In Budejovice, as elsewhere in Europe, the radios blasted speeches from Adolf Hitler on a regular basis. Hitler proclaimed that the Jews were evil and had to be eliminated. Many German people were easily persuaded to follow this mesmerizing leader, who promised wealth and better working opportunities during a difficult time – as long as the Jews were kept in their place. Besides, those who did not support Nazi policies were in danger of being arrested. Newspapers were also full of articles that blamed Jews for the war, for poverty, even for poor farming conditions. Citizens all over Europe were encouraged to turn against their Jewish neighbors and friends, or risk punishment themselves.
On the streets of Budejovice, Nazi soldiers were always on patrol, and they would arrest Jews for no reason if they were found in public. German enforcers were brought into town to keep the Jews in their place. These were big, burly men, thugs who took pleasure in beating up innocent Jewish citizens.
One day, John ventured several blocks away from his apartment, and closer to the center of town. He knew it was dangerous to be this far from home. But he yearned for the freedom, for just a moment, he had had only a couple of years earlier – to walk wherever he wanted.
He turned a corner, going toward one of the movie theaters. How long was it since he had been able to go to the movies? He looked up at the marquee to see what was playing and was quickly shocked back into reality. The theater was advertising a new propaganda film that promoted discrimination against Jews. There was an ugly picture of a cowering Jewish man and a proud Nazi soldier standing next to him. John turned and ran all the way home. After that, he did not venture to go wandering again.
“The only place you are allowed to go is to Mr. Frisch’s house for lessons in the winter, and over the bridge to the swimming hole in summer,” his father said. “You’ll be safe as long as you don’t go near the center of town.”
There were new rumors now, about places in Europe where Jews were being arrested and sent away from their families, to prisons and work camps. Conditions there were brutal, and people were dying.
Ruda struggled with the growing rumors and dire predictions from other countries. And most of all, he struggled for a way to write about these things in Klepy.
“We can’t sit around, waiting for a future that may never arrive,” he complained one day to the other reporters. The young people were gathered in Ruda’s apartment, seated around the kitchen table. “No one is coming to help us. We must take responsibility for helping ourselves.”
“What do you think we should do?” asked Reina Neubauer.
“Did you hear about Mr. Mayer?” asked Jiri Furth. Mr. Mayer owned the textile store in town, and had two children. “He was overheard criticizing the Nazis. I heard that he was arrested and no one knows where he’s been taken, not even his family.”
Ruda sighed and nodded. The Nazis had forbidden anyone to speak out against their evil policies. They couldn’t write in Klepy about Mr. Mayer’s disappearance, for example, without risking punishment. It was one thing to produce a newspaper with funny stories and harmless jokes. No one outside the Jewish community cared much about that. But if they wrote articles of protest against the Nazis, or complained about their conditions, someone might report them.
“We’ll be careful,” agreed Ruda. “But we still have to say something significant.” He wanted so much to speak out forcefully against their oppressors. Yet he knew that they had to keep a fine balance between entertainment and more important topics.
“I believe we can resist the Nazis with articles that talk about our strength and unity as Jews,” he said. “Like this.” He pointed to a poem in a previous edition of Klepy. Some time ago, Jewish men had been told to report to a central place in town, where they had been given shovels and ordered to clean the streets of snow. Klepy had published this poem about the work detail:
AFTER A SNOWSTORM IN JANUARY
Today the Jews went to work, Looking strained, they cleared the snow,…
Some were ashamed to be seen. Embrace your work,
So that we can show them our strength!
This poem, entitled, “After a Snowstorm in January,” urged Jewish men to be strong and proud.
Once doctors, accountants, teachers, and businessmen, these men were now cleaning streets. The poem was a reminder that they could still hold their heads high and work proudly.
“That’s the balance I think we need to strive for,” added Ruda. “One article can be funny and the next can be more thoughtful. One story can be lighthearted and the next can encourage community members to remain proud. Both sides of the picture are important.”
“I agree with Ruda,” said the outspoken Dascha Holzer. She had already written several passionate poems for Klepy. “The jokes are getting tiresome. Besides, how can we continue to tell jokes when people are being arrested? It’s time to speak out. “
“If we speak out as a united front, think of the power that will give us. Perhaps others will support us as well,” continued Ruda.
“I disagree,” argued Karli Hirsch. “We can’t talk about resistance, or there won’t be a newspaper at all, and our work will come to an end. We have to keep it light. That’s what the community wants and needs right now.” His drawings still entertained their readers, despite their growing worries.
“But don’t you see?” exclaimed Reina Neubauer. “The paper itself is a form of resistance. It almost doesn’t matter what we write. Just the fact that we produce it and circulate it is what’s most important. That’s what is keeping our community connected. If we get ourselves shut down by speaking out too much, all of that will be lost.”
The reporters argued back and forth. Some were determined to keep the articles in Klepy carefree and humorous, saying that there were already too many reminders of the hard times they were all suffering. People needed to laugh and try to forget their troubles, not read about them in Klepy. Others, like Ruda, believed that the articles provided an opportunity to speak out more strongly against the Nazis and their oppressive rules. If it put them in some danger, that was a risk worth taking, to keep the newspaper meaningful.
There was no resolution to this argument. But one thing was certain – the world had become a dark place. And in Budejovice, one of the only things to look forward to was Klepy.