A Suitcase Full of Hope

Sarina pushed open the wooden front door to her small and cozy house with Anya Prinsky, her best friend, hot on her heels. The two of them tumbled onto the faded, creaking couch, gasping for breath. Their noses were red and dripping, and their cheeks were flushed from the cold. The contrast in temperature was a welcome relief. The Warsaw ghetto was a cold, harsh place, even more so in the winter. Sarina wrapped her favorite blanket around her shoulders and breathed in deeply, savoring the scent of her Mama’s baking and the aroma of home. 

Anya shook the frost from her curls.  “I’ve never been this cold in my life!” she said, blowing on her fingers to warm them up faster. “My toes are numb and my nose… It’s about to fall off!” she said, shivering. 

Sarina nodded earnestly in agreement, and droplets of water from the snow in her hair fell onto her forehead and dripped off the tip of her nose. “My toes are even number than yours, I promise!” she exclaimed. Both girls laughed, enjoying the warmth in the air and the feeling of serenity that settled over them like a cloud. 

Sarina leaned back with a sigh as she slid her tired feet out of her boots. Those old boots had been her mothers’ once upon a time, and had clearly seen better days, what with the few holes speckled across the upper and the soles. Sarina had seen a stunning pair of new, warm winter boots in the window of Grunfeld’s shoe store - lined with sherpa! Oh how she wished they were hers! She knew that her parents couldn’t possibly afford a brand new pair of boots, and no matter how much she needed them, there would always be something even just a bit more important. What could possibly be more important than ensuring warmth for your children? Ensuring survival. Food was hard to come by in the ghetto. People shared their scarce food with one another, hoping that these days would soon pass, the ghetto and SS officers would somehow lift or die, leaving the Jews of Warsaw to reclaim their dignity, reclaim control of their lives. They longed to live in freedom, without fear of starvation, frostbite, and murder. Sarina knew that outside the ghetto, even the lower class people were wearing sherpa boots. In the Warsaw ghetto, that was a luxury nobody - not even the Prinsky’s - had. She supposed they were only there for decoration, a reminder to everyone passing by of what life had once been like. 

The door opened suddenly, sending a harsh wave of chill throughout the room, and it felt somehow foreboding. The cloud of warmth around them dissipated, taking the serenity with it.

Sarina’s parents came in, quickly shutting the door behind them. 

A chill came over Sarina, and it didn’t go away this time. She wasn’t sure if it was a mental or physical chill, or both, because the small pocket watch that the family used to tell time said that it was 8:05. And everyone knew that the electricity and gas in the ghettos was shut off at 8 o’clock, if it was even turned on in the first place. You could never be sure. You could never be sure of anything - if you would have what to eat, if you would wake up with your whole family still alive and whole around you, if your neighbors would still be there the next day. Some families took leaps of faith that almost always resulted in their death - trying to smuggle themselves out of the ghetto. Anya’s brother, despite coming from one of the “richest” families in the ghetto, had ignored the pleading of his sisters and his brothers, of his mother and father, and had left the ghetto under the cloak of darkness last week. No news of his capture and subsequent death had arrived. The Prisky’s, along with the rest of their community, were hoping, praying with all their souls, that he had miraculously survived and was somewhere relatively safe. Maybe he had joined the partisans, a group of young men and boys who were fugitives, on the run from the Nazis, but who tried their best to stop or harm military operations at risk of their own lives.

Sarina’s father sat down heavily beside her. Anya jumped up at once to give Sarina’s mother her spot on the small couch. Sarina got up as well, and the two girls anxiously pulled over two of the precarious kitchen chairs. Silent tears were coursing down Mrs. Mirsky’s face. 

“Anya…” she finally said, cradling Sarina’s hands in her own. Her voice cracked. They could all tell that she was trying to be strong, trying not to break down in tears. It evidently wasn’t working. She reached up a shaking hand and wiped her eyes. “You’d better run along home.”

Fear registered on Anya’s face for a moment, panic overtaking the calm. Her whole inner world felt shattered. She didn’t think she would ever be able to piece it back together. Her mind raced. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Shlomo had said before he left. He knew as he said it that there was no point. They would obviously worry about him, every second of every day. How could he have gone, against the will of his parents, his family? Hadn’t he thought about the impact of his actions? Anya believed that as long as they stuck together, they had to survive! They just had to! Then Shlomo had gone and ruined it, ruined the sense that everything would be okay. He told them that he had spent many thoughtful days and sleepless nights, thinking about life. He had decided he would rather try his best to live freely, hoping against hope that he would be able to survive and create a better life for himself. “We’re all sitting here like sheep prepared for slaughter,” he groaned. “Why don’t you see that?” 

Anya’s thoughts always wandered back to him. Back to his words. Was he right? Were they just waiting for something drastic, waiting for the slaughter? She set her jaw, battling the tears in her eyes, and hurried down the crowded, dark streets to her own shack called a house.

Whispers wafted towards her ears as she ran. She thought she heard someone say, “Shlomo Prinsky…” People were talking about her brother, using his name as fodder for conversation! What gave them the right? A sob shoved through the barrier of her clenched teeth. She shook her spinning head resolutely and ran on. 

After what seemed like hours, she reached the front door. She stood with her back against the door, taking deep breaths to strengthen herself. When she felt ready, she turned and stepped inside. 

The house was subdued, dark, and …. Quiet. There were no sounds of crying, not even muffled ones. “Hello?” Anya called softly. She strained her ears but did not hear anything. A feeling of terror overtook her. Where was her family? Had they been taken by the SS officers? She sat down at the table and let her head fall into her hands. How could everything have changed so quickly? A mere half an hour before, things had been going relatively smoothly. Everyone she knew was safe and sound, if a bit battered. A sudden creak of the door made her jump, her heart leaping in fear. She sat, frozen. Was it the SS coming to take her where they had taken her family? Oh, why hadn’t Shlomo thought that if he was caught, her family would suffer the consequences? 

But the people who walked through the door were not SS officers. Anya almost fainted in relief and overwhelm when she saw the familiar red beard of her father as he walked through the door, her mother behind him. A trail of 3 children of varying heights, also with red hair, followed behind them.

“Oh, Anya! You’re home!” her mother exclaimed. There was barely a trace of sorrow in her voice, besides for the usual. It scared Anya. Had her parents gone insane at the news of Shlomo? Why weren’t they crying, why weren’t they affected at all? 

“Mama…” she took a deep breath. Might as well just say it straight out. “What happened to Shlomo?” she asked quietly. 

Her father’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and her mother gasped.

“What happened to Shlomo?!” her mother’s eyes were popping, full of fear. “Did you hear something?” 

Anya was confused, but she felt herself relaxing slowly. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been. “Mrs. Mirsky sent me home, and she was crying… I thought something had happened to Shlomo.” she didn’t mention the fact that she’d heard his name whispered in the crowded streets. Word traveled fast. If her parents hadn’t heard anything about her brother, then she could be safely assured that nothing had happened to him, at least that they knew of. The tension was back in the next moment though. 

“Anya, darling,” her mother said, in a voice that sounded forced and strained. “We need to pack a small suitcase.” She exchanged glances with her husband, who sighed. The children looked oblivious, their innocence not yet shattered as much as hers was. 

“Pack? Where are we going?” Anya’s heart jumped to her throat. She thought about the whispered rumors in the streets, rumors of relocation. Her question remained unanswered. He didn’t meet her eyes. That scared Anya more than anything. Nothing felt certain anymore, everything was up in the air, and all they could do was hope the pieces would fall back down whole.

 She had a hope that they might. After all, a relocation didn’t necessarily mean anything bad. Maybe they would be moved to a place with better conditions! Maybe the Nazi’s had realized how evil, terrifying, and corrupt the ghetto was. Something in her told her that wasn’t the case though. Still, she couldn’t help but smile. Shlomo was clearly a little bit confused. But he was alive! He’d always been a black and white thinker. How could he have thought they were like sheeps? They were being allowed to bring a suitcase of belongings, that must mean they weren’t headed to their deaths! There was nothing to fear. 

She took a suitcase and began gathering items. Several minutes later, she had a large pile of various objects that she figured they’d need. But how to fit it in the suitcase? The pile was at least twice the size of it. Her mother saw the pile and covered her eyes with her hand. She came forward, stood next to Anya. 

“Darling… we can only take one suitcase. For the whole family.” Mrs. Prinsky swallowed the lump in her throat as she saw her own fear and confusion reflected in the eyes of her daughter. Her fathers voice broke through the tension. “Only a few essentials. Clothing. Papers. There’s no room for anything else.” They quickly gathered some clothing for themselves and the children, nestling their most precious family pictures in between the layers. More and more pieces of their life were put into the suitcase. The book of their family tree throughout the generations. Her mother’s candlesticks. Her parents’ kesuba, their marriage document certifying them as married under Jewish law. One toy for the younger children. A bundle of money, hidden at the bottom of the suitcase. It was filled to bursting, and there was no room for any of Anya’s personal possessions. Her earlier hope of a better life was quickly receding. How could this be leading to a better life for her and her family? The suitcase was full of hope, and love, but it was a stark reminder of their harsh circumstances. 

The next day, Sarina’s father knocked on the Prinsky’s door, his face grave and pale. “They’ve issued the notice. Every family in the ghetto must report to the main square by noon. There are no exceptions.” 

So they left. Accompanying them was a cacophony of pain, hope, love, fear, and a feeling of excitement from the children. No one dared shatter their childish daydreams. 

The Prinsky’s joined the Mirsky’s, everyone marching in sync, heads held high as they moved toward the square. Around them, a silent river of people carried their lives in battered bags and cases. Anya clutched the small suitcase tightly as they reached the cobbled square already filled with families.

The cold was biting, but it wasn’t the weather that sent shivers down Sarina’s spine. The SS officers barked orders, their dogs straining at their leashes. The officers were cold, unsmiling, unaffected by the poverty and fear around them. They relished the control, the way they could hurt people and face no consequences. One officer strode to the front of the crowd, his voice slicing through the air. “The train will be arriving soon. Everyone must board.” 

Too soon, the train arrived, chugging as though it had stepped out of a storybook. But this was no fantasy. This was real, this was dangerous. This was not fun and games anymore, that much was clear. People were beginning to board the train, but… was there a pile of suitcases, bags, and  parcels forming near the open door? What was going on? 

It seemed that the nearer they drew to the entrance of the train, the colder and harsher the wind became. There was a tall, overbearing officer standing by the door. A big black dog with fierce eyes was straining at its leash, barking at the people. 

It seemed to be similar to its owner, who was also barking at the crowd. His voice sliced through the air, battling the wind. It was hard to hear, but he was shouting that everyone should put down their belongings before boarding. His voice rang out clear and strong as they moved towards him, trying not to recoil. “Drop your belongings! Then get on the train! Hurry! Faster!”

“What?!” Anya gasped, clutching her suitcase. Her father placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm.

“Put it down, Anya,” he whispered. “Put it down now. Do as he says.”

Tears filled Anya’s eyes. The suitcase wasn’t just their most precious possessions—it was a symbol of control, of their humanity. As her trembling fingers uncurled and the treasured suitcase touched the ground, she felt a piece of herself breaking.

Nearby, Sarina’s worn boots scraped against the cobblestones as she bent to lay her own bag down. She glanced at Anya, and saw her own pale face, full of pain and fear, mirrored. She thought of the bag she was laying down, what it meant, what it represented. The memories, love, and hope it contained. She knew life would never be the same again. Their freedom, their lives - were gone.

The two friends’ eyes met and held, both searching for something they couldn’t name, couldn’t dare to dwell on. Around them, the crowd jostled. Mothers were holding crying children, men were trying hard to look brave, as though to protect their families from circumstances beyond their control.  

As children cried and as smoke billowed above them, Anya understood Shlomo’s words: We’re all sheep to the slaughter. A sudden, rebellious thought struck her. The line of people was long, and it was crowded. No one would notice a single girl leaving the masses, darting through the chaos… She took the chance. Her heart leapt with fear, but most of all, with hope. Her parents started after her, but were quickly nudged back in line by butt of a rifle. Tears fell as they prayed, for their children, the ones who had left for a better future and the ones who were still with them. And they prayed for themselves, and for their nation. 

Sarina tightened her grip on her father’s hand. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew what was coming. The rumors had proven to be true. They were on their way to a concentration camp. All hope was lost now, gone like feathers flying on the wind, gone like the items spilling out of the heap of suitcases on the ground. Because truly, besides for belongings, what does one have? Nothing but their feelings, their thoughts, and their memories. Families can be taken away, possessions can be lost. Hope still remains, in a mere shadow, hidden within the recesses of a broken heart. Sarina saw Anya’s red hair dashing away and tried to follow her with her eyes, but the crowd jostled again, and she was lost. So Sarina hoped with all her heart that Anya, at least, would be able to have a life full of love, laughter, and family. Then the heavy door of the train closed behind her, a reflection of the death and imprisonment they were heading to. And she wept.