The Urn
Part 4
April 15-30, 2000
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| Frienship Watercolor by Elaine |
Marin’s grip on reality started to slip. Papers, notes and pens vanished from her father’s cluttered desk. One day she made a sandwich for herself and left it on the counter to answer the phone … no one was there. Puzzled, she returned to the kitchen, but the sandwich, plate and all, were gone! Just gone.
“Rachel,” Marin pleaded. Please take notice. This isn’t a joke.”
“Oh, my, Marin. I didn’t mean to be dismissive.”
“Someone or some thing is toying with me! Have you not noticed incense, like lavender?”
“Well, now that you mention it. I often smell magnolias, but neither of us use magnolia scents. That is odd. Oh, and I put a clean set of towels in the closet, and the next day, they were gone. Really gone, and I’m sure I put them in the linen closet.” She paused, remembering. “And sometimes I hear water running late at night. Hmm, strange.”
“But who? Maurice is still in Australia for two more weeks. That leaves only the two of us in the house. Do you think the stress of trying to find the missing puzzle pieces of our past has me imagining things?” Marin looked worried, her face a patchwork of emotions. “I need to know I’m not going crazy!” She looked at Rachel.
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| Marin questions her sanity watercolor by Elaine |
“You are right. Something is going on. We are both under stress, and stress can do strange things.”
Marin tried to put the troubling events aside while she and Rachel continued searching for their identities. Rachel knew nothing, except her grandparents’ names.
Further research led them to the Jewish Historical Institute of Warsaw which maintains archives of Jewish ancestry, including the who- what-when-where of Polish Jews, particularly of what became of those who lived in what is known as the Warsaw Ghetto.
“Marin, what if …” Rachel’s voice trailed off into a sob. “I’m not sure I want to know. It’s too frightening.”
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| Marin takes Rachel’s hand in her own to offer comfort watercolor by Elaine |
Marin took Rachel’s hand in her own. “Whatever we learn can’t hurt us now. The past is the past, just a ghost.” Marin took a deep breath. “Rachel, I’m just grateful we have one another.”
Rachel nodded, drying her eyes. “I’m so glad I don’t have to take this emotional rollercoaster ride alone.”
Their research was intense because Rachel did not know the area of Poland where her family lived … and likely died.
Searching through the Underground Archive of the Warsaw Ghetto, in no time at all, they found her grandparents’ names, Reba and Lieb Rabinowicz. Rachel kept a notebook of every bit of information they found, while Marin maintained a digital record on her laptop.
“It was your father who only told me recently about my parents.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “I wonder how he knew. It’s all so confusing. I’m getting a headache!”
The work was exhausting and emotional. So, they took a break.
They chose to dine at a small bistro that was alight with little fairie lights, twinkling all around them. Even the trees were bright with lights. The blend of aromas, onions, savory sauces, and sizzling meats wafted on the air.
“Wow,” Rachel exclaimed as they enjoyed dinner across from the Opera Garnier, “The French culinary expertise is on full display here, that’s for sure. I wish I could learn to cook like this! I don’t even mind if I gain weight. It’s that delicious!”
“The dinner is fabulous, I must admit. You know, we could take a class or two in French cooking. Wouldn’t that be fun?” She sipped her wine in utter contentment. “For now, though, I’m excited to see Coppelia, aren’t you?” Rachel nodded. “And before we go home after the ballet, we can stop for dessert and cognac. How does that sound?”
“Like a perfect evening,” she exclaimed. “And I’m up for cooking classes.” Rachel paused. “But first, Marin, we have to finish our work … and find the urn. I want to know how it fits into the story.” She paused in contemplation. “I do want to know more. And for some illogical reason, I’d like to finish my story before Maurice returns!
The Escape Plan
1940
At first, Jewish families were able to live separately in the Warsaw ghetto, but as time passed, the Germans took their valuables and their money. Conditions worsened. Food was scarce. Their building smelled of smoke, cabbage, and urine. Sanitation was deplorable.
Eventually the Rabinowicz’s were forced to move in with the Solomon family. Twelve families were crowded together on their floor. They shared one toilet. Privacy was scarce. They ate mostly potatoes and cabbage.
Occasionally there was bread. Bartering with German soldiers was the only way to get bread. Or theft. And once you acquired special items, you had to secret them because everyone knew your business. Theft was common.
Those with papers were able to get assigned to work crews outside of the ghetto. When they could, they stole eggs and milk from nearby farmers. On those days the families celebrated with omelets and oatmeal cooked in milk. And if they got their hands on a scrawny chicken, that was cause for jubilation!
As conditions worsened the two families became desperate. They heard of death camps, so they lived in constant fear
They began to think about escape, even though few families ever succeeded. Death was likely.
Lieb Rabinowitz was vehement. “We have to escape, and I think I know how.”
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| Jews everywhere were required to wear a Star of David watercolor by Elaine |
“You must be mad,” Reba countered. “The big yellow Star of David we wear is like a flashing red light. There is no escape for people like us. Get that frightful notion out of your head.”
Young Jacob Solomon was thoughtful. Then he spoke up, fearful of his father’s wrath, ever constant these days. “First, we need official papers, and on my deliveries, I know
of a man who makes forgeries … for a reasonable price.”
“Let’s say we have the money. Then what, son?” There was sarcasm in his voice, but no anger.
“There are Jewish work crews that go out into the countryside to raid farms of chickens and pigs to feed the German army. After all, they must stay strong so they can beat us as they are wont to do.” Then he pulled up the back of his shirt.
When his mother saw the deep purple and red welts, she let out a cry.
“Don’t cry, Mama!” Jacob pulled her close. “I’m used to it. The soldiers’ boots don’t hurt anymore,” he lied.
“Everyone, shh,” Lila Solomon put her finger to her lips. “These walls have ears.”
“Okay, okay, Lila. Go on, Jacob, explain your plan,” Asher Solomon whispered. “There are eight of us. I don’t see how such a plan would work.” He took his wife and daughter’s hands in his own and kissed them. He continued. “You know Lila’s lungs are weak and Hannah is not yet seventeen.”
Jacob continued, “I do know. We will have to leave in shifts. We will need to get papers first, then get assigned to a work crew. Hopefully, with the help of The Resistance, we will be able to hitch a ride on a hay wagon by day. Then comes the hard part. Most likely, we will need to walk by night. To get to Paris, we must travel twelve hundred miles!”
“Shh, lower your voice! The neighbors will hear.”
“Whoa, son! Why Paris?”
“I am told there is a very large Resistance Movement there to help us.” And, he added, “I have heard that conditions there are so much better than here. There are jobs for Jews and outdoor markets where we can shop for fresh food.”
The two fathers, Lieb and Asher put their hands up. Jacob stopped.
Asher spoke first. “You are very passionate, Jacob, and quite courageous as well. I almost believe it would work, but …” He looked at Lila and Hannah. “We need to talk together before we sign onto your plan. Paris, really?” he murmured.
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| Rachel’s grandparents, Lieb and Reba Rabinowicz watercolor by Elaine R |
“Same for us,” Lieb said. “Be sure no one is listening! We can’t afford to have other tenants catching on to our plan in the coming days … if we go through with this. Pray to God for us all. Also pray no one heard us tonight!” He blew out the candles. The tiny apartment grew dark. Dark like the heart of the Nazis. Dark like ravenous fear.
If you want to know more about Rachel’s grandparents, the Rabinowicz’s, you will have to return on April 25 for Part 5. Who makes the escape? Who doesn’t? What lies ahead in Paris … if they get there. Is Jacob right about the improved conditions in Paris?
I’m always listening for your opinions!
etlainie92@gmail.com