A Feather on the Water(75)

Kitty looked up. “If only I’d had a photograph of them. She might have recognized their faces.”

“What else does she say?”

“She says that Shanghai was a safe place for Jewish immigrants from Europe until the attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941.” She began reading again: “‘I was placed under house arrest for a time, but it was still possible to operate the soup kitchens our organization ran for the refugees. By March 1943, all Jews had been moved by the Japanese into what was known as the “Shanghai Ghetto”—a section of the city from which movement in and out was forbidden. This, I know, will sound alarming to you. But conditions there were nowhere near as bad as in the Jewish ghettoes in places like Warsaw. The Japanese had no antipathy to the Jewish people—in confining the refugees to a designated area, they were merely bowing to pressure from their Nazi allies.

“‘Many people were forced to leave their homes and businesses around the city and move to Hongkew, where the ghetto was, so it is unlikely that you will receive a reply to any letter sent to the address of the silk merchant. I know the name of the business, but not what happened to the Medavoy family. It is possible they may have gone into hiding—as some people did—rather than move into the ghetto.’”

Kitty laid down the paper and picked up the final sheet.

“Does she have any suggestions?” Martha asked. “Is there anything you can do?”

“She says that the Joint hopes to reopen their Shanghai office in December, and that lists of Jewish refugees will be issued via the Red Cross as soon as possible. This is the last paragraph: ‘I will forward your name and address to our representative in Shanghai, along with the details you supplied. Meanwhile, the only other suggestion I can offer is that you write to Rabbi Meir Ashkenazi at the Ohel Moshe Synagogue in Hongkew. If your parents worshipped there during the war, their names will have been recorded. My sincere good wishes in your search for your family. Laura Margolis.’”

“Well, that’s a good idea—writing to the rabbi,” Martha said.

“If they went to the synagogue.” Kitty folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. “We weren’t a particularly religious family—not what you’d call observant. Being Jewish was more about our heritage and our culture than anything spiritual. We hardly ever went to the synagogue in Vienna.”

“But that might have changed when they moved to a foreign country,” Martha said. “It might have helped them get to know people.”

“I suppose it would.” Kitty nodded. “Do you think I should try writing to synagogues in the other countries they might have gone to as well?”

“It’s worth a try. But how would you get the addresses?”

“I’d just have to put ‘Chief Rabbi’ and the name of the capital city of the country.”

“That would probably work for Cuba and the Dominican Republic,” Martha said. “But what about Palestine? There must be hundreds of them.” She glanced at the envelope lying on the desk. “If the Joint has an office in Shanghai, it’s quite likely there are representatives in these other countries, too—especially Palestine, I should think. Why don’t you write back to Laura Margolis and ask her if she’d forward your parents’ details to her colleagues in the other places they might have gone to?”

“That’s a much better idea—why didn’t I think of it?” Kitty shook her head. “Since I got back, I feel as if my brain’s turned to mush.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Martha shot her a wry smile. “You’ve been on an emotional roller coaster since you were twelve years old—and in the past few weeks you’ve been hanging on by your fingernails.”

“It does feel like that sometimes.” Kitty glanced at the window. “I wouldn’t mind if I knew they were there, waiting for me, at the other end. I could put up with anything if I knew that.”



Within a week the road outside the camp was impassable. A night of heavy snow and high winds had left drifts six feet deep against the gates. Martha couldn’t open the door of the cabin. She went to wake the others. Kitty decided the only solution was to get out through the bedroom window.

“Please tell me you’re not going to jump,” Delphine said. “You could break your leg.”

“The snow looks deep enough to give me a soft landing—but if it makes you happy, I’ll use a sheet. You two can hold one end and I’ll lower myself down.”

When Kitty finally managed to prize the front door open, she looked like an Arctic explorer, her clothes and her hair encrusted with snow and her cheeks rosy from the effort of digging her way through the drift.

“We’d better get the children out.” Martha glanced at the neighboring cabin. “What about Dr. Jankaukas?”

“He was on duty at the hospital last night,” Delphine said. “I suppose it’ll be as bad down there as it is here.”

“I’ll go round up some help. Can I leave you two to get the others out?”

It wasn’t easy, getting through the snow. It had settled unevenly, making every footstep tricky. At one point, Martha sunk up to her thighs in it and had trouble extricating herself. When she reached the first of the blockhouses, she saw that people were already outside, using yard brushes, rakes, and their bare hands to clear the snow.