Page 82 of Long Way Home

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Jim came to visit at the end of the week, and I was excited to introduce Ruthie to him. My sister had always been shy and still was, but Jim was such a kind person that it didn’t take long for her to warm to him. “We’re still celebrating Sukkot,” I told him. “I hope you can stay and eat with us. It’s a blessing to invite guests to share our sukkah.” I was pleased when he agreed. He sat across the outdoor table from Ruthie and me at dinner that evening.

“Tell me about this celebration,” he said after the plates of food were passed.

“The Torah commands us to build booths where we’re supposed to eat and even sleep if the weather allows. It’s a harvest celebration every fall.”

“Like American Thanksgiving?”

“I guess so. The rustic booths are supposed to remind us of how we wandered in the desert with Moses for forty years.”

“This roof doesn’t look like it will be much help if it rains,” he said, pointing above us. “Is it unfinished?”

“It’s supposed to be open to the sky. The idea is that God is our covering, watching over us as He did in the desert for forty years. No one here seems to see the irony that we’re still wandering and homeless. Or that God hasn’t been watching over us very well.” Ruthie turned to give me a questioning look, and I was sorry I had spoken my thoughts out loud. “Don’t mind me,” I said. “Sometimes I speak without thinking. Let’s talk about other things.”

I was glad when some musicians took out their instruments after dinner and began to play, lightening the mood. A group of young people Ruthie’s age came over to ask her to join them. My sister seemed reluctant. “Please come, Ruthie. Yaakov is going to tell us all about Palestine.”

“Yes, why don’t you join them,” I urged. “You don’t have to stay long but at least try to make friends. Jim and I will be right here when you come back.” We watched her go. Two of the girls linked arms with her on either side as if they weren’t going to let her get away.

“It looks like she’s in good hands,” Jim said when we heard the girls laughing.

“She’s seventeen and should be having fun, laughing with her friends and meeting boys. I was about her age when I met Sam.” People were leaving the table to gather around the band. Some of them started dancing. “Someone told me the other day that we have to forget the past before we can build new lives. That’s what many people here are doing. There is so much frenzied activity here, as if they believe it’s their duty to live every day to the fullest and to be happy, even without a home or a secure future. They’re starting schools, organizing plays and other cultural activities. Couples who’ve just met are already planning their weddings. It’s as if they need to make up for lost time.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? To get a fresh start?”

“I don’t know. It seems like it’s too soon. The Nazis killed their families, so it’s almost an act of defiance to start new ones. They want to hurry up and have children so that our Jewish race will continue to exist. The younger survivors are being enticed to dream of immigrating to Palestine. David Ben-Gurion, the leader of the Jewish community there, has been visiting DP camps to rally support for a Jewish state. Zionism is very strong here.”

“Is that realistic? I thought the British government is restricting immigration.”

“They are.” I watched as more and more people joined the lively dance, laughing as they moved to the music. Nothing in me felt like dancing. “Sam used to attend Zionist meetings in Antwerp and he talked about moving to Palestine. He wanted his brothers to go there as students, to escape, but his mother wouldn’t let them. We close the Passover celebration every year by saying, ‘Next year in Jerusalem,’ but it’s still a distant dream.”

“It’s interesting that Sam chose to join the Jewish Brigade instead of a regular British Army unit. Maybe he hoped that if he served in the British Army, they would let him immigrate there afterwards.”

“He once asked me if I would move to Palestine with him after the war.”

“Would you?”

“Back then, I think I promised to move to the ends of the earth with him as long as we were together. I would never have the courage to go to Palestine now, by myself. I’m not sure it’s something Ruthie would agree to, either.” I looked around to see where Ruthie was and saw her standing with the other girls next to the band. She had her back to me so I couldn’t see her face. “Jim, I’m determined to find a home for Ruthie, but it seems like things are moving so slowly. There are millions of displaced people like us in camps all over Europe. It’s going to take forever to find everyone a place to live and a new job and housing. They’re saying we could be living here for years.”

“If you had a choice, where would you go?”

“I don’t know. Someplace that doesn’t remind me every day of the people we’ve loved and lost. Someplace where I’m not haunted by memories of pogroms. I’m still waiting for the Jewish agency to track down Uncle Hermann in Ecuador or Uncle Aaron in Cuba. We lost contact with them during the war. I suppose we could live with one of them if we find them. And if they’re willing to have us.”

“Have you asked Ruthie where she would like to live if she had a choice?”

“No. She probably doesn’t know where ‘home’ is any more than I do.” I shivered as a cool breeze blew down from the mountains, rustling the branches of the sukkah. The flimsy structure offered scant shelter. “I know it’s selfish of me to make Ruthie wait here with me until I hear about Sam. I need to lay aside my sorrow for her sake. She deserves a new beginning. She gave up a secure life in Belgium to be with me.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help you get settled in the place you and Ruthie choose. Just let me know where that is.”

“Thanks, Jim. You’re a good friend.”

I couldn’t stop thinking about Jim’s question. Where would I choose to live? Where would Ruthie? As my sister and I got ready for bed later that night, I decided to ask her. “If you had a choice, Ruthie, where would you settle down when we finally leave this camp?”

“I don’t know.”

The festivities hadn’t lifted her spirits any more than they had mine, and I felt bad about that. I didn’t want my gloom to weigh her down. “I was offered a job in the hospital in Belgium where I used to work,” I told her. “Maybe we could find a place to live in Antwerp, in a community with other Jews. Would you want to return there if we were together?”

“I have a lot of bad memories from Belgium. First the pogrom, then Vati getting sick, then the bombs in Mortsel.” She didn’t add the years she’d spent alone in the orphanage or the rejection she’d experienced in the last few months, but I wondered if she was remembering them, too. “Living there wouldn’t be the same without Vati and Mutti,” she finished. “But I’ll go there if you want to.”

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