It's Just A Piece of Paper

Prompt: Center your story around a character bargaining for something that is important to them.

IT IS JUST A PIECE OF PAPER

It was a blustery cold day when a group of us passed through the entrance gate with the words “Arbeit macht frie”. I was a young lad of 12 years so I was ready to do what the sign said. I will work hard to secure my freedom. My head was still hurting from the impact of a soldier’s gun during Kristallnacht. Others were not so lucky as they bled from their wounds caused by the shattering of windows that were Jewish owned stores. My memory of that evening remains hazy, but I remember most of the disturbing images.

My family thought we could hide in a synagogue near our apartment just as the insanity began to unravel in the streets that November 9th evening. My father, a prominent community leader, had hoped that staying in the synagogue would afford us some protection. We were not alone. Other Jewish families had the same idea. Unfortunately, the Hitler Youth and SS were determined to ransack anything representing Jewish life, especially a synagogue. Chaos erupted when the armed militia entered to exercise their brutality. People scattered throughout the synagogue. To everyone’s horror, contemptuous youth began to desecrate the “Aron Kadesh,” the Holy Ark containing the Torah and Tanakh Scrolls with their knives and gun butts. I was infuriated. My bar mitzvah was months away and I knew the Torah was God’s Holy Word to be venerated and respected at all cost. I looked around to see if someone would help me. Everyone was herding their way to the exits to escape, including my family. I could not believe my own family were quitters. In my hasty judgement little did I realize I would never see them again.

Silently, I breathed a prayer in Hebrew, “Adon alohim, zur le lein at hatirof hazeh, my God help me to stop this madness.” One of the Youth began ripping the scrolls with his knife. Pieces of the parchment were flying all over the room. The holy scrolls were decimated.  I was aghast and defeated.  Tears flooded my eyes as I tried to pick up shreds of the parchments. Maliciously, the Youth pushed me around like a bag of garbage all the while laughing at my efforts to gather the pieces. “Please stop! Please stop!” I pleaded. One of the perpetrators, not much older than me said, “You are a fool. Do you not value your life more?” And he then mockingly said “Es ist nu rein Stuck Papier, it’s just a piece of paper.” I had fallen so many times by their pushing me over I lost all of shreds I had retrieved. Then I blacked out.

I awoke from a gun barrel being poked into my side. My head was throbbing from the blinded assault from a gun stock. I was in the back of a transport truck with a group of older men. I surmised that all were Jewish. It was a short journey before the transport arrived at the undisclosed destination. Nazi soldiers ordered us out of the vehicle. The group began the ten mile walk under the watchful eyes of the armed soldiers. One could guess that a step out of line would be terminal. 

I inhaled deeply to restore my consciousness. It was a blustery, cold day.  The gate creaked open as we proceeded through it. We were greeted by other captives wearing striped prisoner garb at the Jourhaus (Day House).  It was only a matter of time before my clothes were taken from me. In a room where tables separated us from the guards, the prisoners were forced to strip naked handing over all of our possessions. I covertly made a quick search of my pockets in my coat. I discovered a few shreds of paper. Fearing that they would be discovered I hid them in the crevices of my body. The guards ushered us into a communal shower where I had my head shaven. Like the other prisoners, I was issued a blue and white striped jacket, pants, a cap, and wooden shoes.

I was quickly directed to a bunk house where my new residence would be. Because I was young, the other inmates forced me to climb up to the top bunk. There was no mattress, only a wood plank to lay upon with clumps of straw. I was given a yellow and red triangle to sew on my jacket forming a Star of David, the Jewish star. A yellow triangle on top of a red one because I was Jew and the son of a political Jew. Remembering the shreds of paper, I removed them from my body and carefully hid them under the straw. Throughout this ordeal I remained calm or more likely catatonic.  I had hoped just to curl up on my bunk to blot out the horrors I had seen, but then a siren blared forcing the occupants of the bunkhouses to form lines for roll call. I quickly learned that this event was not to be taken lightly and if one did, the outcome was certain death. The assembly for roll call never would get easier over the years. 

The food provided to us was scant. A swallow of coffee in the morning; some hot gruel at midday; bread and a slice of margarine or sausage in the evening. I decided to hide some of my bread in the straw of my bunk as an emergency provision for the days when meals were abruptly interrupted or stopped. 

Once several days had passed since my indoctrination at the Jourhaus, I had hoped to learn more from other Jewish men about survival at the camp. I already knew why we were here from the hateful experiences at the synagogue on Kristallnacht. I asked about reciting the Kiddish over matzah (bread) in preparation of celebrating Shabbat on the Sabbath. Every Jew warned me not to commemorate any Jewish tradition, service, or holiday because it would mean certain extermination for myself and possibly the entire bunkhouse. From that point on I kept to myself on all matters of the faith.

Something outside the camp was happening. We were instructed by the prisoner wardens (prisoner thugs recognized by the Nazi camp officials as their goons) to stay in our bunks for the day. Most used this rare occasion to sleep. Myself, on the other hand, decided to finally read the scraps of the Torah I had kept. Incredibly, it was still legible. The segments I had were from the Nevi’im (Latter Prophets) of the Tanakh. This particular set of verses was from Isaiah. It read: “Surely, He took up our pain and bore our suffering, yet we considered Him punished by God, stricken by Him and afflicted. But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on Him, and by His wounds we are healed. We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each one of us has turned to our own way; and the LORD has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.” From my Jewish studies, I learned that the Haftarah reading might contain select verses, such as from Isaiah and would be read after the Torah. These verses I recognized as God’s promise to the people of Israel that the Messiah would come to restore the nation and His kingdom. I read and reread these verses for the entire day until I committed it to memory.  I then returned the shreds of paper back to their hiding place in my bunk.

The commotion outside the camp had settled down. Life, or rather internment, was returning to its regular routine.  There were more sunrises and sunsets that passed. Some men in my bunkhouse I never saw again. Many new older faces took their place. Their bodies looked emaciated, weak and near death. I heard whispers that the bodies of the dead were cremated.  I heard horrific rumors about groups of women or men being herded into showers and not returning to their bunkhouses.  When I heard these stories, I had to remain emotionless, indifferent, or else I would be swallowed up by the jaws of fear. I internalized my prayers. From time to time, I would recite the verses from Isaiah. 

Unfortunately, given the stresses of labor and meager nourishment I was losing my concentration remembering the verses from Isaiah. That was when I let my guard down. One of the prisoner wardens in my bunkhouse observed my behavior when I groped through the straw for the paper shreds. He approached me demanding I produce whatever it was I was hiding. “Was versteckst du? Gib es mir! What are you hiding? Give it to me!” Avoiding eye contact with the thug, I showed him my shreds of paper. I respectfully responded, “Es ist nu rein Stuck Papier, it’s just a piece of paper.” He immediately pulled it from my hands. I winced. He realized that the scraps held some value to me. “I want to bargain with you. This is important to you, yes?” he said derisively. Stammering, I said “yes.” The thug said, “what can you offer me for this paper that would make it worth my while to give it back to you?”  I pleaded with him, “I have not much else.” I rummaged through the straw of my bed. “I have some bread and bits of sausage I was saving when times would be hard.” His face contorted and he blurted out a hollow laugh, much like a hyena yelping at a carcass recently discovered. He said, “You fool. Times are hard. Do you not value your life more than this piece of paper?” He took all of my hidden provisions and then gave me the paper, but not without a warning. Like a menacing ogre he said, “If I see you with this paper in your hand again, I will turn you over to the Nazi soldiers.  Who knows what they may do to you?”

The shreds of paper were all I had left to remind me of my family, my faith, and my synagogue. Most importantly, I had saved a small portion of God’s Holy Word amid the darkest of times. I could touch it and simultaneously feel it in my heart and upon my soul. Nonetheless, I had a yearning to know more about this scripture verse from Isaiah.  I imagined the Messiah returning the next day or next week or the next month to save us, the nation of Israel from the Nazi despots.  But as more time passed, I questioned why the Messiah had failed to appear. I callously whispered to myself, “Why must so many people suffer? Why so much hatred and death?”

The warden thug who forcibly bargained with me on my stored provisions and paper took note of my exemplary behavior as the seasons rolled on. Because I seemed somewhat intelligent and capable of being obedient, he had me transferred to the camp hospital. There at the hospital I stocked supplies and helped the infirmed in any way I could as allowed by the notorious staff.  Most of the patients were uncommunicative and expecting to die soon. But, in June of 1942 I met an extraordinary man. Hi name was Anno Brandsma, a Dutsch Catholic priest.  

Soon after his arrival at the camp, Brandsma became quite ill and had to be hospitalized. I was one of many at the hospital to care for him. He was quite vocal about his “strong” distaste for the Nazis. He fought against the spread of Nazi ideology and advocated free speech and press. When it was my day to care for him, I brought my scraps of paper with the Isaiah verses. I was curious to hear his interpretations on them. With great caution and secrecy, I showed him my paper.  He was elated that I would ask him, especially knowing I was a Jew. I will never forget what he said to me.

“Understand this my boy. The future Messiah that Isaiah spoke of has already come. He came nearly two thousand years ago.” I asked him, “so we have no hope, now?” He said, “On the contrary, we wait for Him to return. But know this. The Suffering Servant has already paid the price for all the evil in the world including the evil perpetrated by these despicable Nazis. Your sins and my sins too are forgiven.” I asked him, “But why all the suffering and death now?”  In his labored breathing he said, “Sin still exists in the world because the Ruler of the world roams free until God returns. The Evil One will be subjected to final judgement when the Messiah returns once more. “Now there is a judging of this world; the ruler of this world will be cast out.” You are a living legacy to tell the people of Israel about this living Messiah.”  I asked him, “What is His name?” Brandsma loudly proclaimed in Hebrew so all the Nazis could hear him, “Shamu Yeshua, His name is Jesus!”

“For look! I am creating new heavens and a new earth; and the former things will not be called to mind, nor will they come up into the heart.” (Isaiah 65:17)

“Lord, how long do I have to call out for help?

    Why don’t you listen to me?

How long must I keep telling you

    that things are terrible?

    Why don’t you save us?

 Why do you make me watch while

    people treat others so unfairly?

Why do you put up with the wrong things

    they are doing?

I have to look at death.

    People are harming others.

    They are arguing and fighting all the time.” (Habakkuk 1:2-3)

The Lord replies, ^“The message I give you waits for the time I have appointed.

It speaks about what is going to happen.

    And all of it will come true.

It might take a while.

    But wait for it.

You can be sure it will come.

    It will happen when I want it to.” (Habakkuk 2:2-3)

“And I have hope toward God, which hope these men also look forward to, that there is going to be a resurrection of both the righteous and the unrighteous.” (Acts 24:15)

“The rain and the snow come down from the sky.

They do not return to it without watering the earth.

They make plants come up and grow.

    The plants produce seeds for farmers.

    They also produce food for people to eat.

The words I speak are like that.

    They will not return to me without producing results.

They will accomplish what I want them to.

    They will do exactly what I sent them to do.” (Isaiah 55:10-11)

(Isaiah 53:4-6; Habakkuk, Acts, John 12:31 Isaiah 55:10-11, New International Version)

Acknowledgement: Reedsy.com