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Johanna Makes a Decision

Johanna stood outside the door to the room where she and Mama lived. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she pushed open the door.

Mama was kneading dough and didn’t look up as she came in. “How is Marianne?”

Johanna turned her back to Mama and hung up her cloak.

“Why are you so quiet?”

“Mama, I have something to tell you,” Johanna said as she untied the ribbons of her hat and hung it on a hook on the wall. “Mama,” Johanna said as she walked closer to her. “I … I got a job.”

Mama stopped kneading and looked sideways at Johanna. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I got a job.” Johanna swallowed hard. “At the new orphanage.”

“A job? At an orphanage?” Mama wiped the sweat off her face with the back of her hand.

“The duke has given funds for a new orphanage and I saw a sign that they wanted girls to work there. I had an interview with Frau Taubman and I got the job,” Johanna blurted out.

Mama put her hands on her hips. “You applied for a job and did not tell me?”

“Mama, I wanted to. I truly did,” Johanna said. “But I didn’t think you would understand.”

“You are right. I do not.” Mama began to knead the dough again. Blue veins like roads going nowhere criss-crossed on the back of her hands. “Where is this orphanage?”

Johanna sat down on the chair opposite Mama. She avoided looking at her and drew circles in the flour with her finger instead.

“In the new part of the city. In the duke’s former summer house.”

Mama sighed. “It is well and good that the high and mighty duke will sponsor an orphanage.” Mama sighed again. “But it is not for you.” With every word, Mama pushed down on the dough.

“You should stay home like other girls your age. You should help me.” She looked at Johanna sharply. “Besides, you know very well they would never hire a Jewish girl to take care of their babies.” She frowned. “Unless … Unless …” She stopped kneading and lifted Johanna’s chin with a floured hand. “Did you lie about being Jewish?”

“Not exactly,” said Johanna, turning her head away and wiping her chin.

“Then what exactly? Johanna, look at me!”

“They asked me what my name was and —”

“And?”

Johanna could feel her face getting red. “I gave them a false name.”

Mama shook her head. “So, you lied.”

“But Mama,” said Johanna. “If I hadn’t, they wouldn’t have given me the job!”

Mama sat down hard on a chair and crossed her arms. “You know how dangerous that is! If you get caught …”

“Mama, I won’t. I’ll be careful!”

“But why did you do it?”

“I want to earn some money. I see how hard it is for you since … since Papa died.” She paused. “Besides, I want to be out in the world. I want to see new places, meet new people, learn new things.” Johanna stood up and gazed out the window.

“The world?” Mama shook her head. “The world is not a kind place for Jews.”

“I know, Mama,” said Johanna.

“I wonder if you do.” Mama took a handkerchief out of her apron pocket and blew her nose. “We are still being blamed for poisoning the wells, for spreading the plague, for …” She sighed and blew her nose again. “They can’t decide why they hate us. All I want is peace and security.”

Johanna walked over to Mama and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “Please don’t be angry.”

Mama pulled away, stood up, and began kneading the dough again. “A respectable girl should stay home until she is married.”

“But Mama!”

“Not one more word,” said Mama, raising her hand. “You will contact this Frau …”

“Taubman.”

“This Frau Taubman and tell her it was a mistake; that you have changed your mind.”

“I can’t,” Johanna said.

“You must.”

“I’m sorry, Mama, but I intend to take this job — with or without your permission.”

Mama wagged her finger at Johanna. “You are stubborn,” she said. “Since you were a little girl, you have always been stubborn.”

“Not stubborn, Mama. Determined. There is a difference.”

Shaking her head, Mama muttered, “Stubborn. Like a mule.” She pounded the dough again and again, her knuckles pushing through to the wooden table top, her lips pressed tightly together. Finally, she shoved the dough into a pan, brushed melted butter on top, and threw a cloth over the pan. Johanna wondered if the poor dough would recover from its ordeal.

The following Saturday afternoon, Johanna and Mama were walking home from the house where some Jewish families gathered for prayers. What would it be like to go to a real synagogue, built only for study and prayer? Johanna wondered. Would it be easier to talk to God in such a place? Would He listen to our prayers then?

For many years, the Hamburg Senate had prohibited the Jews from building a synagogue. And now rumours were spreading that soon the Jews of Hamburg would no longer be allowed to practise their religion at all. Many of the wealthier Jews had already moved away — to Altona, Ottensen, and even as far as Amsterdam.

Lately, Johanna had been feeling as though a blanket of fear was suffocating her. She was afraid of being poor, and of being Jewish. For almost a hundred years, the leaders of the church had been demanding that the Senate expel the Jews. And for the past six years, the Jews had been forced to pay exorbitant fees for the privilege of staying in the city. Will a day come when we will be thrown out of Hamburg? Johanna wondered. Where will we go? What will we do? The thoughts buzzed in her head, like pesky flies she couldn’t shoo away. Questions without answers.

“Johanna,” Mama said. “I have been thinking. Are you still determined to take that job?”

“I am, Mama.”

“It is not safe to live away from our community.” She shook her head and blew her nose into her handkerchief. “Our only safety is to stay together; to follow our laws.”

Johanna remembered when other children had often taunted her younger brother, Isaac, on his way home from cheder; had thrown dirt or stones at him; had pushed the little boy into the filthy gutter.

“Mama, don’t worry. I’ll be careful. And I’ll send you money every month to help out at home.”

Mama put her arm around Johanna’s shoulders. “I am trying to understand why you are so set on taking this job.” She walked for several moments in silence. “You probably don’t know, but when I was young, I wanted to see a bit of the world, too.” She sighed. “It is hard for me, but I … I will let you go.”

“You will?”

“I see that you are set on this path.” She shook her head. “Besides, no matter how hard I try, we are getting poorer and poorer. There is not enough money to buy food or clothes, or pay the rent. But Johanna —”

“Yes, Mama?”

“I will worry. Every minute you are away, I will worry.”

“I’ll write and visit as often as I can.”

“I will still worry.”

“But Mama, you always worry. About everything.”

“That is true. But I cannot help my nature.”

“And I can’t help mine.”

Most Jews lived in the section of Hamburg called “Neustadt,” or New City, after they had been ordered to move from “Altstadt,” the old city. Hamburg was a city intersected by two rivers — the Elbe and the Alster. It wasn’t an easy city to walk, either, because of its many canals and bridges.

The duke’s summer house was on the outskirts of the city, in a section Johanna had never been to before. Several times, she lost her way and had to ask for directions.

Dusk was falling as Johanna approached the brick mansion. Its wooden shutters were already closed against the coming night. Grey clouds scudded in a leaden sky. A cold wind was blowing the leaves off the beech and chestnut trees. Johanna shivered at the thought of the coming winter. And because of what lay ahead.

She remembered what Frau Taubman had said at the interview about not speaking to the babies. She’d pushed the thought away in her excitement about the job, but now the reality of what she had promised struck her like a blow. She sighed. I must go forward, she thought. I’ve gone too far to back out now.

A narrow, four-wheeled wagon stood in front of the cast-iron gate set in the fence surrounding the building. The driver leaned out of the wagon and tugged on the bell. Johanna imagined the sound echoing in all the rooms and corridors of the house.

“Hello there, girl.” The driver peered at Johanna from under his battered cap. “What’s going on here?” He eyed the building. “They told me to make a delivery. Couldn’t wait ’till morning, they said. Said if I did this job, it’d be regular like.”

“This is a new orphanage,” Johanna said.

“An orphanage, you say?” The man rolled his eyes. “Still don’t know what the hurry was.” He scratched his head. White flakes of dandruff landed on his coat. “Why’d the duke go into the baby business?”

Johanna shrugged. “Perhaps he has a kind heart.”

“Maybe.” The man lowered his voice. “But they say his pocketbook comes before his heart.” The man paused. “You work here?”

Johanna nodded.

“I’ll be seeing you around then. Daniel is my name.”

“My name is Johanna.”

“Nice to meet you, fraulein,” said Daniel, tipping his cap.

At that moment, Frau Taubman arrived at the gate. “There you are at last. You are late.” She opened the gate and gestured Daniel inside. He glanced back at Johanna, shook the reins, and drove the wagon along the road to the back of the house.

“You too, girl,” said Frau Taubman. “What took you so long?”

“I —”

“Come along now,” Frau Taubman said. The clanging of the iron gate made Johanna’s heart sink. What have I gotten myself into? she wondered. She followed Frau Taubman along the path and through a heavy wooden door.

They passed through a large foyer where an enormous painting of the duke hung. Bare spaces on the walls indicated places where other paintings had been removed. A richly carved pillar supported the ceiling, painted with religious scenes. Johanna had never been in such a grand room before.

A large-boned, rather plain girl of about sixteen approached them. “Monica, this is Johanna, one of the new girls,” Frau Taubman said. Monica stared at Johanna but didn’t answer. “Johanna will start work in the morning. Show her to her room.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Johanna followed Monica up two flights of stairs. “Do you come from Hamburg?” Johanna asked.

“None of your business,” Monica snapped. “I’m here to earn money. Not to make friends.”

At the top of the stairs was a narrow hall with doors on either side. Monica opened the third door on the right. “This is your room.”

The walls were covered with faded black and white striped wallpaper, which looked like the bars of a prison. A worn eiderdown quilt lay on the narrow bed. A small chest, table, and chair completed the furnishings.

“There’s a chamber pot under the bed,” Monica said. “The housemaid will empty it every morning. You must keep the room tidy.”

“I will. I —”

“We start at 6:00 a.m., when we relieve the night girls. I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow.” Monica turned her back on Johanna and left the room.

Johanna began to take her meagre possessions out of her bag — clothes, handkerchiefs, toiletries. Just when she thought the bag was empty, her fingers grazed something else. At the bottom of the bag, she found Mama’s lace kerchief, the one she wore when she lit the Sabbath candles on Friday evening. A note was attached to the kerchief, in Mama’s childish script:

My dear daughter Johanna,

May you find light and luck in your new life.

Be a good Jewish daughter. Keep the commandments.

Stay warm and dry.

Always keep a handkerchief in your pocket.

With a heart full of love,

Mama

For a moment, Johanna held the kerchief against her cheek. She could smell the faint scent of Mama’s soap. She was suddenly overcome with homesickness. She had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, the one she got when she knew she’d made a terrible mistake. She desperately wanted to escape this strange place and rush back home.

Johanna gently placed the kerchief back into her bag. I dare not light the Sabbath candles. If someone finds out I’m Jewish, I’ll be fired. She shivered. Even worse, I might have to leave Hamburg forever because I pretended to be a Christian. Then a thought struck her, like a blow to her stomach. I am doing exactly what Grandfather Samuel did. I am hiding my Jewish identity in order to survive.

She gazed out the window as she ate the bread and cheese she had brought with her. The spires and domes of the nearby churches — St. Michaelis, St. Jacobi, St. Petri, St. Nicolai, and more — towered above houses and shops stretching away from the harbour on the banks of the Elbe River.

Johanna tried to shake off her feeling of uneasiness. It was strange being alone in this room, in a bed she didn’t have to share with Mama, in a room all her own. For a long time, she had trouble falling asleep.