bottle, which he displayed with a flourish. “A toast,” he cried, staring at the label. “To our brother Monsieur Rothschild in honor of the Levys past, the Levys present, and the Levys to come!”
“Go, Mia,” Mama said, her voice high with excitement. “Get the crystal goblets.”
I found them, and when I returned the room was steeped in candlelight. I could see Mama’s hand moving hesitantly over my father’s as though she were reading Braille.
Papa poured and held his glass above a glowing taper. “L’chaim,” he said, and we echoed “L’chaim.” (Was I imagining it, or had my mother and father smiled at each other as they raised their glasses?)
I started to giggle, but the nervous tremor was cut short by the dry white Bordeaux rolling gently over my tongue. I took another, longer sip, savoring the taste and its effect. Then I dove hungrily into our modest feast, pausing frequently to sip the wine and look over the rim of my glass. On the other side of the table, my parents seemed to be trading special understandings in silence. The moment thrilled me and yet infused me with a curious jealousy. I longed for Jean-Phillipe, closing my eyes at the thought of him.
Life, I thought. And it seemed to me so infinitely precious that tears came to my eyes. My body, my brain, my soul—all were alive, I embodied life, I was life itself. If Jean-Phillipe were here now, I would give myself to him fully, fuse his spirit with mine, and together we would know pleasure beyond happiness.
There was a pounding on the door; a loud voice called, “Dr. Levy! Open the door!”
My father pushed Mama back to the kitchen and motioned for me to follow her. We watched him march to the door, pull it open. “What in hell’s the meaning of this?” he said sternly. “Why are you disturbing innocent citizens at this time of…”
The words died in his mouth. I caught a glimpse of a man who stepped aside, and then a tall silhouette with blond hair stumbled through the doorway and crumpled into my father’s arms.
“Jozef!” my mother screamed, rushing forward.
“Quiet,” the man said, taking my brother from my father’s grip and carrying him into the sitting room where he laid him gently on the floor.
My mother bent over him, wailing. “Nora, no,” Papa whispered, clamping a hand over her mouth.
“Do you want the cats to find out where we’ve taken their mouse?” the man asked. “I risked my neck getting him out of that alley. Such a fine, beautiful young man. And so Aryan-looking. If only they hadn’t asked for his ID card. But don’t worry. He’ll be okay. They beat him pretty badly, but I don’t think anything’s broken.”
My father, kneeling, ran his fingers gently over Jozef’s battered face, then carefully along his arms and legs. “Yes, nothing broken. He’ll be all right.” He turned to the man. “Now, my friend, to whom do I owe—”
“I’d rather not give my name,” the man said. “It might not be good for you if they came looking for me here and you knew it. And you owe me nothing. I just thank God that I recognized your boy and knew where to take him. I sat beside him once while you were addressing the Kehillah.”
Papa grasped the man’s hand. “All the same, we must give you something. I and my family are very grateful. Please. A glass of wine. There’s no chicken left, but I’m sure Mrs. Levy could…”
Jozef’s savior waved his hand. “I must be getting home. My wife will be crazy with worry. But if you have a little bread, I’d be most grateful. Forgive this begging, but we haven’t had much to eat.”
“Begging? When you saved my only son? Mia, wrap up a loaf, please, and if there’s cheese, that too. And a bottle of schnapps. Toast to your good health tonight, my friend.”
I raced to the kitchen and did as instructed. Returning, I handed him the package, which he carefully hid under his heavy wool coat. “God bless you,” he said, “and grant your boy a quick healing.”
He gravely shook Papa’s hand, and reached for mine. But I threw myself against him, kissing his face, and hugged him with all my force. He pried me loose and with a bow retreated to the door.
Only my mother, kneeling beside Jozef while she stroked his hair, did not say good-bye.
CHAPTER 4
Effective immediately, the Levy family dwelling is transferred to Adolf Hitlerstrasse 21 within the Jewish Zone, in the area formerly known as the Baluty.
Papa read the letter from the Judenrat with a trembling voice, though his face showed no emotion.
In accordance with the regulations established by Regierungs President Matthias Ubelhoes, passed by the Council of Jews and signed into law by the Praesidium, you will be reimbursed on a par value for your house and possessions by a special fund of the Jewish Treasury designated for this purpose. Until you are established at your new address, the Jewish Treasury will maintain an escrow account for all monies receivable in your name, to be converted into legal deutsch marks.
As recent events have demonstrated, dawdlers and smugglers do grievous harm to the Jewish community. Those who fail to follow the orders contained herein are subject to full prosecution in the Jewish courts, with a maximum penalty of five years’ imprisonment at hard labor, a fine of 10,000 zloty, or both.
All questions should be addressed to the Jewish Ministry of Housing, c/o Judenrat, Munsenstrasse 20 (formerly Sworske Street).
The letter was unsigned, but was stamped in bold letters C. RUMKOWSKI, ELDEST OF THE JEWS.
“Traitor,” Papa hissed while my mother sat in stunned silence and I mentally began cataloging our possessions. Jozef retreated to his room, the sound of a slamming door behind him the only sign of his fury.
Establishment of a Jewish Zone had been inevitable. And now it had come.
Perhaps, I thought, it might be for the best. Acts of violence against Jews had increased. SS troops developed a careful pattern of spot checks and shakedowns. Forced recruitment into the army or banishment to labor camps continued. Night attacks by bands of Aryan Poles were commonplace throughout Lodz. The German regime was behind this newly announced segregation, but maybe Jews would be subject to less harassment if we were banded together in one area. But I knew this was skewed reasoning. Nothing the government decided was ever for our benefit.
The order was issued in February, but not all acquiesced to it. Thousands filed exemption requests with the Judenrat. By early March, however, German soldiers gunned down more than two hundred Jews in the streets, underscoring the need for cooperation. The relocations, including our own, began in earnest.
The day before we left, we were visited by an apple-cheeked rabbi whom I immediately loathed.
“We’re saving you the best location we can,” the young man declared, helping himself to a slice of rationed bread Mama had offered him. “Of course, it might be possible to upgrade your status by speaking to the right people.”
When Papa ignored his awkward hint for a bribe, he looked with pity at my brother, as if to ask, how could you do this to him? “I assure you, Doctor, you’ll have sanitary facilities as befits your status, but your rooms will be small unless you can make other arrangements.”
“We’ll take what’s given us,” Papa said, ushering the rabbi out.
Papa stood motionless, staring at his ruined garden. I knew what he was thinking: last summer, when we had a chance, we should have gone to Kiev, somehow leaving a message for Jozef so he could follow. But all the foreign borders were closed now, and we would soon be sealed in with no access to news or non-Jews. Possession of even a radio was punishable by death, and the new law would prevent my father from ever researching or teaching in his chosen field, or even treating an Aryan patient again. The life we’d known had reached its end.
I couldn’t stand to watch the pain of Papa’s face and went to look in on Jozef. He was lying on his bed listening