“I have a residence at Carlsbad. At the baths. I go there each year for my health. I will show them my address at the spa.”

“Jews will not have to go to Carlsbad anymore,” Schotter announced. “Because Carlsbad has come to the Jews. We won’t have any trouble losing weight.” But the whole crowd was already abuzz.

“I’m going, too!”

“Let’s all leave together!”

“Perhaps it’s only a joke!”

There was a rush for the exit, a jam-up of people. For a moment everyone was pushing against everyone else. When at last the door swung open, the Hungarian was standing inside it—his beard chopped off, his glasses broken, and without his tall hat.

“The back door!”

Like a herd, like steers, the crowd ran through the café, to the rear of the kitchen. The cook, Gutfreind, wearing a white cook’s hat, shook his head.

“Locked,” he said. “They put a bar on it just this minute.”

A line formed at the telephone. “Hello, hello, hello, hello,” Mosk, the millowner, shouted into the receiver. “It’s not working,” he said.

Tort took it from him and dialed a number. “How do you explain it? There is nothing but a hum.”

Blum, the importer, was next in line. “We are cut off from the world!”

There was a soft moan, a groan, and one by one the Jews—each with a star on the front and back of his jacket—went back to their tables. In a moment only the four waiters and their employer, Putermilch, were left standing. The latter softly said, “Who wants to be on the Jewish Council? Are there any volunteers?”

Silence. Blank faces. No one was willing.

Dorka Kleinweiss, one of the orchestra members, raised her hand. “Perhaps I should not speak. I am only a cellist. But I have an idea. Why don’t we reelect all the old members of the Community Council? They already have experience in public affairs. Wouldn’t that be the fair thing to do?”

Mordechai Kleen, a woodwind player, spoke up from the orchestra pit. “Miss Kleinweiss is right! What a wonderful idea! This will show the Lords and Masters that we can’t be ordered about. That we have backbone!”

“Yes! Yes! Reelect the old Council!” many voices rang out.

“Ha! Ha! We are too smart for them!”

“Just a moment! A moment, please!” It was Rabbi Nomberg, himself a member of the dissolved organization. When he stood, the room grew still. “Let us look at the facts here. First, many members of the Community Council have fled to Warsaw or even more distant places. Of those remaining, some—Fiebig, for instance—are no longer able to serve. Then we must ask: How will the Occupying Power respond to Miss Kleinweiss’ suggestion? Would it not seem to them a deliberate provocation? If they disband the old Community Council it can mean only one thing—they want a new one. Speaking for myself, I am going to refuse the honor of any such office. In my opinion not a single member of the former Council should be allowed on the new Judenrat. New blood! Fresh faces! That’s what we need!”