“He’s just sixteen. He shouldn’t be sent away like this. We barely know my grandfather.”

“Your grandfather also raised your mother, and she’s one of the finest people I know.”

I felt like an intruder as they prepared to say goodbye—a feeling reinforced by the fact that there wasn’t enough room in the kitchen for a fifth chair. Sidonie insisted I take hers, but that simply meant she hovered behind me, wringing her hands and sobbing. Levi was beside me, his face blanched with pain as he sat twisted on the hard wooden chair. He was determined the family should farewell Moshe together, and the original plan was for us to meet at the train station—but his back was so bad that day, the kitchen was as far as he could manage.

“We mustn’t take long or Moshe will miss his train,” he said stiffly, and after that, Moshe went to fetch his suitcase from his bedroom. When he returned, Mayim embraced him, weeping into his chest.

“I love you. I’ll miss you,” she choked out. I couldn’t remember when he grew taller than us, but at sixteen, Moshe towered over Mayim and me. He seemed mature beyond his years—calm and reserved. When the time came for Moshe to hug me goodbye, he spoke quietly in my ear.

“Look after her, won’t you?”

I’d been dry-eyed as Mayim’s moral support, but the concern in his voice made my eyes sting. I cleared my throat as we separated and tried to keep my voice light as I said, “Isn’t it you we should be worried about, venturing off into the big wide world on your own?”

Moshe shook his head.

“I’ll only be in Krakow,” he said quietly. He glanced toward his family, then dropped his voice as he added, “I wish they could all come with me.” The rest of the family were Polish citizens, but Levi was not, and Poland was issuing few entry visas to German Jews. “Papa says Germany is our home, but is a place really ‘home’ if you’re not welcome there anymore? I’ll be safe in Poland. I wish I could say the same for those I’m leaving behind.”

18

Lizzie

Dallam County, Texas
1935

Mother was baking bread. I smelled it in the air before my eyes opened at dawn, the delicious scent overpowering the ambient scent of dust.

Today was going to be a good day. We had fresh bread and Mother knew about Judge Nagle and she thought I was strong like her.

“I talked to Dad last night,” Mother murmured as I came into the kitchen. My jaw dropped, and she smiled sadly. “We don’t keep secrets from one another and he needed to know.”

“Was he…?”