Of Seven and Ten

“We should leave soon.”

Willy’s voice broke through the silence. The crickets and rustling from a soft breeze filled the space before anyone thought to respond.

“A little longer,” Alexander replied.

The group of seven stared silently at the grave: a mound of dirt barely half a meter wide hidden amongst the tall grass of Vienna Central Cemetery. It was barely visible even in the light of the full moon overhead. Of the seven, cloaked in dark coats that brushed their knees and hats pulled down to their brows, no one argued. They didn’t question Alexander.

“A little longer,” Jac echoed to herself. She knelt by the grave, spade in hand, her eyes wide and full of tears. Jacqueline, known by her friends as Jac, was the youngest of the pack who had gathered, unseen, in the cemetery that warm summer night. The wind that sauntered lazily through the trees did little to hint at the cold autumn of 1938 that was only months away. Willy stood a few paces behind, leaning on his shovel, watching.

They waited in silence.

“We should say something,” Frederick offered, “A blessing.”

Frederick was second in command. This was never said, of course, but it was also never objected. His words hung in the air as Jac softly began to cry. She covered her face with a hand, placing the other on the mound of dirt in front of her. Her shoulders heaved silently as she shook her head.

“It’s not supposed to be this way,” Jac murmured, “It was never supposed to be this way.”

Rosa knelt beside her, placing a gentle hand on Jac’s forearm. Jac looked up at her: a stoic but warm woman who had become the sister, or aunt or companion, that Jac had never had. She was Frederick’s wife and the only other woman in the group, and, to Jac, she was the picture of strength.

“It was never supposed to be this way,” Jac repeated, searching for some trace of comfort in Rosa’s dark eyes. Rosa nodded, unblinking.

“We should say a blessing,” Frederick urged again. He was a tall, handsome man and a natural leader. But, in this moment, as had become the norm, he looked to Alexander. His brother, elder by two years, Alexander led this mission. It had been his from the start.

Alexander had been widowed almost three years earlier, and it seemed as though his heart had calcified. While it was always his nature to be reserved, his grief led him to peel away from the people around him, leaving only Frederick and Rosa by his side. And so, it was them that Alexander turned to when he decided to excavate the oldest Jewish graves in Vienna.

Frederick and Rosa’s hesitation was not unfounded: unearthing Jewish graves in secret to prevent them from being desecrated was a crime that could cost them their lives. It was an act of courage that could have easily been their last. It was fighting to preserve the past in order to ensure a future. But it was also something that, if he had to, Alexander would do alone. So, Rosa first, then Frederick, decided that he wouldn’t have to. And the three recruited the others.

“There are only seven of us,” said Fritz. He was a young man of smaller stature, his shoulders hunching wearily under his coat. He sat on his knees in the grass opposite Jac and Rosa, staring worriedly at the patch of dirt between them.

“It wouldn’t be a proper blessing unless there were ten,” Fritz continued, “Ten men, really.” He looked through his wire glasses to Alexander, awaiting the leader’s response. Alexander kept his eyes on the grave, his eyebrows furrowing under the brim of his cap. He considered this.

 Fritz looked to the others gathered around. To his right sat Sal, the youngest of the five men. With a forearm draped over one knee and an elbow propped on the other, Sal rested his forehead against his open palm, unknowingly smearing caked dirt across his brow. His light eyes flicked to Fritz and then up to Alexander. The others followed suit.

Alexander held his gaze on the grave, stroking his wedding ring slowly. Finally, he spoke.

“We only recruited men when we started. For… for bravery or strength or…” he trailed off.

“But the women here,” he looked to Jac and Rosa, kneeling by the grave, their long hair tucked safely under their hats, “The compassionate and complete…” He took a breath, “We wouldn’t be here without them. We couldn’t be.” Jac blinked away heavy tears, turning back to the mound in front of her. Rosa held Alexander’s gaze: warm, but steady.

“A woman with that kind of courage can say any blessing,” He continued, “Any at all.”

The others exchanged glances. Saying a blessing over a Jewish grave was a sacred tradition; it was ritual. And it called for ten Jewish men. But tradition did not account for this day. Tradition did not account for an army burning graveyards and abolishing any traces of an entire faith. So, in silence, they decided that an adaptation was in order.

“There are still only seven of us,” Jac murmured, her eyes darting across the group, searching for a solution. Her gaze caught Sal who was staring intently at the grave through the dark hair peeking out from under his cap. Although he was one of the youngest and the quietest in the pack, Sal had earned the reputation of being the generator of great ideas. It had been Sal’s idea to disguise themselves as doctors from the university when they were excavating the graves, hiding in the ethical shadows that the public overlooked in the name of science. Jac eyed him expectantly.

Without looking up from the grave, Sal inhaled sharply, “And Alte Bernhardt,” he whispered.

“Who?” Willy asked. He hadn’t moved from where he stood behind the others, leaning on his shovel.

“Alte Bernhardt,” Sal repeated, nodding slowly. He looked at the group around him and gestured to the grave, “Whoever she was.” They looked at the mound, remembering the headstone buried beneath the surface: Alte Bernhardt, 1707-1763.

“She can pray with us,” Sal urged, looking to Alexander. Alexander furrowed his brows, then gave a small nod.

“She can pray with us,” he agreed.

“That’s eight,” Jac said eagerly. They looked at each other, searching for someone else among them to pray. Rosa’s eyes stayed steadily on Frederick, and his stayed hesitantly on her.

“Count me for two,” Rosa whispered.

Jac turned to her, searching her face for meaning. Realization dawned on the group.

“One and a half, technically, but we’ll round,” she continued.

“You’re…?” Fritz started, staring through his glasses at the woman kneeling across from him.

“I am,” she said softly. A cloud of heavy emotion fell over the seven. Though the instinct was to feel joy for Rosa and Frederick, the ominous truth remained: the world didn’t want any more Jewish babies. This was not a celebration; it was a secret. No one spoke.

Rosa slowly rose to her feet and took Frederick’s hand in hers. And, as her husband blinked tears from his eyes, the woman made of stone melted into his arms. He kissed her head, holding her tightly.

He cleared his throat, “Nine.”

Alexander nodded, watching his brother and Rosa slowly break apart and face the grave, hands still clasped. Rosa had told him about the baby only a few weeks before, but it had already given the widower a new meaning of the word future. And family.

“Nine,” Alexander agreed.

“Who else?” Jac asked, urgency pulling at her voice, “There has to be someone else.” The crickets hummed in the silence as the light of dawn bled into the horizon. Jac looked away from Rosa, not wanting to admit how terrified she was to see the woman cry. She met Sal’s gaze from across the dirt, his eyes as wide and desperate as her own. Willy still stood behind, an unlit cigarette behind his ear. He was a man of few words, but even his silence was felt heavily as they all waited for someone to speak. Fritz, tears now freely streaming down his freckled cheeks, turned to Alexander slowly.

“Alexander…” Fritz whispered. Alexander nodded; his eyes cast down.

“There is someone else,” Alexander said softly, “She’s been here the whole time.”

He took a breath, “She’ll pray with us.”

Slowly and carefully, Alexander removed his wedding ring. His mind was flooded with memories: her golden hair, the smell of sourdough bread, the burning in his heart when Fritz told him that there was a difference between a husband and a widower. One looks to the future, the other to the past, he had said just weeks before, the face behind his glasses streaked with tears like it was now. Alexander was calloused and cold, and his comfort with dangers of this mission had led others to question his judgement. What exactly did he have to lose?

Alexander turned the wedding ring over in his palm, studying it carefully. He looked over his shoulder at Frederick, who was holding Rosa’s hand as though the world might break if he let go. He met Rosa’s eyes, dark and steady. She tilted her head to him in the hint of a nod. He was ready.

Alexander knelt in the grass, placing the ring neatly in the dirt on top of Alte’s grave.

“Ten,” he said softly.

“Ten,” Jac repeated, not taking her eyes off of Alexander’s kneeling form.

 “Blessed are You, Lord our God,” Alexander began.

“King of the Universe,” Frederick continued, “The just judge.”

“Blessed are You, Lord our God…”

“King of the Universe…”

“Who is good and does good.”

“Today we bless Alte Bernhardt, Child of God…”

“One of us,” added Jac.

“May now she rest.

Safe.”

The seven looked at each other in silence. It was the first grave they had reburied. It was the first blessing they gave. Dawn crept in as they each picked a stone from the grass and placed it solemnly on the mound before them. They gathered their things, some exchanging a whisper, some meeting in a hug, all looking to Alexander for what to do next.

He surveyed the pack and took a breath, “Ready?”

The seven turned from the grave, silhouetted against the dawn, and made their way onward. This was only the beginning.