Long Way Home(41)
“We’ll figure out a way to escape from Belgium. There must be some place we can—”
“There’s no place to go, Gisela. My father and I worked so hard for so long to get US visas and landing permits for Cuba. That was my only goal for months, and when I finally was able to get my family on board that ship, it seemed like an answer to prayer. And now here we are again. The Nazis surround us on all sides. They patrol the seas with their U-boats. We’re trapped. We didn’t even have one year of freedom together!” His voice broke and he took a moment to recover. “Just when we’ve adjusted to a new life, all of the rules are going to change again when the Nazis occupy our city. I don’t have the energy to start all over again.”
“I know, I know,” I murmured. “But in spite of all that we’ve been through, we met each other and fell in love.” I rested my head on Sam’s shoulder as I tightened my hold on him. A smoke-scented breeze blew loose debris down the street, remnants of someone’s home or business that had been blasted to pieces. My instinct was to gather everything up and return it to the owners, as if that would somehow make a difference. I struggled for something to say that would give both of us hope. “It’s natural to want to see what’s coming around the corner and make plans for the future, especially with your mother and brothers to take care of. Having a plan seems like the only way to keep hope alive. But none of us can see the future any longer. We’ll make ourselves crazy if we keep imagining the worst and trying to prepare for it.” I lifted my head from his shoulder and kissed Sam’s whiskered cheek before resting it on his shoulder again.
“All we have is today, Sam. That’s true whether there’s a war or not. We have our families and each other and we’re together. We have enough food to eat and a roof over our heads, and that’s all that we need for now. It isn’t up to you or Vati or anyone else to figure out a way to save us. God was the One who parted the Red Sea, not Moses and not us.”
“I just wish He would do it soon.”
“Me, too.”
While we waited, Sam and Vati continued to pray at the synagogue down the street with the other men. Our mothers scurried out to shop whenever they could, buying whatever they could find on the increasingly empty store shelves. Other than that, we remained in our apartment, listening to the sounds of war and the depressing news broadcasts.
Near the end of May, we heard devastating news from London. “That can’t be right!” I said with tears streaming down my cheeks. “Have I misunderstood?” I gripped Sam’s sleeve, hoping I had translated incorrectly. He held up his hand for silence as he continued to listen, then slumped forward with his head lowered.
“What is it, son?” Vati asked.
It was a moment before Sam lifted his head and cleared his throat. “The Nazis have surrounded the British and French armies. The Allies are trapped on the French coast with their backs to the English Channel. It looks like both armies will be forced to surrender.”
“Surrender? Then all is lost? Europe is defeated?” None of us wanted to believe it.
Then the news we’d all dreaded and feared was announced. The Belgian military forces, which had held out against the far-superior Nazi forces for eighteen long days, had been forced to surrender. Since Antwerp was an important shipping port, the Wehrmacht quickly occupied our city. The newspaper and radio broadcasts fell under Nazi control, but we were able to get occasional news broadcasts from England, which Sam and I translated for everyone.
Sam and I barely slept for the next few days, waiting beside the radio for the latest news bulletins and speeches from Britain’s prime minister. Between the two of us with our limited English skills, we learned that Britain had called for every available fishing boat and civilian craft to help the Royal Navy rescue their Expeditionary Force and evacuate them to Great Britain. Some of France’s soldiers were evacuated with them, but thousands more French troops had been forced to surrender.
We were listening to a German radio station a week and a half later when we learned that Hitler and his victorious troops had arrived in Paris. Mutti burst into tears, knowing that her brother and mother lived there. France signed an armistice on June 22. In a mere forty-three days, nearly all of Europe had become captives of the Nazis or their allies.
Vati switched off the radio after hearing the news and said what we had all been thinking. “It’s over. It seems the Americans have refused to become involved in Europe’s war. There’s no longer any hope of a rescue.”
Neither Sam’s family nor mine moved from where we sat. Our eyes were dry. We had long since run out of tears. Now that my father had turned off the staticky radio, we could hear the floors creaking in the old building as our neighbors moved around upstairs. Vati seemed to be gathering his thoughts as if he had something more to say. We all waited. “I’ll tell you what we are going to do,” he said. “We’re going to return to our jobs and our schools and live our lives as best we can for as long as we can. And may God help us all.”
July and August were hot, airless months. We remained inside our apartments except to dash to the store or the synagogue, fearful of the Nazi soldiers that had taken up residence in Antwerp. Seeing swastikas and hearing my native language spoken in the streets of our adopted home filled me with fear. The Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, which had been supporting us and the other refugees from the St. Louis, left Belgium when the Nazis arrived. Sam worried about how we would survive. “The Belgian government is going to take over our support,” Vati told us after coming home from the synagogue one evening. “They’ve promised not to betray us to the new authorities.”