November 9th, 1938

By Eli A. Susman

(Please keep in mind that this is a fictional story about a true historical event. Please do your own research when learning the history of the Holocaust.)

November 9th, 1938 was the last day of my childhood. I woke up to the smell of eggs, toast, and cholent being cooked downstairs by my mother, like every other morning for the first 15 years of my life. My father, mother and I all ate breakfast together. It was the last time I ate a meal with my parents.

“Finish up Bubala,” said my dad to me. “You’re working today.”

Ten minutes later I stood in the backroom of my family's butcher shop in the center of town, cleaning the dirty countertops and counting the seconds until the end of the work day. Around five in the afternoon, I heard the wiggle of a door handle behind me and I instantly knew who it was. I spun around joyfully and opened the back door of the store. Right away my girlfriend Alte jumped into my arms. A cold draft of air rushed over me from the open door, and a small shiver ran through me causing the hairs on my neck to stand up straight. Alte’s body quickly warmed me up.

“Are we going down to the river still, Tev?” She asked, her face burrowed in my chest. I pulled away from the hug and kissed her. Her big lips overtook my small ones, and she tasted like honey.

“Papa!” I shouted to my dad. He didn’t respond right away, so I kissed Alte on the forehead, and went to the front of the shop

“Papa.” I said. “Can I…”

Without looking over, he held up a finger to shush me. He continued with the customer in front of him, rushing his words and being overly friendly.

“Yes, yes of course. Thank you, have a good one.”

I despise how nice my dad was to him--how nice he was to them. Always trying to appease the Nazis with kindness. As if they weren’t wishing he were dead. As if the fresh and cheap meat he sold them wasn’t the only thing keeping them from destroying his little family shop. The customer walked out the door and my dad turned to me, letting out a large breath as he did.

“What is it Tevla?”

“Can I leave early? Alte is…”

“Leave early?”

“Yeah…”

“How early?”

“Now?”

“Now?” He sounded exasperated.

“We are going to the river.”

“Just you two?”

“Yeah, maybe some of our friends will also…”

“Be home by dinner.” My father turned around and walked a couple paces away before turning back to me.

“And Tevla…” He said

“Yes yes I know. Don’t draw too much attention to ourselves. You always say it, I’m not gonna forget.”

He paused, then nodded his head and turned away. I went back to Alte. She could tell by the smile on my face that my father had given me the okay. She opened the door and led us into the alley behind the shop. As Alte and I emerged from the shadows of the alley, we simultaneously checked to make sure our necklaces were under our shirts. Around us, swastika flags sat perched on the walls of every building and house on the street.

I looked back at our butcher shop. The paint on the walls was chipping, and the roof had a slight lean to it. But it looked perfect to me. I thought nothing could have fit on the corner better than my family and our butcher shop. We ran into our a guy we knew named Henri a few blocks down. He offered us some tobacco, and we kindly accepted. We waved goodbye, and I never saw Henri again. We arrived at the bridge, but before we could go down the bank a boy our age named Jonas shouted at me.

“Hey little termite? Here to steal more of what isn’t yours?”

I turned around and made sure to keep Alte behind me. Jonas had blonde hair that reflected the sun into our eyes, and he held a switch-blade that I knew had the words “Blood and Honor” engraved into the blade--the same kind of blade every Nazi boy had at his age.

“Leave us alone, Jonas.”.

“Didn’t you hear? Fuhrer said it’s time to cleanse us of your filth.”

Jonas started twirling the blade between his fingers and I caught a glimpse of the red patch with a black swastika on his shoulder. He continued to step closer to me as Alte held my hand. Once he was right in front of us he leaned sideways, mockingly trying to get a look at Alte.

“Hey, don’t be afraid pretty girl, you don’t have to hide behind this pathetic boy.”

He reached his hand out and grabbed my left arm, trying to pull me out of the way. The moment he did a rage like none other I’d ever experienced rushed through me, and without even thinking about it I swung my left fist and punched Jonas square in the face

“Tev!” Alte said, taking my shoulder and pulling me away.

Jonas fell backwards and cursed at me and Alte. I could see blood falling from his nose and into his hands. We ran off before he had a chance to do anything else to us. Usually, Jonas would come after us again the next day, and the day after that. But once I ran from Jonas this time, I never saw him again.

Alte and I went down the bank, and sat under a tree with no leaves, the slow flowing river next to us. I leaned against the tree and closed my eyes. Alte started to roll a cigarette to share. I knew I’d smell like tobacco when I went back home, but I didn’t care. I was happy to be with Alte.

“So, pretty cool what I just did back there, eh?” I said, wanting the validation from her.

“Oh, shut your mouth. He beats you up every other week.” Alte said, lighting the cigarette with a match.

“True, but I still got him this time.”

She laughed and blew the smoke onto my face.

“Tev, you look like a little weasel.”

“Hey!” I interjected.

“Sure, you may be getting bigger,” she added. “But you’re not your Papa yet.”

“Who said I wanted to be?” I took the cigarette from her and starting smoking. Each puff calmed my nerves and warmed my body. The burn of the tobacco in my throat balanced perfectly with the fresh air that cooled off my lungs. Lying there with Alte, I didn’t want my life to ever change. After the cigarette, we fell asleep, her head on my chest, and my arms wrapped around her, keeping us both warm. I wanted the moment to never end.

We awoke to the sound of screaming voices, popping gunfire, and breaking glass. I looked up and over my shoulder, but I couldn’t see anything above the bank.

“What’s happening?” Alte asked. Her eyes were opened wide but her eyebrows pushed her face down into a look of deep concern.

“I…I don’t know.”

“Come, we have to see.”

Only Alte, with her childish eagerness, could have heard gunfire and decided to go check it out. She grabbed my hand, our clammy palms pressing together, and pulled me up the river bank. The city streets were more crowded than I’d ever seen them. Nazi flags were everywhere, and people were chanting--their voices a garble of indistinguishable rage.

“It has to be another book burning.” Said Alte.

I looked more closely, and noticed a storefront that people were breaking into and destroying. Two doors down, another two shops were being attacked. Instantly I knew why those places were being targeted.

“It’s happening.” My heart rate started to pick up.

“What?”

If those shops were being destroyed, then our butcher shop…suddenly all the superstitions my father blabbered about, and all the precautions he took made sense to me. The hiding of our necklaces; the taking down of our flags; the constant fear of reciting our native tongue outside the walls of our home

Without another word, I sprinted towards the butcher shop in the city center. Alte chased after me. People were being dragged out and beaten on the street. I saw Mr. Aussenberg, the local jewelry store owner. He ran outside and tried to fight back with a candlestick--but he was outnumbered and they tackled him to the floor in seconds

I made sure my necklace was still under my shirt. But for the first time, I didn’t feel safe even with it hidden. I could tell that things had changed, just like my father always said they would.

“Tev wait!” Alte said, having to shout for me to hear her over all the commotion around us, but I didn’t stop. We were lucky that nobody noticed and profiled us. Her hair, my eyes, we were easy prey. I turned the corner and saw a crowd growing outside our butcher shop. Everyone was shouting and chanting. At the same moment, the frenzy pushed forward, breaking through the glass. I caught a glimpse of my dad standing behind the counter. He didn’t look scared, he looked appalled. My mom came out from the back and grabbed my father’s hand. I watched them stand there, my mother and father in their own shop, as a rush of people pushed their way in and overtook them. I couldn’t hear their pleas, but I saw my father mumble something under his breath while my mother stood staunchly upright, but I could see the fear in her eyes. Alte grabbed my arm, and pulled me into the alleyway, out of sight of the mob.

“Tev, Tevla listen to me. You can’t go in there now.

She spoke so bravely and I wanted to feel reassured by her words, but I couldn’t look her in the eye. My mind was focused on one thing and one thing only--my parents.

“Tev, can you hear me? What about...”

“What about what Alte?” I shouted. “I have to go and help them!” My voice cracked as I pulled away towards the backdoor of the shop.

“What about my family?” She gasped, and started to cry. I looked into her dark brown eyes that were full of tears and instantly my attention shifted to her

“Okay, okay, listen, listen…” I gulped, and wiped tears from my eyes. “Just meet me by the river in fifteen minutes. Once things are under control here I’ll head there.” I said as Alte breathed heavily.

“But what do I do if my parents aren’t at home? What if I can’t--"

“It will be okay. Your parents and sister will be okay.” I said, knowing my words would mean nothing to her in the moment--her words meant nothing to me seconds before. “Everything will be alright, I promise.”

Suddenly I was the one thinking logically. I comforted myself as much as I did her.

“I love you.” She said.

“I love you too.”

We kissed, and her constant warmth flowed through me. I wouldn’t feel that kind of warmth again for years. Then she ran off, and I never saw her again.

The sounds of chaos from within the shop had ceased, so I pushed open the back door and went in. Nothing was in its usual spot and anything that could be broken, was broken. I looked towards the front of the shop and saw that the crowd had left. They were moving on down the street. Probably to the tailors next door. I went through the door that opened behind the front counter.

“Tevla…” My mother croaked from the floor. I got down on one knee and put my hand on her stomach. Her midsection looked torn apart by bullet wounds, and blood pooled on the floor around her.

“Mama, mama? What’s happening? Are you….”

“Tevla…” She grabbed my hand with hers. “Your Papa, help...him...” Her grasp loosened, and her hand slid from mine. I don’t know if I was more angry, sad, or confused. A single tear shed from each of my eyes before stopping. Sometimes grief is so painful that even tears can’t properly express the pain. I never shed another tear when thinking about my mother. I looked at my father. He was on his stomach, and struggling to roll over. I grabbed him and rolled him onto his back.

“Papa.” I said, releasing a long held breath. He smelled like raw meat and sweat, but I still held him close. His arms were covered in gashes, and the top of his shoulder was bleeding through his shirt and onto his neck. The usual strength of his fatherly hugs ceased to exist.

“Bubala,” he said. “Help me up, we need to go.”

He put his arm around me, and stood. He coughed up bits of blood into his handkerchief. I bent down to try and pick up my mother’s dead body. The shock of seeing everything and everyone I love destroyed so quickly and ruthlessly should have made me panic. But the fear and adrenaline kept me focused on the tasks at hand.

“No, Tevla. We need to go.”

“What? We have to take her home.”

“We aren’t going home. We need to get out of here.”

“What about Alte? What do you mean we need to get out of here?”

He put his weak hands on my shoulders and bent down until we were face to face.

“Tevla, I need you to listen to me. I need you to do as I say.”

“I need to go see Alte.”

“Tevla, we've talked about this. We can’t waste any time.”

“Seeing Alte and telling her what is happening isn’t a waste!”

My loud voice attracted the attention of a few stragglers out on the street still. They turned, and when they saw us standing inside our butcher shop, they charged.

“Tevla go! Go!” He shoved me towards the back door. I got to the door and looked behind me. My father was quickly backing up towards me and looking down at my mother. He whispered to himself, then spun and ran to me. He pushed open the back door and held it open. I rushed out past him and left my mother’s dead body behind.

Once in the alley I turned to my father. He let the door go behind him, but before it closed a man burst out and tackled him to the floor. Three more men came outside and started beating him with a brutality I didn’t know humans could exert.

I stood there, unable to do anything. I couldn't run away and leave my father, but I couldn’t help him--I was too weak to make a difference.

“Tevla run, run!” My father shouted to me. “Get as far away as you can!” His voice cut out, and he disappeared under a mass of bodies. One of the men looked up at me, and I felt my entire body tense up from my toes to my neck. As the man stood up I looked at my father, but I couldn’t distinguish his body in the tangle of limbs. The man took a step towards me and I made one of the hardest decisions of my life.

“Goodbye Papa…” I whispered.

I ran off without looking back and I never saw my parents again.

Nobody followed me, and I exited the alley on the next street over. I stopped to catch my breath and evaluate my situation, but the moment I started thinking about my parents I started to hyperventilate. I couldn’t just stand there and wait for someone to find me, and I needed to do something to occupy and distract myself. So I headed for the river to meet Alte. But when I arrived, she wasn't there. After a minute I sprinted to her house a couple blocks down the river. The house didn’t have a scratch, it looked the same as it always did. I went up the porch and knocked with a hard fist. I desperately needed Alte to open the door, I needed that hope.

But nobody answered the door. I knocked again and again. Still no answer.

“Alte!” I shouted, cupping my mouth to try and project. “Alte are you here?”

I tried the door, and to my surprise it was unlocked. I went inside.

“Alte?”

I couldn’t accept that they weren’t there. If Alte wasn’t at the river, and she wasn’t at home, where was she? I checked every room, praying in my head that they would be hiding in one of the rooms. But all I found were some empty drawers, dirty dishes, and unmade beds--they left in a hurry

I went outside onto Alte’s porch and let the weight of my grief crush me. My legs gave out and I fell to my knees. I tried reciting a prayer that my father often said, but when I couldn’t remember past the first few words, I looked up at the dark sky and screamed as loud as I could. No words, just noise. No meaning, just emotion. I didn’t care if anyone heard me, I didn’t care if I attracted attention. I grabbed onto my Star of David necklace and ripped it off of my neck. I squeezed it in my fists so tight that my nails dug into my palms and made them bleed. I continued screaming until my lungs ached and my throat burned and finally, when I had no more energy left in me to scream, I went quiet. There wasn’t a sound but the breaking of glass.

A minute later I looked up to see a boy, no older than ten, standing before me. His blue eyes studied my face

“Hello.” He said

“Hi…” I said back through the tears.

“What are you doing?”

I didn’t respond. How was I supposed to?

“What’s your name?” He said.

Still, I didn’t respond.

“Are you okay?” He continued. “Do you live here?”

I shook my head.

“The family that did, did you know them? They ran away before we could get them.” My head shot up, and I looked the boy in the eyes.

“Are you like them?” He said. “Are you a Jew, also?”

My throat locked up. Despite everything, I never fully believed that my father’s superstitions would become my reality. I held onto my necklace tightly, and spoke the lie my dad told me I might one day have to give.

“No, I’m not a Jew.” I said.

The boy shrugged, and casually walked off down the street. November 9th, 1938 was my first day of being a stranger in my own home.