Grandpa Gideon's Heart Shaped Box

I was at work when I got the call that my Grandpa Gideon Grachalmeyer had passed away. The news came as no surprise since he was in his eighties and had a bad bout of pneumonia that he never really got over.  What came as a surprise is that he named me as executor of his estate in his will. 

Suddenly the life of this little man from Belarus, a country in Eastern Europe bordering Russia, became an open door to me as I began to go through his things while the rest of the family sat shiva. I was in the attic discovering secrets about his life that he kept hidden.  I felt as if I was Aladdin with the lamp, because concealed behind a steamer trunk, was a heart shaped box filled with keepsakes and memories.  Once I removed the string from the box it was as if a genie of the past appeared from a cloud of dust.  

So I sat with my back against the steamer trunk as if I had summoned that genie with each letter I read or diary page I read. The letters were yellow and brittle, but the handwriting was meticulous and quite legible after all this time.  

Everyone knew he had come from a tiny village in Belarus after the war when he wandered into a Red Cross camp with a horde of displaced persons.  It was no secret he was just one of many scrawny twenty something resistance fighters who had miraculously survived the war.   

He came out of the woods and marshlands with just his name which was pronounced Gratch-al-may-er, but he never talked about it, only to say, "I did what I knew I had to do.  God led me every step of the way."

He came to Ellis Island after receiving a clean bill of health from the Red Cross and within a year married Grandma Martha the summer of 1947.  They had six children of which Jacob, my father, would be their first.  

Moving to Long Island with a clear view of the Sound, he enjoyed his new life in suburban America.  Never once did any of us think to look back as grandpa changed his name before my father was born to Meyers.  He said it sounded more American and Meyers fit in better with the rest of his neighbors.  

He took pride in his children and his lawn which was completely free of crabgrass.  Grandma Martha was a great cook and I remembered warm summer days gathered around their table with a Sunday feast set before us.  He insisted on saying a traditional Jewish prayer in Hebrew before the feast.

When Grandma Martha passed away ten years ago, there would be no more family feasts, but I used to go visit grandpa once a week to look after him even though he was always melancholy and morose until he passed away last week.

When I first ventured to the attic, a place I was told was full of ghosts when I was a boy, I was filled with dread.  I knew from eavesdropping on the adult gossip, grandpa kept secrets buried up there and now here I was immersed in them.  it was not as bad as I was led to believe until I found the heart shaped box wrapped in heavy twine.

The heart shaped box was an old Valentine's Day box that had one been full of chocolates.  Even after all these years, the strong aroma of chocolate still lingered, flavoring the contents of the box with that sweet, enticing scent of the candy that once originally occupied the box.

Inside the box were letters and pages torn from a diary.  I would read everything that was inside that heart shaped box of Grandpa Gideon Grachalmeyer.  Placed carefully in chronological order, it read like a book.  Every word was written in Hebrew, but having studied Hebrew for years, I was very fluent as I read from right to left.  As I read each page, his voice seemed to grow stronger and stronger.

Translated:

June 1940 A Forest about 40 Km from Mir

When the Germans arrived, they came in trucks.  Their soldiers carried guns and their uniforms were as black as night with SS embroidered on their collars.  We knew in an instant that this was our enemy.  Living in a primitive camp in the woods, we were able to conceal ourselves and keep an eye on them.  Not long after they arrived, we blew up one of their storage buildings.  They were quick in their retribution as they hung fifteen villagers from Mir.  It turned my stomach seeing these innocent victims become feed for the crows.

Dearest Gideon,

Tonight was thrilling killing those Germans and taking their guns. I feel so alive when I am with you.

Love Bellah

Who was Bellah?  When I asked the rest of the family, no one could recall Gideon ever mentioning her name before.  I showed my father the letter, but he said it was probably some other person named Gideon.  

It was a lie and my father would tell them when he could not directly answer the question.  I had learned that as a child. 

Some of the diaries written on the headings told of cold winter days and near starvation and how the Germans would take what little they had including the livestock and grain hidden in dark places.  There were accounts of those working with the Germans to capture the Jews and ship them off to camps.

Their leaders were two men, Sergey Azerenka and Igor Rybak.  According to the account, Sergey was cruel and ruthless while Igor was much more level headed and humane. There were a number of times when Sergey would order the execution of the captured Germans while Igor wasn’t so quick to dispatch them.  It seemed Bellah had sided with Sergey while Gideon was more compassionate, but as I read on, I saw that Bellah was only fourteen when she had seen her mother and father executed by the SS officer. Forgiveness does not come easy to someone who has been harmed. 

My Dearest Gideon,

You must understand that these Germans are animals who deserve to be slaughtered. Each of them who wears a skull on their uniform collar, have killed our people for no reason, like my parents Dmitry and Dasha.  He laughed when he pulled the trigger.

Love,

Bellah

Reading this made me shiver. Such cold blooded sentiments were not in my nature and it was hard for me to imagine that he was capable of such impulses.  

I read more of his journal when he and seven others ambushed a convoy leaving over two dozen lying dead in the snow turning the pure white into a deep dark read.  From the trucks they helped themselves to munitions and weapons to carry on their war against the Germans.

A few times, I came to my feet, rubbing the back of my neck with my hands trying to get the harsh images out of my mind.  I had no idea of what his life was like before he came to this country, but now I was reading about it and I found it quite unsettling. 

None of the relatives sitting downstairs solemnly praying for his soul, had any idea of the secrets I was uncovering with each piece of paper such as the arrest and deportation of his father and mother that he would never see again.  Perhaps the part that filled me with the most grief was the arrest of his brother Mikilai who was just five years old at the time. He expresses hope that he will be reunited with him one day, but this would never happen.  My tears fell onto the dust on the floor.  

September 28, 1942

I feel there is a traitor in our company.  Last week we had a raid planned, but when we appeared, they were ready.  They killed seven when they opened fire.  We had a cremation of our seven fallen brothers and sisters.  Rabbi Travalola performed the ceremony, but we kept it brief so the Germans would not see the pyre against the black of the night.  When morning came we buried the remains, but as we did we heard their armed vehicles approaching.  We cleared out in the nick of time, but they could feel that our fires were still warm. 

 I have my suspicions on who is the traitor, but I will keep my silence until I am certain of who it is.  Meanwhile we move through the forest along the river.  The ground is marshy making every step a major effort, especially the weaker like Bellah.  She has dark circles under her eyes and she has lost a lot of weight since we started.  

Many of the farmers are sympathetic toward our cause, but they have little left since the Germans have rationed their provisions.  Sometimes we ask where some of our relatives and friends are, but they just shake their heads and wave us off.  They know if they tell us what they know, it will cause grief among our ranks, but we are not idiots or naïve.  We know.  We know.

I was tempted to put all of these papers in the fireplace downstairs, but there are plenty of eyes to see what I am doing and I am not that good of a good liar. 

"Grandpa, why didn't you tell us?" I repeated it over and over again as I held the unread letters in my hand.     

Something like this heart shaped box was supposed to contain sediments of love and devotion, not these.  Not letters and diaries of war and suffering.

My grandfather was a good man who loved his wife and family with all his heart.  How was he capable of doing such things.  I know it was a war.  I know millions of our people were exterminated, but the more I read, the more I was convinced that he was not the gentle, calm man I thought he was.  

January 22, 1943

I put my pistol to Sergey's head and pulled the trigger when we were alone in the woods stalking a deer.  The loud pop startled me, but not as much as watching the top of his head come completely off. Later Bellah sat next to me with her head on my shoulder, in a soft whisper, she said, "You had no choice, Gideon, you had to do it. If you didn't we might all be dead." 

His German buddies stumbled upon his body the next day.  Peering at them through my binoculars, I could see the grimace on the officer's face.  Bellah put him in her sights, but I told her it would be better if we didn't do it.  Nodding, she shouldered her rifle and we disappeared into the woods.

"Are you doing alright?" Kate, my wife, nearly startled out of my skin.

"Fine.  I'm just fine." I lied stashing the heart shaped box behind the steamer.

"Dear, you've been up here for hours.  I was starting to get worried." Her hand gently stroked my face.

"There's a lot to go through." I shrugged, but she saw everything was still in place and a look of doubt crossed her face.

"I see." She smiled in an effort of support to my apparent fib, "I know you loved him very much and this must be extremely difficult for you."

"I'm fine." I tried to assure her as she kissed me on the top of my head.  She turned on her heel and stood on the top step of the stairs.

"The kids are getting restless.  You can finish the job later." She assumed me before disappearing.  

Looking at the remaining letters, I saw I was only about half through the stack and it felt as though I had been on an emotional roller coaster.  Perhaps Kate was right, I could do the rest later after a good night's sleep.

March 3, 1944

Everyone was excited. The Russian army was advancing and the Germans were in full retreat.  Igor had made contact with Colonel Charovich, the Russian field commander. With our bunch pushing from the west and the Russian armored division pulling from the east, we would put the Panzer division in a vice that would eventually bring them to surrender.  

We would begin the attack after sunset when the darkness of the woods would conceal us.  Once engaged with us on their western flank, Charovich would bring his armor division in from the east and crush the division.  

"We will drive these bastards out of our country once and for all." Bellah was excited as she checked her rifle for the fifth time.

The headlights of the Panzer vehicles appeared across the river.  Bellah took aim along with the rest of the Freedom Fighters.

Someone fired a shot as he was anxious for action. It was then over a hundred .50 millimeter guns opened fire, creating an apocalyptic landscape as trees were splintered into tinder acting as shrapnel to those holding a position by the river.

"Where the hell are the Russians?"  Peter wondered aloud just as a tree crushed him in an avalanche of lumber.

"We need to abandon our position before their guns cut us to pieces." Igor ordered his men to abandon their position, but for many it was already too late. In I saw Bellah with a large piece of wood protruding from her abdomen.

"Holy God, this hurts." She groaned as she tried to get to her feet, but she impaled into the ground.  I put my hands on it, but she cried out, "Leave me here ."

"I can't do that." I shook my head as tears covered my charged cheeks.

"They will be here any minute." She took a deep breath and with everything she had left in her, she yelled, "Go!"

There was nothing I could do for her.

"I will always love you Gideon..." It would be her final words in this life.

I was sobbing like a baby.  My tears fell on the paper making the ink smear a bit.

"Victor!" I heard Kate's voice call to me from the bottom of the stairs, "We have to go.  The kids are fighting. It is past their bedtime."

I glanced at my watch and saw that she was right.

"You can come back tomorrow, dear, but we need to get home." Her voice was calm, but contained a note of urgency.  Carefully, I put the box back where I had found it.  I wiped my watery eyes and blew my nose in my handkerchief

"Coming, dear." I called out.  With a final glance at all the forgotten items in the dusty attic that included a variety of cast off things from their life together after raising five children that included my father.

"Where have you been, sport?" My father asked me as he embraced me.

"You know, going through grandpa's stuff." I answered meekly.

"I do not envy you, that's for sure." He laughed with a final loving pat on my shoulder as we departed. 

I embraced and gave a peck on the their of my aunts.

No one was teary eyed.  His passing was the final pages of a life well lived, but as I waved goodbye, I knew it was more than that.  My head bobbed as I made my way out the front door now carrying my daughter who was falling asleep in my arms.

"Daddy, I'm gonna miss papa." She said in a voice heavy with sleep.

"Me too, sweetheart, me too." I kissed her on the forehead as I thought about the young freedom fighter who said farewell to the woman he had loved and had kept her memory alive in that heart shaped box.

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