I have issued the command – and I’ll have anybody who utters but one word of criticism executed by a firing squad – that our war aim does not consist in reaching certain lines, but in the physical destruction of the enemy. Accordingly, to send to death mercilessly and without compassion, men, women, and children of Polish derivation and language. Only thus shall we gain the living space (Lebensraum) which we need.
Adolf Hitler, 22 August, 1939, to Reichmarshal Hermann Goering and the commanding generals at Obersalzberg
As Hava and I stepped into the street on our way to La Monnaie, the opera house, she said, ‘My father thinks that I’m a sinner.’
‘Maybe I can turn you into a saint,’ I said as we walked along the warm summer street.
‘Maybe I can crawl into one of Benjamin’s bubbles and be invisible and enjoy as many sins as I can.’
I laughed. ‘You can’t hide from God. He’s like my father – he keeps an eye on us no matter where we are.’
Hava ran ahead of me, stopped before a lamp-post and saluted.
I laughed. ‘Why did you salute the lamp-post?’
‘My father always says that I am a girl of light,’ Hava answered. ‘Maybe God is light. When it gets dark, the lamp-post begins to glow, so I salute the god of the lamp-post. Do you ever notice, Simone, the darker the night, the brighter the stars?
‘It’s true,’ she continued. ‘Stars shine brighter on the darkest nights. You probably noticed, Simone, that my family is very Jewish. They say a lot of prayers. Van Gogh said something like, When I have a terrible need of religion, then I go out and paint the stars. I don’t have a terrible need of religion, but I do love stars.’
On that starry night, Hava and I attended the opera, wept for Salomé, and fell in love with John Charles Tillman.
Five short weeks later, Hitler invaded Poland.