Esther's forbidden journey

Darkness surrounded us as we ran through the shadowy woods. I was scared, frightened, and determined. I held my younger sister's hand as we ran to freedom. She was frightened and scared but I softly whispered encouraging words of childhood dreams that I had not thought of since the war started.

I remember the day it began; May 10, 1940, was like any other day. I was at school, with my peers as we were learning arithmetic, French history, and science. I was 12 years old, young and innocent, my sister was barely 4 and was about to have her birthday that coming Sunday.

It was dark out as I stared out the window; my teacher a hefty Christian woman with a stern demeanor had stopped her lesson. Rain beaded against the thick glass windows that were smudged with ignorant insects.

I wasn’t the best student, as a pupil, I would daydream for hours about chocolate cake. But I knew it was a fantasy. There had been talking of limiting the powers of the Jewish people in Germany. The war had started in Poland when Germany invaded them, taking over the countries' powers and turning our whole world upside down.

I lived in France, where the most elegant cheeses and wines were manufactured, where the most elegant gowns were created and were chic. That is what all students at my public primary school had discussed. But today had seemed off, the darkness was imminent in the sky as we saw smoke off in the distance.

“Esther Åarons, if you please, pay attention to the lesson;” My teacher barked with her thick French accent.

“Yes Miss Stern;” I said meekly as I took out my notebook, writing down the lesson.

She sighed as she turned back to the chalkboard. The creases of chalk from her hand fell to the ground in a séance of white powdery dust. She pointed to her chalkboard as she finally stopped.

“As we have heard, dark times are all ahead of us. But we are France and we will have normalcy in my classroom. I understand some of you have heard from the radio and the news that Jewish people have been obstructed and taken from their homes to camps against their will. It is a horrible act against humanity. So in this classroom, as my pupils, you will be safe here. France will not fall, as France is strong. Now if you can grab your books, we will be reading Babar en Famille par Jean de Brunhoff.” She said as we all started to read quietly.

That was when the first gunfire hit in the distance. We all screamed staring at the world around us from the windows turned red. Tours, France would not be the same. My home was desecrated of its beauty and turned into a hellish place on earth.

Our teacher, Mrs. Stern calmed us as our parents came for us. Those were long hours of not knowing what was going on, of not knowing if my mum and dad were alive or if my baby sister lived. When my mum finally came, I cried into her arms. She held me tight against her chest saying everything was going to be okay. That everything would be alright. Something was odd though because the boy named Simcha Blau came with us in our old beaten weathered car. He was a timid shy boy, a couple of years older than me with tired grey eyes.

My father usually a stern quiet man with a stubborn persona was as tense as ever I had seen. His cheeks were hot lava red and he was very anguished. Tours looked like a landmine went off as we drove down the road to our synagogue, A.c.i.t. ET Synagogue.

There were people lined out the door visibly shaking, their hands bloody and smiles gone. That was the day I had lost all of my innocence. The rabbi, a stalky long fellow with the longest beard and whimsical eyes was shaken as well. We parked our beat-up car down the road and collected ourselves.

Simcha grabbed his kippah instinctively and placed it on his head, my father did the same. He nodded to me as he walked ahead of my parents, my parents grabbing mine and my baby sister’s hands, which jumped up and down with no care in the world.

I was afraid but I knew I shouldn’t be. There were multiple gunshots as people crowded into the synagogue, tears trailing down their cheeks. I gripped my sister’s hand as I noticed Blau crying, his older brother held him as he too cried. I shook my head, it couldn’t have been, it couldn’t have been, I thought.

We sat lots of people in rows and with limited seating we kids sat on our parent's laps or stood in the back playing games of jacks or paper dolls. I didn’t play with them as I wanted to know what was going on. I and father stood at the back wall staring at the rabbi who held his hand on an elderly widow that we called the gypsy, as she was from the circus and loved the mystics of being a gypsy. My mother sat with my sister who had fallen asleep on her shoulder.

“Father;” I whispered with some tension to my voice. “Is this the bad thing you warned us about?”

He nodded only once as I looked back up to the rabbi thinking of what this could mean.

The rabbi slowly got up to the withered podium. He sighed as he bowed to us cryptically. His voice was strained but thoughtful as we all quieted, even the children to listen to his guiding safe words.

“My people, I have guided you with the word of the lord for these past forty years of my life. God is here tonight, God is here with us and with him, and he will protect us, the voiceless, the rebels, and the passionate. But I have devastating news of his truth, of our truth. I brought you all here today to tell you what has happened. Simcha Sr. Blau and Gilla Blau are dead. They were murdered by the battle that has stroked our peaceful city of Tours. Others were in the crossfire of the German's absurdity. May God have peace with their souls? But that is not all. They have gotten all of our addresses and they have gotten our homes. It will soon end up being how Germany and Poland ended up. This is a warning my fair people, protect yourselves, protect your families, and God will guide you. This is not something to fear even though it is scary for the act of man. This is something to pray for and something to keep. God is true love and we love each other. Please be safe out there my fellow people of faith, of god.” He spoke audibly.

I started to shake fiercely; my mother was already at my side. My life was forever changed from that moment on.

The weeks went by in a haze of hiding and running. Simcha Blau escaped with us as people welcomed us into their homes. We lived off of bread and cabbage stew. People were kind to us as we made our way out of France.

The last day I went to school was the last day I went to our beloved synagogue. It was 3 months to the day that we learned that the worst was yet to come. We were living behind a false wall in a beloved hotel on the outskirts of tours. My mother’s friend, who owned the hotel, was a woman of great etiquette and stature. She let us live behind the false wall. It was a small one-room living space that had two cots, a wood stove, and a small heater. Tours were going through the worst ice storm that late foggy summer.

Simcha would weep in private, the only room of our new living quarters, the restroom which was a small latrine with no shower or bath. My mother kept our lessons up along with my sisters. But news came on the radio that very night that shook us to our core. The hotel across the street was about to be bombed for harboring Jewish people. There was no warning as through the windows we saw a bomb obliterate the once peaceful inn across the street. It shook our hotel, breaking windows and cracking walls.

We all screamed from the sheer shock. My father, a once pleasant but strict man was a shell of himself. We were eating dinner, the stuff my mum’s friend had brought up, which was a little different, cheese, bread, and French onion soup. It was a treat but it was too good to be true. That night we had to leave with the clothes on our backs, a sack of food, and a warm blanket wrapped around us. My sister, who had just turned 5 was bawling, sobbing into my mum’s shoulder, as my mother carried her whispering to her to quiet down.

My sister fell asleep soon after as Simcha helped shadow me a bit as we walked along the creek bed near Dijon. We were quiet at nightfall.

Darkness surrounded us as the world grew colder. God pounded his ice storm against us as with each footing we walked for miles, for hours down cliffs, down roads that led to the devils hurting us. I didn’t speak nor did Simcha who shivered with each step. I was scared at this point. I was frightened and I just knew we had to get where we were going before morning or we would be dead.

My mother held our hands as we prayed to God to help us. Simcha helped to ration the food for us as we nibbled on some bread and drank from the creek. We were walking on eggshells as we made sure to know our footing not to make the sound.

There was no moon that night that made it more difficult to walk. But we kept on watching for signs of distress, but none came. It felt like hours of walking, hours of pausing, hours of hell for my tiny feet. My father stopped us before we walked over a land mine that the cruel devils themselves placed.

Luxembourg, Germany was a ghost town as we walked towards a house lit with one candle in the windowsill. My father had rapt the door three times pausing and then rapt it three more.

A small meek boy came to the door with glistening blue eyes. He smiled as he looked at my sister. She was fully awake now but very tired. The boy’s father came to the door and smiled as he looked at my father and then mother and then me.

“Were you followed?” The man asked in cryptic English as we all walked into his small cabin-like house with two stories. Five other families were staring back at us with a sigh of relief.

“No, we heard about you weeks ago. But we were too afraid to risk it till now.” My father spoke hesitantly as he stared at the others tipping his hat at them.

The man nodded as he pointed to the top of the house where another ten families lied. The man’s wife came down and helped us get warmed by the fire.

“You heard correctly, I am a part of the rebel alliance. I travel to and from Denmark, but the risk is real. We have to walk from here tomorrow night starting at 4 pm to get there by sun up. This ice storm has been giving us cover. Once we get to Denmark, my friend Shimkus will get you to Sweden. It is a dangerous mission as you all will have to be taken by plane to do this. That within itself is high risk but we use all means of travel, rowing boats, fishing boats, and the like.” He said as he handed us children some juice. It was the first juice we have had in months. I shared some with my parents.” He said silently as we all shivered in the cold.

My father hugged the man with tears streaming down his face. My mother had to pry him off as he collected himself.

“You rebels are the good ones. Thank you, thank you for doing this.” He said as he wiped his eyes on his greasy coat.

We slept well that night. No one coming to the door, the candle had gone out on its own. Everyone was given new coats that morning as we were sized with sweaters, dresses, or tee shirts and pants. We all had to wear garments either too big or too small as the weather turned for the worse.

My mother called over to me a little while after as I helped her get my sister ready.

“I need you to be brave Esther.” She said softly.

“What do you mean mum?” I asked with tears starting to pain my cheeks.

“You’re so brave already, but this is risky for us and especially for him helping us. God will guide you. But I want you to promise to hold your sister's hand. And if you hear dogs, if you hear them, or their gunfire. I want you to run. I want you to run as fast as you can to his house. It is on the cliff by the sea.” She said forcing me to stare at her.

“But mum what about you and daddy and Simcha?” I whispered staring at the candle in the window.

“Simcha will be holding your hand child, Esther, me and your father might not make it. That is the truth and that is the truth of God.” She trailed off.

“No mummy, you can’t go, I won’t allow it,” I screamed audibly.

She paused as she got up, taking off something from her neck. It was a pearl necklace with a jeweled blue flower on top of it.

“This is how serious I am Esther. I love you, I love you with all my heart and I want you to have this. When we leave tonight, I want you to live and your sister. If anyone asks, your names are not Eleanor Aarons or Esther Aarons, or even Simcha Blau. You will have French names, Antoinette and Violet Rue, and Samuel Rue. You are family. Remember the names; remember them because if you are caught, you need to pass for a silly French girl on holiday with your eldest brother and sister.” She handed e her necklace as I cried into the hem of her flower sack dress her friend made her.

“I promise mum, and I love you and I love father with all my heart.” I cried, tears running down my cheeks.

We left at 3 pm that day walking for hours to Denmark. My father and mother were behind us. They always watched us, watched for noises, listened for them, and stopped if something felt off. Mr. Griggs, our leader helped us at all costs as he spoke soft German to some of the other Jewish families in our midst. I spoke some but could not follow.

I felt stunned as the sun started to rise in the sky. Our cover was gone as we walked for over 13 hours to get to Denmark. The sun burned against the ice that lay in our path. We made it safely to Denmark without any discrepancies, thankfully.

But the hardest part was about to start.

After Mr. Griggs left back to his home we were left in the barn with field mice scurrying past our feet. Other families were there with anxious looks to them. Our family took some hay and sat on the ground as I finally let go of Simcha's hand. He blushed a bit as he fell asleep on my father’s shoulder, clearly exhausted and tired from our trip. I was wired tired, holding my mother’s hand as every sound scared me. I couldn’t sleep, even when my family was asleep or when Eleanor was playing with the hay in her fingers, braiding it into something.

We were not out of the woods yet and I was terrified.

Years later the war ended, the sun was shining bright that day as we were all free. We now had lived in Sweden for five years of our lives. The boat ride was terrifying, I heard German soldiers screaming and barking orders as their dogs sniffed and looked through the boards. They couldn’t smell us thankfully, just the rotten crab meat and fish.

That was the most terrifying day of my life. My sister was quiet the whole time, thankfully and Simcha grew up from the spindly leg 17-year-old to the arbitraries, reluctant perfectionist 22-year-old he is. I am 17 now and today we got to go home as we flew the flags in our windows in Sweden, dancing in the streets with tears of joy that this war was finally over. My mother now older and my father a lot wiser had grown a business in Sweden with the help of the locals who helped us find a home, food, and schools. We never swayed from our religion and as my sister grew to the lanky 10-year-old girl she is, we all have grown during this time with tears of joy and tears that are too painful to shed.