Shattered Crystals by Mia Amalia Kanner (management books to read .TXT) đź“–
- Author: Mia Amalia Kanner
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Back in the room, the girls would sit cross-legged on their beds, watching Sal place the leather circlet of his tefillin onto his head and wrap the leather bands around his forearms. Then, Ruth and Eva took turns at the stained, porcelain sink, washing with the cold water that trickled from the single faucet. I dressed Lea, and Sal went out to buy milk and sweet, moist croissants for our breakfast.
In front of the single window stood a table. On it stood the old kerosene burner Hannah had found for us. Cooking was not permitted in the hotel, but Hannah assured us that the rule would not be enforced. I tried preparing meals in the hotel, but the burner did not work properly. I had to give up the effort and took my family to Hannah’s for our main meals.
The sooner this arrangement came to an end, the better. Sal spent his days in Paris trying to arrange passage to Palestine. It was still possible that the elusive legal visas would be issued to us, but during our first week together Sal and I decided to chance going as illegal immigrants. If he could find a seaworthy ship to transport us across the Mediterranean, we would go. We would fund the trip by cashing the five first-class tickets from Marseilles to Tel Aviv I had purchased in Germany. If the refund did not cover the fee, Sal would ask Karfiol for the balance.
For five weeks, Sal followed every rumor bandied about by Jewish refugees. Still he did not manage to find passage for the family. Most of the vessels were small fishing boats that Sal judged unsafe for the long voyage. There was also a problem that had nothing to do with the size of the vessel. Without legal papers of passage, captains could not risk docking. The best they could do was lay anchor half a mile offshore. To reach land, passengers had to jump into the sea and swim or wade ashore. And there was still another problem, one that seemed insurmountable: Captains of the few large ships making the journey to Palestine refused to take children. They feared that the young ones would become ill during the voyage, or would be incapable of wading half a mile to dry land.
The children and I spent most of our time at Hannah’s apartment. Old Frau Felber thought her son was being taken advantage of by his wife’s family. He had taken one sister-in-law under his roof, and now a second one and her children were all over the house. I did my best to make myself useful by helping with the cleaning and food shopping, but no matter what I did, I was unable to shake that woman’s resentment. All I could do was to be respectful and bear her silent disapproval.
Mama had taught us that as long as there was bread on the table, you did not turn away mishpachah. It had been my table in the past, and I had given gladly. Now, on the receiving end in my sister’s house, I felt humiliated by the old woman’s displeasure at our presence. Often at the crowded dinner table, the choking feeling that I had first experienced after Sal’s arrest returned. Some evenings, I actually looked forward to returning to our dingy hotel room.
Strolling back to the hotel one warm August evening, Sal pointed to our girls skipping down the walkway. Ruth and Eva were holding Lea’s hands and swinging her over the cracks in the sidewalk. All three were laughing.
“Remember what I said to you when I came back from Palestine in 1935?” he asked. “I said we couldn’t all live in one room. Now I’m just glad to have my family with me. I thank God for that.”
“I remember. How things change. When I took the girls out for a walk this afternoon, I thought it was marvelous just to be able to walk the streets again without being afraid.” Right then, even Frau Felber’s resentment didn’t bother me.
“Look how happy the children are,” Sal said. “They must have become used to cramped quarters, living in Leipzig with your father.”
“Sal,” I asked impulsively. “Can we afford the train fare to Paris? Just you and the big girls? They could travel for half price. You could take them to the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. Oh, let’s give them a treat!”
I thought it would be an outstanding experience for them to visit the most famous museum in the world, but the outing was not a success. In the Louvre, Sal pointed out the Mona Lisa and Winged Victory. But the children begged to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Sal could not bring himself to tell them that he did not have the money to pay for the elevator ride to the top of the monument. Instead, he told them the elevator was not running.
That night, when I asked the girls if they had liked the museum, Ruth said, “There was this big, dirty statue of a woman without arms. Mama, why does such a famous museum keep a broken statue?”
It was their last outing in Paris. Less than a week after the trip to the Louvre, Hitler’s troops invaded Poland, and France and England were at war with Germany.
“Jewish does not count; you are German, the enemy of France.”
On September 1, 1939, Hitler’s armies marched into Poland. I was standing in Hannah’s kitchen with the Alte Frau Felber peeling carrots and cleaning a chicken for Shabbos when I heard the news on the radio. The invasion had begun at daybreak.
I put down the paring knife and tried to absorb the news. “Is that good or bad, Frau Felber? What do you think?”
“First things first,” she replied sternly. “Shabbos will come in less than three hours. Finish peeling.”
All during Shabbos, I thought about Nazi armies on the march, wondering what would happen to Markus and other members of Sal’s family. They were still in Poland after the forced deportation that preceded Kristallnacht. The suspense ended Sunday, September 3. England and France were officially at war with Germany. It was a great relief that two major nations opposed Hitler and took a military stand against him.
The morning after war was declared, Sal went to buy milk and rolls for our breakfast at the hotel. A young French Jew stopped him along the way to tell him he had heard that all German nationals were to be interned. The decree included all Germans, even Jews.
We hurried through breakfast and rushed over to Hannah’s house. She confirmed the rumor.
“It’s true,” she said. “I heard the broadcast.”
I reacted in terror. “Sal! You have to go into hiding! Immediately! We have to find a place. Hannah, please. Help us.”
“No,” Sal said. “Forget about hiding. I have no money. I have no papers, except for the monthly permit, and that identifies me as a German as well as a Jew. Where would I go?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care. You can’t just wait until they take you,” I cried.
“Calm down,” Hannah said. “Maybe I can do something. It may not be hopeless. I’ll call some people. Someone is bound to have some advice on hiding places, or something. But you have to calm down, Mia.”
She need not have told me that. I knew I needed a clear head, but it was so difficult. Here I was in France, out of Germany, and we were being hounded again. It was no different in Paris than it had been in Halle. I had not escaped the turmoil and the fear.
Subdued but still distressed, we left the children with Hannah and went back to the hotel.
Before we had time to decide on a course of action, two gendarmes appeared at the door of our rundown room. “Salomon Kanner? You are under arrest. Come with us.”
I stared at them in disbelief.
“I have done nothing. Why are you doing this? My papers are in order,” Sal protested. He handed the gendarme his identity card.
“You are German; you are the enemy of France,” one of them said. Then he produced the warrant. It was an order for Salomon Kanner, male, German citizen between the age of eighteen and fifty-five, to be immediately interned.
“But I am a Jew,” Sal protested.
“That does not count. You are a German. Germans are the enemy of France. Get your clothes together and say goodbye to your wife. We shall wait for you downstairs.”
I packed Sal’s suitcase. What else was there to do?
“We should have found a place for you to hide,” I said.
“It wouldn’t have mattered, Mia. They would have found me sooner or later, and then it would have been worse. I would have been charged with evading arrest.”
“Why is this happening? How can I lose you again?” I cried. “We were supposed to be safe here. They will take you to a camp.”
Sal handed me his tallis and tefillin and siddur. “Pack these, please. I’m sure they’ll let us daven openly. It won’t be another Buchenwald. The French are not the Nazis.”
“Here, you’d better take your winter coat.”
“Yes, thank you. Now, I had better go. They gave us time alone together, but they are waiting.”
We walked downstairs. The air of the small lobby was stale. The gendarmes were waiting outside the hotel, and we were alone.
“Mia, I believe this war is the best thing that could have happened because Hitler will be defeated. In the meantime, you have Hannah and Herman to help you with the children.”
I nodded mutely.
“Goodbye, my wife,” he said. “Tell the children I will be back.”
When? When would he be back?
I watched him go, carrying his winter coat over his arm in the French September sunshine.
I went back to Hannah’s house. During the afternoon, I played with the children, imagining Sal was in Paris searching for passage to Palestine. I continued on with the fantasy until evening. Only when Herman came home and I told him about Sal’s arrest did the full horror of the situation strike me.
“It doesn’t make any sense, Herman.” I ignored the chicken and tzimmes on my plate and twisted the white napkin in my hands. “The gendarme told Sal he was an enemy now. Six months ago, France offered him refuge from the Nazis. Yesterday, Germany and France declared war. Today, the French arrest him. It’s insane.”
“It will be all right, Mia,” Herman said.
Hannah rose from the table and closed the dining room draperies. The Alte Frau Felber piled the dinner dishes on a tray and carried them out. I heard the clatter of dishes from the kitchen. The Alte Frau Felber was washing up. I knew I should get up and help, but I was exhausted from the piercing headache that had begun when they arrested Sal.
“Sit down and drink your tea, Mia,” Hannah said. “Don’t go back to the hotel tonight. Stay with us. I’ll put Lea to bed.”
Herman pushed his napkin into the silver napkin ring. “It will be alright, Mia,” he said once more.
“How?” I demanded. “I don’t understand the French. They saw what was happening to the Jews in Germany. They let us in. They granted temporary residence status, even to those Jews who came to their country illegally. Month after
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