Long Way Home(103)
“Yes. I’ll miss them,” she said softly.
“Then . . . why, Ruthie?”
“Because . . .” She exhaled. “Because after the war . . . when people found out I was Jewish . . . everything changed.” I sensed by her halting voice and by the hurt I saw in her eyes that she had never expressed her reasons out loud until now. She was explaining them to herself as much as to me. “My friends all treated me differently when they found out the truth. They acted as if I had changed all of a sudden. Some of them seemed mad at me because I wasn’t the person I had pretended to be . . . as if I’d been lying to them. Well, I suppose I had been lying in a way.” I waited while she paused. “And there was a boy I liked at church, and he liked me. His parents told Mrs. Peeters that they didn’t want us to be together, even for a simple walk in the park, until I was baptized and confirmed in the Catholic church.”
“I’m so sorry, Ruthie,” I said, trying to soothe the hurt. “But you can’t really blame them, can you? Vati would have discouraged you from befriending a boy who wasn’t Jewish.”
“I know. But it made me realize that all the time I’d been hiding with them and trying to blend in, I was fooling myself if I thought I belonged there. I was an imposter. Even worse, if I did stay there and I joined their church, I would be a traitor. That wasn’t the life Mutti and Vati would have wanted for me. Everything our family has suffered all these years has been because we’re Jewish. I didn’t want to live the rest of my life pretending to be somebody I’m not.”
I didn’t know what to say. But Ruthie’s words and the difficult choice she had made jolted me out of the numbing lethargy I’d felt ever since arriving at this camp. For her sake as well as for my own, I couldn’t sit by passively and wait until the world decided what to do with us. I needed to start trying to find a home and a future for the two of us.
That very evening, the first night of Sukkot, I made an effort to join in the festivities along with Ruthie and the others. But the celebration brought painful memories of Sam when I remembered how our families had celebrated Shavuot on board the St. Louis. Sam and I had danced until the early morning hours and had glimpsed the Bahamas’ lighthouse before dawn, a beacon of hope on the horizon. I had known Sam for so few years, yet memories of him permeated everything I did.
*
Jim came to visit at the end of the week, and I was excited to introduce Ruthie to him. My sister had always been shy and still was, but Jim was such a kind person that it didn’t take long for her to warm to him. “We’re still celebrating Sukkot,” I told him. “I hope you can stay and eat with us. It’s a blessing to invite guests to share our sukkah.” I was pleased when he agreed. He sat across the outdoor table from Ruthie and me at dinner that evening.
“Tell me about this celebration,” he said after the plates of food were passed.
“The Torah commands us to build booths where we’re supposed to eat and even sleep if the weather allows. It’s a harvest celebration every fall.”
“Like American Thanksgiving?”
“I guess so. The rustic booths are supposed to remind us of how we wandered in the desert with Moses for forty years.”
“This roof doesn’t look like it will be much help if it rains,” he said, pointing above us. “Is it unfinished?”
“It’s supposed to be open to the sky. The idea is that God is our covering, watching over us as He did in the desert for forty years. No one here seems to see the irony that we’re still wandering and homeless. Or that God hasn’t been watching over us very well.” Ruthie turned to give me a questioning look, and I was sorry I had spoken my thoughts out loud. “Don’t mind me,” I said. “Sometimes I speak without thinking. Let’s talk about other things.”
I was glad when some musicians took out their instruments after dinner and began to play, lightening the mood. A group of young people Ruthie’s age came over to ask her to join them. My sister seemed reluctant. “Please come, Ruthie. Yaakov is going to tell us all about Palestine.”
“Yes, why don’t you join them,” I urged. “You don’t have to stay long but at least try to make friends. Jim and I will be right here when you come back.” We watched her go. Two of the girls linked arms with her on either side as if they weren’t going to let her get away.
“It looks like she’s in good hands,” Jim said when we heard the girls laughing.
“She’s seventeen and should be having fun, laughing with her friends and meeting boys. I was about her age when I met Sam.” People were leaving the table to gather around the band. Some of them started dancing. “Someone told me the other day that we have to forget the past before we can build new lives. That’s what many people here are doing. There is so much frenzied activity here, as if they believe it’s their duty to live every day to the fullest and to be happy, even without a home or a secure future. They’re starting schools, organizing plays and other cultural activities. Couples who’ve just met are already planning their weddings. It’s as if they need to make up for lost time.”
“Isn’t that a good thing? To get a fresh start?”
“I don’t know. It seems like it’s too soon. The Nazis killed their families, so it’s almost an act of defiance to start new ones. They want to hurry up and have children so that our Jewish race will continue to exist. The younger survivors are being enticed to dream of immigrating to Palestine. David Ben-Gurion, the leader of the Jewish community there, has been visiting DP camps to rally support for a Jewish state. Zionism is very strong here.”