesitate. And then she, too, stopped. This was the fourth time a letter had come from Mr. Huberman. Would this one be the lucky one? Or would there be more delays, more excuses, and more bad news?
Baba appeared from the kitchen. Her hands were covered in bits of sticky dough that she hadn’t even bothered to wipe off. “Open it, my son,” Baba said, holding her hands in the air like a surgeon about to operate on a patient. “Tell us what Mr. Huberman has written.”
Papa looked one more time at his daughter and then at Baba, and finally, he tore open the envelope and extracted the letter. He read aloud without even looking ahead to see what was written. They would discover the news all together.
Dear Mr. Hirsch,
I am certain that you have been waiting for news of your departure with some anxiety. I must tell you that it has not been easy here. The British government has continued to place obstacle after obstacle in the way of Jews who are trying to enter Palestine. But even the head of our Jewish Agency, David Ben-Gurion, has been reluctant to support my musicians, wanting instead to save the precious permits for farmers who could come here to develop the land. There have been times when I thought my lovely orchestra was at risk of collapsing even before it had been formed.
Papa paused and took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the perspiration from his brow. Anna was practically jumping out of her skin. Papa finally replaced the hanky, readjusted his glasses, and continued reading.
I can now finally tell you that the approvals have been granted from all those in authority. Enclosed you will find your permanent new travel certificates. Please make your travel plans as quickly as possible, and I look forward to the first rehearsal of the orchestra in the coming months.
With sincere good wishes,
Bronislaw Huberman
P.S. As previously agreed, you will find three permits enclosed.
With that, Papa reached into the envelope and pulled out the three travel documents, holding them high above his head as if they were trophies. Anna grabbed the letter from Papa’s hand to read it once more. By the time she finished reading, Baba was dancing around the living room, bits of dough and flour flying off her fingers. Papa grabbed his clarinet and accompanied her in a little jig. In between dancing, Baba kept spitting onto her fingers—“Puh, puh, puh”—just in case there were any evil spirits still lurking about. But this time, Anna wasn’t worried. She giggled at the ridiculous sight and then laughed out loud, throwing her head back and roaring with a force that came from deep within her. She couldn’t remember when she had last laughed like that. It was as if all the uncertainty of the past few months had been bottled up inside of her, ready to burst out in this moment of celebration. There would be no more delays. They were finally going to leave.
The suitcases appeared once more on the living room floor, bulging with the things they would be taking with them to their new home. Anna added her pressed flower collection along with her precious clarinet to the pile, reminding Papa once more to put it in a safe place. And a couple of days later, Papa returned home with the tickets for their journey, paid for with the last of their savings. “And worth every penny,” he exclaimed.
The day before their departure, Papa and Anna went to the Jewish cemetery to say their final good-byes to her mother. They passed through the big metal gate with the prominent Star of David on it at the entrance. Inside, they made their way through a winding path until they reached the spot where Anna’s mother was buried.
Anna never minded coming here. It was peaceful. The sun played hide and seek in the branches of the huge pine trees that towered above the graves. Birds perched on the branches of the trees and chirped a soft melody to greet them. Anna gazed at the simple headstone on her mother’s grave. It read
Here lies Miryem Frankel Hirsch
Loving wife and mother
Rest in peace
Several small stones had already been placed on top of Mama’s headstone. Baba had been there earlier in the week, and some of the pebbles were still there from the last time Anna and her father had visited. The stones were a symbol that the memory of her mother’s life would last forever, just like the stones themselves.
Anna and her father stood in a moment of silence. Then, her father spoke. “I know that there have been times in the last few months when I haven’t been honest with you, or listened to you when you needed me to.”
Anna stood absolutely still. Her father rarely spoke so personally, or so openly.
“I felt completely lost after your mother died,” he continued. “But I think I’m beginning to find my way back.”
“Papa, you don’t have to say this,” Anna began, but her father stopped her.
“Yes, Annichka, I think I do,” he said. “And I vow to you that I will try to listen more closely to what you say, and be there for you when you need me.”
Anna’s heart swelled. “Do you think Mama knows we’re going away?” she asked after another moment had passed.
Papa smiled. “Of course. And she will be with us on this journey. You believe that, don’t you, Annichka?”
Anna nodded. “Do you think we’ll ever come back?”
Papa paused. “That I cannot say.”
Anna nodded again. “Shall I find another stone for Mama’s grave?”
“Yes,” replied Papa. “And find one for me to put on her headstone as well.”
Anna walked around and found two small stones, which she and her father placed on top of the headstone. Once again, they stood in silence. And then, just before leaving, Anna reached into her pocket and extracted the dried red poppy that was part of her pressed flower collection. She had given one of these to Renata, but she knew she had to leave this one behind. Its place was here, watching over her mother. She placed the flower on her mother’s headstone and then turned to leave.
“Good-bye, Mama,” Anna whispered over her shoulder.