Hanna looked at her watch. Another half-hour before breakfast—another half-hour to think of her children. Thinking of her children in far-off lands came naturally to Hanna these days. Sometimes she thought more of Avner, her eldest, who was now living in Palestine. She had always been so proud when he got top honors in the class, which happened often. Sometimes she thought more of Gitta, whose delicate health had always given Hanna cause for concern. Now Gitta was in England working as a domestic. There was little Hanna could do for her except hope and pray that she would fall into the hands of kind people who would look after her health.
But today her thoughts were mostly with Eli—her little Eli who wasn't so little anymore. Now in England, Eli would be bar mitzvah in a week's time. Could she ever have imagined that she wouldn't be present at his bar mitzvah—that she wouldn't be able to give him a present—that she wouldn't even be able to bentch him? Hanna felt that she wanted to cry, but, as always, she fought back her tears. After all, she had much for which to be thankful. Merely a year earlier, she and her family had been in Germany with little chance of emigrating, but with G-d's help, she herself was safe in Switzerland while her children were in Palestine and England. How many thousands would gladly have changed places with her just to be out of the hell that Nazi Germany had become for the Jews? She had known adversity before and overcome it, especially when her husband had died young and left her with three small children. She would overcome the present situation too, with all its hardships and deprivations, until the war would be over and she could be reunited with her children.
While separation from her children was undoubtedly the hardest aspect of her situation, the utter poverty in which Hanna was forced to live added considerably to the difficulty. Her brother, who was the local rabbi, had brought his entire family—parents, siblings, nieces and nephews, and that of his wife—to Switzerland. He saw to it that they had accommodations and that they were provided with food, but anything more than that was quite beyond his means. He had his immediate family to care for, and he could not neglect them.
These were the thoughts passing through Hanna's mind when there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," she exclaimed, and in walked her nephew Shaul.
No matter how downcast Hanna felt, seeing her nephew Shaul invariably lifted her spirits and filled her with happiness. Perhaps it was Shaul's likeness to his cousin Eli—both in age and appearance—which so drew her to him. Perhaps it was his kindheartedness, which was so evident at all times. She embraced her nephew fondly.
"Aunt Hanna," Shaul said, "can you keep a secret?"
"I think so, Shaul. I'll try, anyway."
"Aunt Hanna, I know you're always short of money, and I think I have some good news for you."
"And how do you know that?"
"Oh, aunt, I am not a child anymore. I am nearly bar mitzvah, and I do keep my ears open. Last night I heard Dad tell Mum that the community had decided to grant every refugee a sum of 100 francs a month. I know this isn't a lot, but it would help you, wouldn't it?"
"Help me? Why, it would make all the difference to me. And you're a dear for telling me. Don't worry, Shaul, nobody will know that you told me."
"Yes, but there's a snag, Aunt Hanna. Mummy told Dad that he should oppose your getting it. She said it wouldn't be fitting for the rabbi's sister to be receiving this grant, as there are so many community members who need it so much more than she does—people who don't even have a roof over their heads. Daddy tried to argue with her, but Mummy was quite firm, and in the end, Daddy gave way—I think rather reluctantly."
Hanna went to join her brother and sister-in-law at breakfast. Surely they would tell her of the grant and she could then argue with their decision to deny her the payment. But breakfast passed and the subject was not mentioned. "That's strange," thought Hanna, but she could not mention it herself without drawing suspicion to Shaul, which she would never do.
After breakfast, the daily chores began with cleaning and washing for the recently expanded household. Then there was a ring at the door and the communal secretary came in. Dr. Beisinger was also a German refugee, whose whole family had remained behind in Germany. Like all refugees, he was driven mad with anxiety for the welfare of his dear ones, but he tried to put on a brave face on it—not always very successfully.
"May I speak to you, Mrs. Grunfeld?" Dr. Beisinger asked.
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"Use my room, Aunt Hanna," he said. "I have made my bed and it's all neat and tidy."
"Thank you, Shaul. You're a dear."
"Any news from your children?" Dr. Beisinger began. It was obvious that this was not the purpose of his visit, but this was the subject closest to their minds, and each knew that the other understood.
"As a matter of fact, I did receive a letter from my daughter in England a few days ago. Now and again the post manages to get through. She seems to be well enough and is planning to go to her brother's bar mitzvah next Shabbos. Do you have any news, Dr. Beisinger?"
Hanna almost regretted having asked the question, for she saw Dr. Beisinger fighting back a tear. But he recovered quickly. "Not a word, Mrs. Grunfeld. All I hear are rumors. I heard that the Jews in Germany are being rounded up and sent to labor camps. Who knows what to believe? Believe me, Mrs. Grunfeld, I am frantic with worry." This time Dr. Beisinger did not succeed in preventing a tear from forcing its way to the fore. "You know, Mrs. Grunfeld, it does me good to talk to you. A person who hasn't known separation from his children could never understand me."
"I suppose I have much to be thankful for," said Hanna. "After all, my children are all safe, thank G-d. But however much I tell myself that I am lucky, I find it hard not to be at my son's bar mitzvah."
"Ah, yes, it's your son's bar mitzvah next week, isn't it? Actually this reminds me of the purpose of my visit. No doubt you remember that it's the bar mitzvah of your brother's son as well." "I am not likely to forget it, Dr. Beisinger, since it's on the same Shabbos as my son's."
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"There is nothing that would give me greater pleasure. If I can't buy the boy the present he deserves, I can at least show my appreciation that way. But while you are here, Dr. Beisinger, may I ask you something entirely different?"
"Please, Mrs. Grunfeld, feel free to do so."
"Dr. Beisinger, I have heard rumors that all the refugees are to get a grant of 100 francs per month each from the community. Is this correct, and if so, why wasn't I told about it?" "Mrs. Grunfeld, you are placing me in an awkward position. As secretary of the communal council, I am really not at liberty to discuss communal affairs."
"Dr. Beisinger, this is not just a communal affair. This is a human affair. Some refugees are without a penny in their pockets, and the 100 francs would make all the difference to them."
"I will tell you the truth, Mrs. Grunfeld, and I ask you to rely on your discretion. At its last meeting, the council did approve this monthly payment; however, the rabbi opposed your getting the payment. It was obvious that he was quite torn about the issue, and to tell you the truth, we were all rather surprised, but there was little we could do. I have already said too much, Mrs. Grunfeld, so please don't press me to say any more."
What Hanna heard from Dr. Beisinger only confirmed what she had already heard from Shaul. That there was a chance of at last being freed from her poverty and that this was being opposed by her sister-in-law hurt her a good deal. But almost as bad was the fact that she could not confront her brother without getting her nephew and the secretary into trouble.
Hanna had always advised her children that, when faced with difficult decisions, they should "sleep on them" and see what solution arose the following day. This advice was not always easy to put into practice, but she now proceeded to do so. The next morning, her course of action was clear to her.
She phoned Dr. Beisinger and asked him to arrange for an appointment with Dr. Sternfeld, the president of the community, who was reputed to rule his roost with an iron fist.
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Shaul did not pay much attention to his lessons that morning. As a rule, he was an attentive and conscientious pupil, but the recent conversations with his parents and his aunt left him no peace. Somehow he had to help his aunt get the grant.
His way home from school took him past the communal offices, and on the spur of the moment, he went inside. He had met Dr. Sternfeld on various occasions at their home, and while put off somewhat by his stern demeanor, he decided then and there to make an effort for his aunt's sake.
To reach Dr. Sternfeld's office, one had to pass through Dr. Beisinger's first. Luckily Dr. Beisinger was in with Dr. Sternfeld, so Shaul walked straight through, knocked at Dr. Sternfeld's door, and went inside. Dr. Beisinger immediately rose from his chair and wanted to eject Shaul, but Dr. Sternfeld, who seemed in an unusually agreeable mood, stopped him.
"Well, well," he said. "The rabbi's son has come to see us. But young man, do you know that it is usual to make an appointment through the secretary if one wants to see me?"
"I know, Dr. Sternfeld, and I am sorry for barging in without an appointment. But I was afraid Dr. Beisinger would tell me I couldn't see you, and I just had to talk to you. After all, if Queen Esther could risk her life going to King Achashveirosh uninvited, I reckoned my fate could not be worse than that!"
Dr. Sternfeld smiled at the comparison. "As a matter of fact, you are coming at a very suitable moment, young man. We were just discussing your bar mitzvah present when you entered. As you know, some boys get an illustrated Tanach, others get a silver Kiddush cup. So now you can solve the problem for us. Which of the two would you prefer?" Shaul reflected for a moment. "Frankly, Dr. Sternfeld, I don't want either."
"What? You don't want a bar mitzvah present? You are a strange boy, Shaul."
"Now I didn't say that. I would like a present, but I want something entirely different."
"And what is that?"
"Dr. Sternfeld, you know the monthly grant which refugees are going to get? Well, I understand that as of now my aunt is not going to get any money. Perhaps it may look to some like she does not need it, but that's not true. The present I want for my bar mitzvah is that my aunt should get the grant without anybody knowing. Do you think that could be arranged?"
The two men looked at each other, obviously moved by the boy's request.
"What do you think, Dr. Beisinger; can it be arranged?" asked Dr. Sternfeld.
"Well, it would be somewhat complicated, but I suppose it could be arranged. I must request absolute discretion on the part of us all."
"That's very good," said Dr. Sternfeld." I was afraid you might say it was impossible, and I didn't want to have to ask you to do the impossible!"
"Dr. Sternfeld," Shaul said, "I don't know what presents I am going to get for my bar mitzvah, but I know this: the one I just got from you is the one which will give me by far the most pleasure."
"Well, I am glad to hear that, Shaul. And now tell me. What else would you like—the Tanach or the Kiddush cup?
Eric Gutwillig, who is over bar mitzvah, makes his home in Haifa, Israel.