Читать книгу We're in America Now - Fred Amram - Страница 13

VI. BOMBS BURSTING IN AIR

AFTER HITLER INVADED POLAND, much of Europe readied for war. The British responded by sending RAF fighter planes over much of Germany. At first they dropped leaflets warning us that they would send bombs if Germany didn’t stop its aggression. Each morning I chased the windblown leaflets, captured a few and brought them home. My parents, of course, were already persuaded that Hitler should stop his crazy path of destruction. Hitler, however, didn’t heed the messages from England. He marched into Austria and then into Czechoslovakia. Next he attacked Poland. So the English sent bombs as well as leaflets.

Sirens signaled lights out. Every sturdy structure, including our five-story apartment building at 25 Goethe Strasse, had a designated bomb shelter in the basement. Each night the shrill sirens woke us and, enveloped in darkness, we rushed to our refuge.

Our bomb shelter was cold, damp and gloomy. Sometimes I gagged from the smell of urine and sweat. A few cranky residents railed against two ten-year-olds, Walter and Rolf, who roared around the crowded shelter with arms outstretched, pretending they were Messerschmitt airplanes shooting down the RAF fighters. Nonetheless, most neighbors were cheered by the opportunity to chat about their fears and about the news they heard on the radio. Papa provided encouragement to the fearful and walked around cuddling frightened children. Old Mrs. Wassermann, although well into her 80s, was more afraid to die than the rest of us. I held her hand and played with the jeweled ring on her finger to console her. I had too little light to see the colors of the jewels but counting the reflections kept me busy. Sometimes I put my head in Mrs. Wassermann’s lap and fell asleep.

One night when the sirens whined, my parents scooped up their “one and only” to join the others in the race to the basement. This time we saw a new sign on the door, “Juden Verboten.” Jews Forbidden! Now we were to experience the RAF airplanes without the protection of the basement shelter and without the camaraderie of neighbors. Night after night we watched the RAF sky show from our windows. Papa sometimes sat with me under a table.

The roaring planes, whistling bombs and explosions in my mind were far more frightening than the leaflets and the occasional real bomb. My small boy imagination was far more dramatic than reality.

Papa believed that God would protect the Jews, believed it deep in his soul. Mutti had less faith. Her rage at “Juden Verboten” increased each day as neighbors, understanding the message, stopped talking to us—even avoided us. One night, she cracked. As the planes came directly over our building, she stepped onto our little balcony, looked up into the blackness and cried out, “Dear God, please let the bombs destroy this building and these people. I will be content to die with them.”

Quietly she added, “If they won’t live with Jews, let them die with Jews.”