Brothers Beyond Blood Read Free Page B

wood.
    There were no provisions for women. They were gassed as soon as they arrived at the camp. I thank God I never had to witness this shameful deed. Off to the side was a smaller building that I learned was the kitchen for the prisoners. It was almost a lean to with one side open to the wind. They had no mess hall and ate their two - sometimes one meal - per day outdoors or, in the winter, in the barracks.
    I was given a uniform that was too large and a rifle and told that we were to operate the camp as before and await orders. I met your father one day when we were both ordered to sort through the valuables in the storeroom. I assumed they were getting ready to ship these things to Berlin. At first I spoke harshly to him, after all, I was older and a good Nazi and he, a despised Jew.
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 2 - Herschel’s Story
     
     
    I have to tell you what my life was like, my beautiful children. Up until the time I was about eight, it was idyllic. We lived in town, in a big apartment behind the jewelry store. My father and grandfather would go out front each day and open the shop that had been in the family for years. My sister Miriam, my brother Isaac and I would go off to school. My mother would clean the house and make some jewelry designs for the shop. My Bubby had died while I was a baby. Miriam said she remembered her, but I think she was just referring to the picture that hung in our parlor.
    The first time I remembered things not being good was a day when I was walking home from school and some boys started yelling at me. They hollered, “Jew, Jew!” and threw rocks at Isaac and me. We ran, Isaac pulling on my hand to make me run faster. When we got to the shop, my Papa, who was a big man, strode outside and shook his fist at the boys and yelled back at them.
    After that day, it got worse. Over the next two years, we took a different route home from school each day until the groups of boys got larger. Soon they were waiting at all of our routes. Isaac sometimes got into fistfights, but there were too many of them. He was slight yet wiry, like my Mama, and full of fire. He beat them back lots of times, especially when he called them cowards and took them on one at a time. I tried to help him and though I was tall for my age, was slim and might have filled out like my Papa if I’d had the chance. At the time, however, I was too little to fight.
    Then one night in 1938 a large group of men and boys, people we knew and had never had any problems with, came down our street in what was called the Jewish Quarter. They started throwing rocks through windows as they walked, chanting and yelling. By the time they got to our shop, they had worked themselves into an angry mob. What was even more disturbing is that they were joined by some policemen, men who were supposed to protect us.
    Why were they angry with us? I spotted Mr. Bruger and his son Leny there. They were yelling very loudly and holding torches. Just two weeks before, Mr. Bruger had bought a pin for his wife’s birthday from Papa. My brother and Leny were in the same classes. When Papa and Grandpapa came out front and stood before the door, they each had long sticks in their hands.
    Papa tried to talk to them, saying that whatever they were angry at, it wasn’t anything he had done. He pointed to Mr. Bruger and Mr. Schmidt and Mr. Westergarten and asked what they wanted. I stood in the doorway with Isaac. Mama and Miriam stood way back in the dark shop, keeping very quiet. Papa and Grandpapa had told them to do so.
    Mr. Bruger yelled, “You are Jews!”
    “Yes,” my Papa answered. “You’ve known that all our lives. Why does that make a difference now?” He stood erect, tapping the stout stick against his boot. My Grandpapa leaned on his, hat pulled low on his face. I thought he looked like one of those cowboys in the American movies.
    In answer, Mr. Bruger threw a stone that hit my father in the chest and bounced off. To his credit,