The Family Behind the Walls

2. Dalia

TWO

DALIA

JULY 14TH, 1942 – HAMBURG, GERMANY

The rhythmic claps of boots echoes through the streets, an unceasing fear filling our day from dawn until dusk. From the window of our apartment, we watch the Gestapo patrol in every direction, their dark uniforms in line with the dismal mood of the city. Each of the men carries a neat stack of folded letters—all fluttering like trapped feathers in their gloved hands. Thudding footsteps pound up the stairwell of our building, shuddering the hanging framed portraits on our walls. This is our home, and it can be taken from us in an instant. All our memories live here with us, first steps, first words, and celebrations. It’s as if we’re watching a terrifying show at the theater, wanting to only peek through the slits of our fingers, fearing what might jump out at us next. Except, we’re not in a theater and our hands won’t be enough to protect us.

I sit with Jordanna by my side, both of us unnerved, straining to hear which door they’ll stop at next. We’ve been trying to find out what this sudden increase of activity means, but our mirroring silence says it all. I should tell her everything will be all right, but she knows when I’m not being honest. She’s only fourteen but as of late, I see her as more of an equal than a child. She’s my closest friend, and acts, talks, and looks just like me. People have asked us if we’re sisters, which she doesn’t find to be a compliment as much as I do. I know her thoughts as well as my own and I hate that she knows mine the same, because I’m terrified.

I didn’t question the hushed intelligence Leo received from his former deputy officer this past January, but for the last six months, I’ve been convincing myself that the rumored agenda to eradicate all Jewish people from Europe is implausible, despite the deputy officer’s warning. It’s hard to imagine a harsher brutalization than what we’re already experiencing.

I wish that was still the case.

“Wouldn’t they have knocked on our door by now if they needed to give us something, Mama?” she says.

They’re still walking around outside and aren’t through with whatever they’re doing. “You’re right,” I tell her.

“Papa and Max will be home soon. They’ll realize what’s happening,” she says in a whisper as Lilli joins us in the family room with her doll clenched beneath her arm.

“What are you watching out the window?” she asks.

“Nothing, just the clouds rolling in,” Jordanna says, joining Lilli on the couch. “I thought you had braided your doll’s hair. Why’d you take it out?”

Lilli shrugs as a hint of contemplation lines her beautiful face. I can’t imagine what she must be thinking. She doesn’t understand much of what’s going on around us: the new laws of marking all our clothes with a yellow Star of David and the word “Jude”…she thinks are pretty decorations. I’ve made excuses for why we can’t use public transportation or visit parks, and she’s already been watching Max and Jordanna learn from a tutor in our home rather than going to school. The curfews don’t affect her, but the food shortage does. Each time she asks for a particular meal I can’t provide, my heart breaks a little more. All the while, Max and Leo are working through physical labor at the factory for no pay.

We’re surviving off what little savings we have left, a thought that constantly gnaws at me like a nagging hunger. Every night I fall asleep wondering how much longer we can hide the truth from our children. And yet, every day we come closer to the edge of a cliff we’re nearly promised to be pushed over.

A knock at our door sends my heart leaping into my throat. I clutch my pearl necklace, feeling its familiar coolness against my neck, but it doesn’t offer me any comfort, just a reminder of what I could easily lose. My voice shakes as I force the words out of my mouth: “Girls, go to your room and shut the door.” I listen for the sound of their footsteps, holding my breath as I wait to hear they’re secure in their bedroom. Every step toward the door feels as if I’m walking through thick mud; my body heavy with fear. I’m supposed to be resilient, but I don’t know how much longer I can be.

“Mama,” Jordanna says.

“Go, now,” I say, wishing more than anything I could keep her by my side for a sense of comfort.

Jordanna takes Lilli’s hand, tugging her from the couch while keeping her eyes pinned to mine.

I force a smile I’m sure she can see through. “I’ll handle everything. No need to worry.”

My throat tightens and my chest constricts as I approach the door as another knock follows. With a shaky hand, I unlatch the lock and open the door. A chill of sweat coats my face as I come face to face with the Feinstein family. They’re all standing before me, paler than I’ve ever seen them. Our old friends, Miriam and Ezra, are shaking, and Alfie stands behind his parents, wide-eyed and perplexed.

“Come in, come in,” I tell them, reminding myself to take a breath.

I usher them inside and close the door. “We’re so sorry to barge in on you like this,” Ezra says. “We were wondering if you received a notice today, as well?”

Miriam presses her fingers to her lips as tears well in her eyes.

“No, not yet at least. Have you?” My words are chalky, stuck in my throat.

Ezra pulls a paper from the inside of his coat pocket and hands it over to me. I struggle to separate the folded pieces, trying to steady my hands before reading the typed text:

Geheime Staatspolizei

Hamburg, 8th of July 1942

To: Jüdische Familie Feinstein

By order of the Reich,

You must vacate your apartment at Kanalplatz stra?e four by the 11th of July 1942 at 17 o’clock. You will report to Hamburg-Tiefstack rail station for resettlement.

One suitcase per person will be allowed, holding only necessary clothing and personal items. All other possessions are to be left behind and considered property of the Reich.

Failure to follow this order will result in arrest and prosecution.

By authority of:

Obersturmbannführer Wilhem Richter

I’ve read the letter twice, but the words float around in my head, illogical in any sense—or my mind is refusing to understand the truth. My hands tremble so viciously that the paper wrinkles and twists in my grasp. “This can’t be,” I whisper, but my voice falters, giving away the terror coursing through me. All of us are useless, powerless, and there’s nothing more unbearable to accept right now.

A key jangles in the front door lock, followed by Leo and Max stepping inside, both hesitating, wide-eyed, upon noticing the Feinstein family in our apartment. Leo recovers swiftly and composes himself. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight. What a pleasant surprise,” Leo says to them.

I attempt to be inconspicuous as I shake my head at my husband, wanting to warn him they aren’t here on happy terms.

“Dear, the Feinsteins received an unthinkable notice today,” I say.

Leo spots the paper in my hand and gently slides it out from between my fingers to read. I want to tell Max to stop peering over his father’s shoulder, but he’s the same height and it’s hard to stop him from doing anything he wants now that he’s almost an adult.

“No, they can’t—they can’t leave,” Max grunts. “The emigration office denied them visas six months ago, holding them hostage here. They can’t just send them away with less than three days’ warning now. We have to do something. Papa, there must be something, right?”

“Max,” Alfie says. “As Jews, you’re aware we can’t fight the Reich. We mean nothing to them.”

If we don’t receive a notice today, it’s only due to our immunity from Leo’s work in the last war, despite how often I’ve questioned the reliability of a promise never written on paper.

Leo paces, his nervous amble back and forth as he clutches the back of his neck.

“I couldn’t help overhearing,” Jordanna says, peeking around the corner. “We must help them. Max is right.”

The sight of Jordanna’s tears is like a dagger against my chest, knowing how much she has already endured just for being a Jewish girl in this country. How much more of her innocence will she be forced to give up? I want to protect her and pull her into my arms. Even still, I know my embrace isn’t strong enough to protect her from the horrors of our reality. My personal feeling of helplessness is so clearly reflected in her eyes. This isn’t fair.

“There’s nothing that can be done,” Miriam says despondently. “No one can fight this.”

I stand frozen in place, my heart ripping at the seams while I watch Max gasp for a breath, staring at his best friend who has been by his side most of his life. And Jordanna, who has secretly been in love with Alfie since she was old enough to notice that spark inside of her chest, but hasn’t noticed his lingering gazes at her when she walks past him. My motherly instinct has always told me those two would end up together someday. Now, I don’t know what to think. The thought of young broken hearts adds to the misery of knowing how little control we have over our lives. All I can think is that I’m failing everyone by not having the right thing to say, or offering a solution, especially my children who are staring at me now with heartbreak in their eyes.

“You can all stay with us,” Leo says. “I don’t know how long we have before we’ll receive a notice too, but until then, you will stay here.”

Ezra shakes his head. “No, no. That’s impossible. If we don’t show, they’ll find and arrest us all.”

“What about Alfie? He could stay, couldn’t he?” Jordanna asks. “His name wouldn’t be on the apartment registration, right?”

The Reich has access to far more information than most of us could imagine.

Ezra and Miriam stare at each other, sharing a look I can’t decipher. The air within the apartment has become stale with all of us breathing so hard, coming to understand there isn’t one right answer.

Miriam presses her hands against her chest. “I suppose Alfie could stay. We’ll tell them we don’t have a son and their records are incorrect,” she says through a sob.

“I have connections through—uh—through an old comrade that might be able to help me obtain new papers for him. If I’m able to, we could switch Alfie’s last name to ours. I’ll see what I can do as quickly as I can,” Leo says.

Alfie hasn’t had a word of say in the matter and he’s left staring back and forth between his two devastated parents. “How will I find you?”

“We will find you when it’s safe,” Miriam tells him, grabbing his chin between her fingertips. “You are our world, and we will write to you every single day, telling you we’re doing well. My heart says you’ll be safer here with the Bergmann family.”

I can still picture Max at ten or eleven, begging both Miriam and me to let Alfie sleep over for the night, pleading with his hands pressed together. Alfie would do the same at their house the next weekend. Neither of the boys is pleading for anything right now, because no one knows what’s safe.