Guesthouse for Ganesha Read online

  Esther watched with keen eyes as Bubbe Royza reached into her dress pocket and pulled out the coveted silver kiddush cup and placed it on the table in front of her.

  Esther jumped up and wrapped her arms around Bubbe Royza’s robust frame.

  “A sheynem dank! A hartsikn dank! Thank you so much!” Esther shouted.

  No present could have been more fitting or made Esther happier, because for her, from earliest remembrances onward, the Sabbath was sacred. A pause from work and lessons. This constant day of commemoration and freedom was a refuge from the week’s pressures, a safe haven enabling contemplation and renewal. There was a comfort in the evening’s structure and coordination: the Sabbath meal, prepared with close attention to rituals; the two candles lit within eighteen minutes of the sun gently kissing the horizon; the special prayers sung that separated this day from all others; and the shared wine from the kiddush cup. The meal always included some special savory treat, the only one of the week. And there would be her family, all fifteen of them, gathered around the huge wooden table, for this one night covered in lace. The evening overflowed with laughter and food. They caught up on gossip and the events in each other’s lives. For Esther it was a period of blessing and gratitude that continued until the first three stars appeared in the sky the next evening.

  It was … of course … a Friday evening in the period before the sunset … the coming of the Sabbath … when Esther met Tadeusz … and the spark ignited … and the story began … and destiny unfolded …

  Thus, the kiddush cup, and with it the Sabbath, remained the pivotal bridge from Przeworsk to now.

  Although Esther did not keep kosher, nor follow the practices and rituals associated with a Jewish life, her observance of the Sabbath constituted the cornerstone of activities. It was the one consistent element to any week she had ever known. As a child, she had believed in it as a covenant with God, but her experience—of unbending hurt and heartache—had made her disavow all existence of possibilities other than what was right before her.

  Abraham was a third-generation German, raised without religion but not without Jewish roots and culture embedded within his soul. He was content, if not relieved, for Esther to arrange their lives and manage the children’s upbringing, religious or otherwise. It was clear who ran the household and kept all in order. He did not argue or question decisions made.

  Their lives were centered in Köln’s Jewish Quarter, an area mostly crowded with old and crumbling buildings, some the remains of Romanesque architecture. The apartment and shop were situated two short blocks from the mikveh—the ritual bath—on the east toward the river, the butcher and his slaughterhouse equidistant on the north. The city’s largest synagogue was only one street away to the south. They did not belong to this synagogue or to any other. They attended no community meetings. Esther had no interest in such gatherings. Her preference was to be self-contained. Maintaining distance ensured her desired privacy, or at least as much isolation as was possible when one had to manage the lives and requirements of children.

  Esther did not take the children to synagogue even during the High Holy Days, those ten days of awe in the fall that heralded the New Year and new beginnings and culminated with atonement for past transgressions. There were no more new beginnings for Esther. No celebrations in anticipation of what was to come. She was clear that amends and expiation were the responsibility of others.

  Still, every Friday afternoon, no matter how busy, Esther put aside her tasks and assignments to prepare the Sabbath meal. Gefilte fish with horseradish sauce was a staple, accompanied by a potato or noodle kugel. She included one side dish of carrots, turnips, parsnips, beets, or celery root, depending on what looked freshest at the market that morning. And most weeks she made a noodle soup with vegetables or chicken, as finances allowed. The abundance of aromas flooded the apartment.

  Without exception, the menu included one indulgence: doll-size challahs for Tova and Miriam, something her adored Bubbe Royza had made every week, one for each sibling. Even though one large challah was more economical and would feed everyone, Esther remained faithful to this one tradition from childhood. These little challahs and the kiddush cup were the only links to her past.

  Well … the sole connections she dared or could concede.

  Since their apartment did not have an oven, it required juggling and logistics to take the miniature yellow-braided mounds of dough down the street to be baked at the bakery—and one mark, twenty Pfennig for the baker. Friday afternoons, after carefully molding these loafs, Esther made this time-consuming, not inexpensive trek. Truthfully, although the children delighted in these challahs, Esther knew she made them for Esther.

  “Mama, Mama, it’s Friday afternoon,” Tova and Miriam sang in unison as they ran into the kitchen area. “We’re here to help. We want to help.”

  “Seid still! Be quiet!” Esther demanded. “Ja, ja, it is Friday afternoon, and you are here to prepare for shabbes as you do every Friday. I understand this. But you do not need to be so loud. If you continue to shout, you must leave, and you will not get your challahs.”

  The girls immediately stopped talking. For while both had many chores as soon as they were strong enough to hold the laundry basket or push a mop to scrub the floor, assisting with meals was verboten. According to their mama, there were too many opportunities to break something or burn themselves, too many chances to add an abundance of salt or pepper and ruin a meal. Only on Friday afternoons were they allowed in the kitchen area to assist. If they were good.

  After five minutes of silence, Esther said, “Okay, fine, go prepare the Sabbath table. Don’t break anything!” A smile claimed her face as she thought of making these same preparations with her own sisters. A momentary reflection. Her attention quickly turned to the details of the meal, and she ignored their prattle.

  “Schwestie, hol’ die Servietten,” Tova ordered. “Get the napkins. Only the napkins. The plates are too heavy for you. I will set them where they need to go and then you place the napkins beside each plate, on the right. Okay, here, take our little pitcher filled with grape juice. Hold it with both hands so you don’t spill. The one with wine, I will put above Papa’s plate.” Tova then positioned the plain wood-turned candlesticks Abraham had made in his shop on either side of a small vase at the table’s center.

  “It’s my turn to put Mama’s special goblet on the table. This week it will go closer to my seat. And look, I picked a flower—” Miriam said excitedly.

  “From Frau Lang’s garden! You have to stop that. She’ll be so mad if she catches you again!”

  “It was just so pretty,” Miriam said, hiding her face in her hands.

  Tova and Miriam knew everything must be fresh and orderly. For on this evening the angels were greeted. It was important the family received the blessing of the good angel and only the bad angel’s “Amen.”

  “Sholem aleichem—May peace be upon you”—

  —would be sung, opening up the heavens and welcoming the angels. With all seated around the table as the sun began to set, candles would be lit, kiddush blessings said, and the meal consumed.

  Then dishes were cleared and washed, and all would ready for bed.

  No telling of stories or laughter and no break for rest or contemplation. For Esther, Abraham, and the children, the Sabbath could not continue through the next day’s sunset; Saturday could not be a day off from work and responsibilities. And it could not be a day of reflection, most especially not for Esther.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Yet … of course … not all of this country’s

  history has been without blemish.

  Not all days past overflowed with compassion …

  with beneficence … with tolerance …

  toward one … toward all.

  Aberrations pullulate,

  for that is what happens here …

  and so we learned—

  one man’s view, through

  sixty-five thousand words, denoun
cing a people …

  a tribe … a religion …

  Instigating an aggression—

  Counseling government to act …

  and to cleanse … and to rid …

  “Mama, Mama,” Miriam shouted, “eine Parade! Schau, Mama. Look, Mama, a parade is coming!”

  The little girl was at the narrow window in their front room, jumping up and down, chortling with excitement.

  “Look at all the pretty balloons! There are red and white balloons. Look! And black balloons. So many balloons. They are coming right down our street. They are coming down Kämmergasse, Mama! Look at all the people! Who is that man standing up in the car? Why is he standing? Can we go, Mama? Can we go downstairs? Bitte, Mama, please, Mama, please!”

  Miriam waved joyfully out the window. She wanted to be a part of the scene below. Mimicking the people lining the parade route, precisely like the man in the car, she raised her right arm straight outwards.

  Esther seized Miriam by her shoulder and smacked her bottom. “Get away from the window immediately and go to your room! Jetzt—Now!”

  Bewildered, Miriam burst into tears and ran to her bed.

  What did I do wrong? Why is my mama always so mean? she thought. Grabbing her cherished little bear and holding him tight, Miriam hid under the covers and continued to sob. “It’s a parade. It’s only a parade.”

  But it was not only a parade, and Esther understood this beyond question.

  In the few brief years since Miriam’s birth, daily life as it had been—Esther’s world—began to change. At the outset, it was subtle. Barely discernible. Often it was more a feeling than anything else, observations she might attribute to her imagination. But then there would be an off-hand remark from a passerby or an offensive name shouted by a young child.

  “Untermenschen—Subhuman” was oft repeated.

  For the most part, Esther could ignore such occurrences, ascribing them to a person having a difficult day or youthful ignorance.

  This was all so understandable … for often … so very often … one does not wish to see what is before them … that which is transpiring … the true nature … reason … reasons … for a situation … for a circumstance …

  Slowly, randomly, rules and restrictions were imposed on daily activities. Laws came into effect that declared when or where or whether Esther could shop or ride the tram or take her children to play in the park. Under these circumstances, sporadic as they were, there could be no denying, no refuting, what was taking place.

  Well—at least no denial for Esther, whose internal armor heightened her already acute sensitivity. Abraham maintained a state of practiced obliviousness. He went about his daily activities—helping a customer when one ventured in; watching or, more accurately, playing with the children; and puttering about, here and there—as though no change was upon him, his family, his community, his people.

  For Esther, the inconsistencies and irrationality ensured that each day presented more challenges to navigate than the one before.

  The corner grocery store where she shopped no longer consistently stocked basic staples and supplies. Tempers flared.

  “Nein! These are mine,” the gray-haired woman insisted as she held fast to the small bags of sugar and flour. “I picked them up first. And the baking powder is mine too. Take your hands off them.”

  But the brunette refused to let go. “We have not had bread in our house for four weeks. My family is hungry. I have young children. And I saw these before you. You know I did. You pushed me out of the way. Who knew such an old crone—ein altes Weib—could be so strong?”

  Esther had not seen salt on these shelves in many months. Or onions and garlic. Potatoes and celery were also rare. Butter and cream had become fantasies of the imagination. It was no longer possible to offer the miniature challahs at their Sabbath meal, and when Miriam groused, Esther did not contain her frustration. “I will hear no more from you!” she shouted and demanded the little girl leave the room without eating.

  Fruits and vegetables appeared sporadically. When they could be found, they were inevitably the ones most bruised, damaged, or speckled with brown spots. Her sewing supplies were no longer carried in any of the nearby shops. So Esther traveled by tram forty-five minutes each way to purchase threads, buttons, zippers, straight pins, marking chalks, and fabrics.

  It became more difficult to keep customers.

  Only the week before the motorcade, Esther had lost a valuable client, one of the wealthier ones. Frau Osterhoudt was not a longtime client, but she was one who, for the past three or so years, had provided Esther with consistent work and interesting projects. Not simply to hem a skirt or mend a shirt, the most common assignments. Often, her services were retained to sew complete outfits for one of Frau Osterhoudt’s four daughters. Once, she had Esther create a coat from rabbit skins, with silk lining. Payment was prompt and more than fair, and she praised Esther for her superior craftsmanship and exquisite detailing. Whenever Esther dropped off or picked up clothes, she made sure to bring Miriam along; Miriam played with the youngest daughter while Esther measured and pinned. But when last at her front door, Frau Osterhoudt refused to let them in the entryway. She snatched her clothes from Esther’s basket and said, “Here is Ihre Zahlung—your payment!” She thrust a fistful of bills into the empty basket.

  Taken aback, Esther did manage to say, “I have time this week to repair—”

  But the door slammed in her face before the complete sentence was formed. Obviously her services were no longer favored. No opportunity to inquire why. No explanation provided.

  It became harder to manage from one day to the next without feeling as though the business Esther had established would be taken away without notice. As though nothing were truly hers anymore. Maybe it never was. Perhaps it had all been an illusion, for there was no reason or rationale to what was occurring, no justification for how some people were acting or how other people were treated.

  Indeed … darkness prevailed … and light had forgotten its timepiece …

  The situation felt all too familiar. For not that long ago, still within memory’s clutch, Esther’s world had been ripped away. Granted, then it had happened in an instant, and this time, so much was taking place in subtle actions, often indiscernible and seemingly intentionally so.

  As the temperature grew colder, an oppressive fog gathered in the mornings and refused to dissipate throughout the day. The weather mirrored the atmosphere of fear that had begun to form. First, as a mere rustling, its intensity and volume increased each day. Fear was not in Esther’s vocabulary, nor part of her consciousness. She felt impervious to its force. It was not something she understood, nor an emotion she intended to engage.

  She did not know or perhaps did not … could not … acknowledge … that fear … escalating and overpowering fear … had been around her before … had been around her then … and was the root of her unrelenting pain.

  A few times, when especially bothered, Esther attempted to speak to Abraham.

  “This morning, I went to the market and there was not one piece of fruit to buy. Just potatoes. This is the fifth day in a row with only potatoes. And I couldn’t board the tram to shop in another part of the city. They are now refusing to stop on our streets. It is unglaublich—unbelievable—what is happening.”

  His response was dismissive. “There is nothing to worry about, dear Esther. This situation is only temporary. Alles ist gut. All is good.”

  Abraham’s casual indifference to these circumstances included the daily mantra “All is good, all is fine.” There are no worries. Nothing bad could possibly happen. He said these words as much to himself as to anyone who would listen.

  Esther muttered to herself, That man infuriates me! He does not see what is right in front of him, what is all around us. He will be the end of us. I must take care of myself. And the children. This is clear.

  The one emotion she could muster was anger, and it fueled her actions. Constantly tensed musc
les and a hot, flushed feeling kept her clearheaded and hyperconscious of her surroundings and everything that must be accomplished.

  And more sensitive to my presence …

  “Genug von ihm—Enough of him!” Esther stopped speaking to her husband except when conversation was essential. When one child or another needed water or milk, if it was available, or when she wanted them out of the apartment to get her sewing accomplished without distraction. Conflict rose in this already stressful household. Miriam began to have trouble sleeping, and nightmares came when she could finally sleep. She regularly complained of headaches and stomachaches. Tova, in contrast, shared Abraham’s light-hearted, nothing-bad-can-befall-us attitude and became her sister’s protector.

  Miriam returned home one day crying loudly. “They called me bad names at school again! They won’t leave me alone! Why won’t they leave me alone? I haven’t done anything wrong! Not to anyone—ever!”

  Tova shushed her little sister and mimicked Abraham: “Don’t worry, Schwestie. Kein Problem. Not a problem. Everything is fine.”

  Through her tears, Miriam asked, “Can we play in the park this afternoon? That would be fun. It’s so pretty there.”

  “I’m sorry, mein Liebchen,” Abraham said. “Today is not a day when they let us go to the park. But come here, your papa will give you a hug. I will make you feel better. And here is a special treat, a bonbon.”

  Miriam took the candy but chose to give her little bear the hug. She whispered in his ear and held him close.

  Observing this exchange, Esther snorted. As if we have an extra Pfennig to spare for candy! What is he thinking?

  Abraham did his best not to think. He continued to be every neighborhood child’s greatest ally and softhearted to the shrinking number of customers who came his way. He never worried about money. Never worried about the family’s next meal. Never worried about anything. He was more interested in pleasing as best he could. Friend to all—that was Abraham. But Esther wasted no days with friends. Friendship had not served her well in years past, and she saw no need now.