Raisins and Almonds

The petite librarian strolled through the park, entranced by the hauntingly familiar tune that floated through the crisp autumn air. As she turned towards the source, her steps faltered, captivated by the enchanting melody of a guitar. A rugged man, with hair wild and untamed, strummed a tune from a lullaby. The song he played transported her to peaceful nights, where her mother's voice would lull her to sleep despite the stark differences between then and now.

The choice to play an old Yiddish Lullaby struck her as peculiar yet heartwarming. As she listened to the long-forgotten song about raisins and almonds, she could almost taste the sweet nostalgia of her childhood. The lyrics of Rozhinkes mit Mandlen, a hopeful song, paint a vivid picture of yearning for a brighter future.

Miriam had no recollection of her father, not even the faintest hint of a memory. When she was still a baby in the early 1940s, a terrifying group of men raided the farm, forcefully snatching him and the other farmhands.

When she landed in New York, her mother had only eleven cents left to her name. She managed to escape to Poland, finding her way to Spain, and finally, through a Kindertransport, she got them to New York.

While her mother told her those stories, she never talked about her father, much less her family. She figured the Nazis killed them and wanted to protect Miriam from the horrors of war until she was older and could understand. She never got that chance because of the fever. At a tender age, Miriam experienced the devastating loss of her mother to Typhoid Fever.

Thanks to the compassion of those who knew her, she wasn’t stranded on the street. Raised by close friends in the community, Miriam grew up to graduate and find a job where she spent many of her waking hours, at a library.

Returning to the library from her lunch, Miriam meticulously shelved each book in its proper place, gracefully assisted patrons with their inquiries, and kindly reminded forgetful borrowers about their overdue fines.

Her life was a whirlwind of adventure and love, inspired by the tales spun by Salinger, Baldwin, Kerouac, and Bradbury. She lived as a hermit in the real world, rarely venturing outside her home.

Miriam did nothing to draw attention to herself, seamlessly blending into the crowd. In that world, antisemitism was alive and well.

As she listened to the nostalgic tune from the park, a wave of memories from a simpler time washed over her. Hoping to create a sense of familiarity, she placed a dish filled with raisins and almonds on her desk.

With each passing week, she found solace in strolling through the park, relishing in the sights and sounds that had become so familiar. Today, the guitar player was missing, leaving a void in the music.

Balancing on the stool, arranging books on the top shelf, she was startled by the sound of a voice. "Would you like some help with that?"

Standing a few feet away, there was a man with messy hair, his wild locks giving him an unkempt appearance. "Ah, you're the individual I bumped into at the park."

A warm, genuine smile spread across his face. Reaching for the books from her hand, he mentioned that it was supposed to rain, the smell of petrichor already permeating the air.

The man turned to walk away. She watched him head to a table where he had old newspapers, telephone books, city directories, and even some old maps laid out before him.

Before the library closed, he made his way to the desk. Noticing the small bowl of almonds and raisins, he chuckled.

“Do you like these?”

Miriam looked up from her record book, glanced at the small dish of nuts and raisins, and then at the man's dark brown eyes.

“You’re the reason for them.”

“Me?”

She nodded, “You played this lovely little tune that my mother used to sing. I imagine millions of children have heard that tune, but that one is special to me. Placing that dish there was my way of silently inviting others to discover its significance and potentially forge new connections based on shared experiences. I also wonder why you played it. Was it for the melody, or for a deeper reason?”

The man with sandy-colored hair had large brown eyes that became glossy. “I can still hear my mother's voice, softly singing the song to me.” He pulled up his shirt sleeve, revealing a tattooed number on his arm.

“Die Nazis," (the Nazis) Miriam said, her words became frail as she stared at the man. “You spent time in one of those camps.”

“JA.” (yes)

She glanced away from him, wondering how many more would have a similar story. She didn’t expect the sudden twist this story was about to take.

“What brings you to this town? What’s your name?”

He glanced at her, the bowl of nuts and raisins, and then at the other patrons who were leaving.

“I’m in a band. We are playing down the street. Every small town we come to, I search the historical records to see if I can find her, my mother.”

“Maybe I can help. What's your name?” 

“David, David Katz. My band is named Electric Katz.”

Katz was her last name, too. She paused, wondering how many people there were with that same last name. Her mother never spoke of a brother, so she dismissed it as a fluke until he said, “My father told me I had a sister, but she was a baby during the war.”

She stopped talking, moving and stopped breathing for a moment. He looked at her more carefully before he spoke.

“Sister?” She finally asked.

“Ja.”

Miriam's gaze lingered on the man, his towering height contrasting with her petite stature.

She drew her purse from a drawer while he stared at her intently, his eyes fixed on her as she pulled out a picture of her mother.

Before showing it to him, she pressed her lips against the picture as if imparting a secret message. Finally, she handed him the photo. “Meine Mama.” (my mother)

The big man was visibly shaken; he couldn’t speak. He held up a finger before pulling out his wallet.

An old, faded picture from the 30s with the embossed name of some studio still visible at the bottom of the photo she saw.

David's cheeks were glistening with tears as he handed her the photo. The two, dressed in their wedding attire, stood side by side, looking young and innocent. Miriam recognized her mother and began to crumble to the ground. David reached for her, holding her from falling.

Kneeling, he held her as she wept, staring into his face. “I never knew I had a brother.”

Tears marked her dress as he held her, nodding in agreement. “A brother, I have a brother,” she said, as if she didn’t believe it.

“You do,” he said, “and it's me. I knew I had a sister, and she made it to America. I didn’t know where. I play that little song everywhere I go. Then I checked the libraries and asked where people who migrated here might have ended up. In the last town I played, they told me of a girl your age in this town who looked like my mother. You look a lot like her. Where is mom?”

She shook her head as more tears leaked from her eyes. “The fever got her.”

He pinched his lips, imagining the loneliness she must have felt.

She peered at the wedding picture again “I do resemble her in that picture.”

He nodded while helping her stand. “How did you manage on your own?”

“I kept house and babysat until I was old enough to get out on my own. What about you?”

“Rescued by the allies, joined Her Majesties Service with the promise of getting to America. While serving, I found people interested in music, and that’s my story.”

She smiled while the last patrons left the library after staring at the odd reunion.

“So, I assume you're getting more than raisins and almonds in pay.”

He nodded, “Come see me play.”

After attending a concert and meeting the band, she was excited by the music and how they lived.

David’s girlfriend was also in the band. Deloris, his girlfriend, had a brother Danny, who instantly liked Miriam. He was a literary nerd with a quiet demeanor. He wrote many of the songs the band played. The two became friends when David formerly offered his sister a job with the band.

David realized he required the services of a competent bookkeeper to maintain his financial accounts. He worked hard to convince her to change course. Miriam, once an introvert with a limited social life, played a vital role in the band.

Not only was his sister their bookkeeper, but it turned out that she too had a flair for rhythm, and music and liked to help with the lyrics.

By the late 60s, she was no longer the petite girl, dusting books and charging people late fees. Her dress changed to that of multicolored attire more fitting with the flower power movement of the '60s.

Many years later, David looked through a scrapbook from one of the most famous gigs ever. He found a picture of Miriam with the band at Woodstock. She was playing a tambourine to a Janis Joplin tune. The words "Take another little piece of my heart" brought the moment in time to the forefront of his mind. He could see Deloris singing and Miriam dressed like a hippie with the tambourine, giving the show all she was worth.

Who would have thought such a simple combination of raisins and almonds mixed with a lullaby from a man playing in the park to advertise his band, could have sparked it all?