“He’s such a strong director. I don’t know anyone who could fill his shoes.”
* * *
Despite the snow on Sunday afternoon, the Föhrenwald winter social began right on time with a series of games for the children. Eli welcomed the crowd to the festival and invited everyone to take part in the planned activities. “Bingo begins sharply at four. Buffet dinner at five thirty and musical performances start at seven,” he announced. “Many of you were here last month when Adinah Szapiro sang Yiddish favorites. She’ll perform again tonight, and everyone is invited to sing along.” Eli looked down at Izaak and winked.
Camp socials were popular events, and they drew big crowds. The residents shared a common bond; they had all come through hell, unimaginable circumstances, but they were the survivors, the Sh’erit Hapletah! The Nazis had taken away their citizenship, their passports, their identification papers, and now that the war had ended, many were no longer welcome to return to their prewar villages. They had truly lost any sense of nationality—they were a stateless people. Despite it all, they stood tall, undefeated, optimistic about their future and determined to rebuild their lives and reconstitute their community, no matter what it took. Föhrenwald was their platform, their steppingstone.
A buzz went through the crowd as 7:00 p.m. approached and people scrambled to find a seat. The piano accompanist bowed, nodded and took his place. Finally, a spirited Adinah stepped onto the stage in a bright yellow dress with a lively bounce to her step. No shyness, no hesitation. Was this the same Adinah? Whatever the reason, the enthusiasm of the crowd added to her energy. She sparkled.
She began by briskly walking back and forth across the stage, rhythmically clapping and inciting the crowd to clap along with her. When she had the audience loudly clapping in rhythm, she began a rousing “Hava Nagila.” The audience rose to sing along, and many danced at their places. One traditional song was followed by another. In the middle of her program, she held up her hand and asked for silence.
“This next song,” she said, “was first sung in the Vilna ghetto. It spread to the other camps, to the labor camps, to the concentration and the death camps. It became an anthem, our anthem. A song of defiance and survival. All of you know the song I’m talking about. It was written by Hirsh Glick in tribute to the Warsaw ghetto uprising. A song of triumph. I sing for you now, ‘Zog Nit Keyn Mol.’ Sing along with me, please.”
Everyone stood. Though tears filled their eyes, though words caught in their throats, they stood arm in arm. Their chests were puffed in pride. The Yiddish lyrics were poignant and powerful:
Never say that there is only death for you,
Though leaden skies may be concealing days of blue.
Because the hour we have hungered for is near,
Beneath our tread the earth shall tremble: we are here!
From lands so green with palms to lands all white with snow.
We shall be coming with our anguish and our woe,
And where a spurt of our blood fell on the earth,
There our courage and our spirit have rebirth!
We’ll have the morning sun to set our day aglow,
And all our yesterdays shall vanish with the foe,
And if the time is long before the sun appears,
Then let this song go like a signal through the years.
[English Translation]
When the song had finished and the proud audience had retaken their seats, Adinah winked at Izaak. “It is time for our duet, young Mr. Rosen.” With her index finger she beckoned Izaak to the stage. He glanced at his father, and his face displayed more than just a little trepidation. Eli shrugged and said, “Now or never, my boy.” Izaak bit his bottom lip, popped out of his chair and walked up to the stage. Adinah put her arm around his shoulders and nodded to the pianist. With smiles on their faces, Adinah and Izaak sung “Oyfn Pripetchik,” and when they had finished, the audience gave them a hearty round of applause. Adinah leaned over and kissed Izaak on the cheek. He blushed from ear to ear.
No social event could end without the compulsory cake and ice cream. Adinah, Eli and Izaak were enjoying their dessert when Dr. Weisman approached. “Lovely duet,” he said, “I enjoyed it very much.” Then, turning to Eli, he said, “May I have a moment?”
They stepped to the side and the doctor produced an envelope. “This is from Bernard,” he said quietly.
“How is he?” Eli asked.
“Not well. I have cleared a place for him in our sanitarium.” The news hit Eli like a punch in the stomach. He sat down hard, opened the envelope and read the letter.
My good friend Eli;
I’m afraid my time as director is finished. When or if I recover, I will not be strong enough to carry on the business of our camp in the days ahead. I am recommending that the UNRRA Administration hold elections for a new director. The camp needs a strong leader, and I know of no one better suited than you. You command the respect of our community and you have the wisdom to govern. Please consider putting your name into consideration. Daniel will help you, but he lacks the confidence and background to assume the mantle. My staff at the office has all of the records and will assist the new director in whatever capacity he needs. May God bless your efforts.
One more thing—though I am ill, our quest for Max must not abate. We must find him and put an end to his criminal activities. I have spoken with General Lucius D. Clay, Chief Administrator of Occupied Germany in Berlin. He directed me to contact Colonel Bivens at the U.S. Army Garrison in Garmisch, the chief military officer for our region. I sent a request for a meeting two weeks ago. I just received notice that he will grant us a meeting next Wednesday. I am unable to go with you, but I am supremely confident that you will do whatever is necessary to bring about the arrest and conviction of the black marketeer.
Finally, I pray for you and Esther, that you will find each other, that the two of you will be reunited and that you will live long, healthy, happy lives together with your son.
May God bless you, my friend, now and always,
Bernard
Eli’s expression conveyed it all. Adinah and Izaak knew the letter contained sad news.
“I have to go to Garmisch on Wednesday,” Eli said to Izaak. “You’ll have to manage on your own for a while. I’ll probably be home very late.”
“I will stay with him,” Adinah said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
FÖHRENWALD DP CAMP
AMERICAN ZONE
DECEMBER 1946
There was a soft knock on Eli’s door at 6:00 a.m. The sun had yet to rise, yet Adinah was standing there, a white cable-knit hat pulled over her golden hair and a smile on her face. “Am I on time?” she said softly.
Eli stepped back to let her in. “My goodness, Adinah, you didn’t have to come this early. Izaak is still asleep.” Then he caught himself. “I’m sorry, what I really meant to say is thank you very much for coming this morning. I know Izzie will be happy to see you. Just make yourself at home; the house is yours. Izzie goes to school at nine and to basketball practice in the gym after school. He probably won’t be home until five. I may be home by then, but I’m not sure. Bernard informed the colonel I was coming today, but there is no set appointment time. Depending on the colonel’s schedule, I could be home late. So if I’m not here when Izzie gets home from school…”