ceremoniously. “Can you keep a secret?”
But Bekka didn’t take the time to let me answer. “Just imagine, Thomas and I are going to England!” she said with a little chuckle in her voice.
“To England? You and Thomas?”
“With a kindertransport! My father found out about it at the Jewish Community Center. They’ve already moved hundreds of children out of Berlin, Vienna, and Munich! We’ll live with foster families and it doesn’t cost us anything!”
She looked at me expectantly. “In foster families?” I echoed. “And your parents?”
“When we’re in England we’ll find jobs for them, and then they can follow us!” Bekka replied with glowing eyes. “You know Silke Weinstein, right? She’s already there and she got a domestic permit for her mother!”
Only one thing had reached me loud and clear. “You want to go to England without your parents and live with strangers?” I repeated, horrified. “You can’t just go off by yourself to live with people you don’t know!”
“Why not? Ziska, they’re taking us in, they volunteered to do it! They must be good and nice and absolutely wonderful,” Bekka raved.
I listened and tried hard to give the impression that I was happy for her. But a single thought ran through my head the entire time: If Mamu wanted to send me to England alone, I would run away and hide until the train had left without me! Nothing in the world could make me leave without my parents! Bekka’s enthusiastic description almost brought tears to my eyes, I felt so sorry for her.
At least she didn’t have to leave right away. She would still have enough time to think it over. For now, her parents had only put Thomas’s and Bekka’s names on the waiting list, and I knew all too well about waiting.
“Bekka is going to England,” I announced that evening to distract my mother from the fact that even though she had presented our ship tickets, she still hadn’t been able to take my father with her right away. “With a kindertransport. Just with Thomas and without her parents. Isn’t that awful?”
“A kindertransport?” Mamu repeated. Since she had returned from the Gestapo, she had been sitting perfectly still, staring off into the distance, but now she lifted her head and I explained everything to her in detail. Even Aunt Ruth and Uncle Erik listened, though my aunt usually cut me off as soon as I opened my mouth.
We rarely got to see Uncle Erik, Aunt Ruth’s heavy, jovial husband, since he had saved himself from being arrested by riding back and forth in streetcars all night. Now he had a monthly ticket and rode around all day, all over Berlin, and found shelter at night wherever he could with different friends. “Kindertransport… hmm, I’ve heard about that,” he said.
I enjoyed the attention and answered lots of questions: where to sign up(at the Jewish Community Center), who paid for it (the Refugee Children’s Movement, an organization that was founded in England just to help us), how many trains were leaving (one or two each week, from different big cities each time), and how old the children had to be (at least four, no older than sixteen). I was amazed that they wanted such detailed information about everything. When I was done, there was a long silence in the room.
“Might be our only option,” Uncle Erik finally said.
Not comprehending, I looked from one adult to the next.
“Evchen and Betti are too little,” Aunt Ruth whispered. Her haggard, pale face seemed to fall apart.
“No, Evchen is four,” Uncle Erik said softly. “It would be possible.”
Another long silence. Gradually I felt the import of his words registering in that part of my brain responsible for putting things together, but I refused to believe what I had just heard.
When Mamu pushed back her chair with a clatter, we all jumped. “We should each discuss this for ourselves,” she said. “Ziska, will you step outside with me?”
And as we left she did something
But Bekka didn’t take the time to let me answer. “Just imagine, Thomas and I are going to England!” she said with a little chuckle in her voice.
“To England? You and Thomas?”
“With a kindertransport! My father found out about it at the Jewish Community Center. They’ve already moved hundreds of children out of Berlin, Vienna, and Munich! We’ll live with foster families and it doesn’t cost us anything!”
She looked at me expectantly. “In foster families?” I echoed. “And your parents?”
“When we’re in England we’ll find jobs for them, and then they can follow us!” Bekka replied with glowing eyes. “You know Silke Weinstein, right? She’s already there and she got a domestic permit for her mother!”
Only one thing had reached me loud and clear. “You want to go to England without your parents and live with strangers?” I repeated, horrified. “You can’t just go off by yourself to live with people you don’t know!”
“Why not? Ziska, they’re taking us in, they volunteered to do it! They must be good and nice and absolutely wonderful,” Bekka raved.
I listened and tried hard to give the impression that I was happy for her. But a single thought ran through my head the entire time: If Mamu wanted to send me to England alone, I would run away and hide until the train had left without me! Nothing in the world could make me leave without my parents! Bekka’s enthusiastic description almost brought tears to my eyes, I felt so sorry for her.
At least she didn’t have to leave right away. She would still have enough time to think it over. For now, her parents had only put Thomas’s and Bekka’s names on the waiting list, and I knew all too well about waiting.
“Bekka is going to England,” I announced that evening to distract my mother from the fact that even though she had presented our ship tickets, she still hadn’t been able to take my father with her right away. “With a kindertransport. Just with Thomas and without her parents. Isn’t that awful?”
“A kindertransport?” Mamu repeated. Since she had returned from the Gestapo, she had been sitting perfectly still, staring off into the distance, but now she lifted her head and I explained everything to her in detail. Even Aunt Ruth and Uncle Erik listened, though my aunt usually cut me off as soon as I opened my mouth.
We rarely got to see Uncle Erik, Aunt Ruth’s heavy, jovial husband, since he had saved himself from being arrested by riding back and forth in streetcars all night. Now he had a monthly ticket and rode around all day, all over Berlin, and found shelter at night wherever he could with different friends. “Kindertransport… hmm, I’ve heard about that,” he said.
I enjoyed the attention and answered lots of questions: where to sign up(at the Jewish Community Center), who paid for it (the Refugee Children’s Movement, an organization that was founded in England just to help us), how many trains were leaving (one or two each week, from different big cities each time), and how old the children had to be (at least four, no older than sixteen). I was amazed that they wanted such detailed information about everything. When I was done, there was a long silence in the room.
“Might be our only option,” Uncle Erik finally said.
Not comprehending, I looked from one adult to the next.
“Evchen and Betti are too little,” Aunt Ruth whispered. Her haggard, pale face seemed to fall apart.
“No, Evchen is four,” Uncle Erik said softly. “It would be possible.”
Another long silence. Gradually I felt the import of his words registering in that part of my brain responsible for putting things together, but I refused to believe what I had just heard.
When Mamu pushed back her chair with a clatter, we all jumped. “We should each discuss this for ourselves,” she said. “Ziska, will you step outside with me?”
And as we left she did something
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