Shattered Crystals by Mia Amalia Kanner (management books to read .TXT) 📖

“Packages of Matzoh arrived at the camp.”

In the spring of 1943, after three years of war and occupation, food shortages were acute, but the people at Gurs were not starving, as at Nexon. At Gurs, we ate three times a day. And the two separate kitchens in the camp made it possible for us to eat kosher. Meat, chicken, and eggs were scarce, but there was sufficient bread, potatoes, beans and cabbage. We were rarely truly hungry.

The washerwomen had strength to carry, wash, wring, and hang the laundry. If they struggled, it was because their load was heavy, not because their bodies were weak. I also regained my strength and began to feel like my old self again.

My work was less physically demanding, but my task required organization, time and attention. I threw myself into my new work. Collecting bundles from inmates, tagging and recording them, and handing work to the washerwomen, I quickly came to know a large number of women and men at the camp. No one resented my assignment or even thought it strange that the laundry manager was a newcomer.

When I looked in the mirror again, I no longer saw the aged stranger. The image I saw was more like the person I knew. I recognized myself again. It was not only that I became accustomed to my white hair; I also felt alive again.

Now there was a hint of normality in our lives. One evening when Sal was making ersatz coffee on our potbelly stove, he said, “Remember what I said when I came back from Jerusalem in 1935? I said that after we left Germany, we would establish ourselves by operating a laundry and a cleaners. Well, here we are running a laundry. It’s not what I had in mind, but it will have to do for now.”

I agreed. “We are together, we have friends, and I think we are safe, at least for now.”

Dr. Neder appointed Sal to be director of the laundry. It was an invented title, for the director had no duties to delegate nor work to oversee. The job was devised in order to justify his living with me outside the barracks. Sal was idle until just before Pesach, and then, his assignment had nothing at all to do with the laundry. It dealt with preparations for the holiday.

When I first heard from a woman that there would be matzoh for Pesach, I did not believe her. I assumed she could not face the holiday without matzoh and was pretending to herself. Soon others told the same story, and then boxes of matzoh began arriving at Gurs. They were sent by French Jews to their friends and relatives in the camp.

Dr. Neder came to the laundry in the evening a week before Pesach and surprised me by handing me a box of matzoh. “You have friends everywhere,” he said.

I made out the name of the sender written on the wrapper. It was from the brother of a school friend. “It’s from Paula’s brother,” I said to Sal. “We were friends in Leipzig when we were children. Paula’s been in Palestine for years, but her brother lives in Lyons. I wonder how he discovered I was in Gurs.”

“He must work with the Underground,” Sal said. “They know we are here.”

I was elated. “We’re not forgotten. It’s so marvelous that someone outside has gone to the trouble to send us matzoh.”

“Now all we need is wine and we can have a seder.”

“Oh, we’ll have wine,” Dr. Neder said. “The camp director promised to get us some. Even in wartime, there is no shortage of wine in France.”

“This is remarkable,” I said.

“I didn’t just come to deliver your matzoh,” Dr. Neder said. “My Mannheim people say their dishes have to be kashered.”

Each inmate owned his own cup, knife, fork, spoon and gamella, the round metal bowl used as an all-purpose plate. Metal utensils were distributed to inmates because they were cheap and unbreakable. Now it became apparent that metal offered another benefit. It was a material that could be kashered.

“Sal, will you help us set up so that everything can be properly kashered and keep order?” Dr. Neder asked.

“You know I will be glad to help,” Sal said.

Dr. Neder said the kashering would have to be done outdoors, and could become hectic as each piece had to be dipped and submerged three times in boiling water. Dr. Neder had been a pediatrician in Mannheim, but he was also a learned man, and Orthodox Jews relied on his extensive knowledge.

Lola and Bertha, two washerwomen in their mid-thirties had become my friends. I admired them because they had agreed to work even though the task was alien to them. They were optimistic and believed that one day they would be free again. Bertha, a widow, came from Mannheim; Lola was Hungarian and had worked for the OSE before her arrest.

When they came into my room one night, I said, “You’re invited to a Seder here. I received some matzoh, and the doctor has promised wine.”

Everyone looked forward to Pesach. Orthodox and non-Orthodox Jews alike became excited about the rapidly approaching yom tov. Word that there was a place to kasher utensils spread rapidly through the camp. On the chosen day, the site of the kashering teemed with women, eager to partake in the mitzvah. In their enthusiasm, none would have guessed that the day would end in disaster.

Dr. Neder told me what happened afterwards.

While two men were still engaged in filling the enormous vat with boiling water, women crowded around the steaming basin. They had tied string around their utensils, leaving a long piece by which to hold their bowls and cups as they repeatedly submerged them into the steaming water.

“Stand back,” Sal shouted. “Form a line, please.”

“Hurry up!” women on the edge of the crowd shouted. “What’s taking so long?”

“Calm down. Take it easy,” Sal answered. “There’s plenty of time.”

The complaints in the rear of the line became more strident, and Sal was becoming hoarse from shouting, “Stay in line; take it easy, you must stay in line, please!”

A gray-haired woman with a double chin reached the front of the line and placed two faded cotton sacks on the ground. She took a bowl out of the first sack, lowered it three times into the boiling water, shook it dry and placed it into the second sack. She reached into the first sack and took out another bowl. The line had stopped moving while she continued to repeat the performance.

“What is she up to?” Someone shouted. “Whose gamella is she dipping now?”

“Everyone is supposed to do her own,” another cried out. “Just your own, not the entire barracks!”

Women muttered angrily, “She’s taking too long. This is not right. Set a limit!”

His back toward the vat, facing the angry crowd who demanded “limits,” Sal shouted, “Ladies, please, there is plenty of time. Everyone will get a turn.”

Not to be appeased, the women moved forward. Alarmed now, arms outstretched as the crowd surged toward him, Sal yelled, “Stand back,” but they continued to move toward the tub, pushing and pressing against him, until he lost his balance and tumbled into the steaming tub. His face showed shock briefly, then showed the excruciating pain of the assault on his flesh.

The men who had been standing on the side unconcerned over the increasing tension, rushed forward to pull Sal out of the water. They carried him to the camp hospital. When he arrived, Sal was unconscious.

At the vat, the preparation of utensils resumed and continued for the rest of the day. The women, chastened by the accident, stood patiently until their turn came at the boiling water.

Thank God for the infirmary. There were burns on Sal’s legs and buttocks, and they were severe. It took two weeks before he could stand up.

My husband recovered, but there was no Seder in our room in the laundry.