Chapter 33: SCHUMACHER
God's Little Drop of Water
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After Pesach, the Day of Remembrance arrived, along with Holocaust Day. Taliya did not care for these days. She understood perfectly well their significance. Perfectly well. But she found them quite disturbing.
Many decades before, Jewish people in Europe had been accused of doing bad things which they had not done, and they became the targets of much hatred. Many of them fled their homes. Others tried but were not so lucky. More than six million people lost their lives.
Every year, on Holocaust Day, the ordeal was commemorated with a ceremony which was observed by the entire country. At 11:00 a.m., everyone stood quietly while the air raid sirens across the entire country sounded. Taliya was at school, outside on the playground, rooted in place, terrified as the sirens wailed and wailed and wailed as though they would never stop. It was as though the pain and anguish of six million souls cried out as one voice, begging to never be forgotten.
After Holocaust Day came the Day of Remembrance, a day to remember and to honor all the brave soldiers who had given their lives defending the state of Israel. It, too, was very sad. Taliya found it most distressing.
After the Day of Remembrance came Independence Day. This was a happy and joyous occasion. It required a great deal of emotional gymnastics, however, to shift one’s emotions from the weight of the Holocaust and of fallen soldiers to the joy of at last having a homeland of their very own, which was what Independence Day was all about.
The streets were decorated with many long streamers of blue and white flags.
The Israeli Defense Forces put on parades and air shows, with fighter jets looping and twirling through the sky, filling the air with their mighty roar.
There were parties and barbecues, with much singing and dancing and plenty of delicious food and beer and wine to be had. Fireworks brilliant and loud filled the evening sky.
Taliya did her best to enjoy the festivities.
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The night air was damp and cold. Taliya was somewhere in Europe, perhaps Germany. She was running for her life. The soles of her shoes echoed between the rows of houses as she fled down the cobblestone street. She darted from shadow to shadow, coming to rest at last behind a tree, where she hid.
The steady cadence of soldiers marching filled the night. They were searching for her.
There was a house nearby. She had to get there. That’s where they had told her to go. Run, they had said. Run as fast as she could and don’t stop until she’d made it. Now, she was close. She could see the house. The sound of the soldiers’ boots slowly faded. They had not seen her.
She ran for it, just as fast as she could, legs burning, lungs screaming for air, until at last she reached the door of the modest house.
The sign beside the door read Schumacher.
Taliya knocked three times, as instructed. The door opened, and she was brought inside. A man with white hair and a mustache put his finger to his lips. He led her down to a basement, where many others were huddled around a candle.
Taliya was led to a pile of many hard and lumpy bags filled with potatoes. The brown bags were rough and scratchy and smelled of earth and soil. Taliya sat down to rest at last. She promptly fell asleep.
♦♦♦
Taliya woke up in her bed, curled into a ball. Her blankets and pillow were strewn upon the floor.
Taliya gathered them and tried to go back to sleep.
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