2nd - Olivia Vargas, Seattle Preparatory School, Seattle. Grade 10. Teacher: Chris Kiehn.
3rd - Sofia Smith, Seattle Preparatory School, Seattle. Grade 10. Teacher: Tim Reilly.
1st
Place:
Skye McConnell, Grade 10.
Seattle Preparatory School, Seattle. Teacher: Matt Barmore.
Watch and Remember
He found himself staring at his hand holding the gold pocket watch, both of which were weathered with age. The engraved filigree on the gold face was worn thin and smooth with time. A flow of emotions shot through him as he thought of the memories attached to this inherited saver of time. An inconceivable pain and loneliness caused his shoulders to shrug. Touching the etched inner face of the piece, he read the inscription to his father from his then young bride, “Zu Meine Ehemann, Ihre Lieben ist zeitlos Juni 1936… To my husband, our love is timeless June 1936.” Was there no one in his family that could help him with this difficult task he must do? Only he already knew the answer to that for he had no brothers, no sisters, no grandparents, and now no father. The watch itself held so many memories, it was the last physical remembrance of his family. He savored the feel of it nestled in his hand one last time. Sifting through the stories that had lingered in his heart for so many years, he looked at his reflection in the gray timepiece glass and brought one carefully guarded tale to his mind’s eye…
…Crouching low beneath the branches, muffling the crunching pinecones, they crept through the silent night. Reaching the top of the hill, the two of them clinging onto each other for support, they scoured the waterfront. Looking at his young wife, he saw the glowing fear in her eyes. She depended on him not only for her life but also for their unborn child’s. Staying strong and keeping his guard up, he did not show her his own grave fear. He put his hand in his pocket to confirm that he still had something to bargain with. He pulled out his watch and looked at it to check the time and thought to himself yes my love, our love will last forever but not here in this country that hunts down those of our faith. A low splash of an oar against the water was one if the secret noises of the night, and was expected. The moonlight silhouetted a boat coming into shore; it was their cue to begin their crucial escape to Sweden and yet their blood froze at the sight. They began to scramble down the hill through the damp night to meet their getaway. Reaching the dock, an old boatman walked towards them smelling of tobacco and beer, and his steaming breath escaped through a gnarled beard growing on his chin. They heard a dog bark in the distance, possibly one of the Nazi guard dogs, and the young Jewish couple jumped at the cry. They approached the man cautiously and whispered, “Are you the one?”
The man’s eyes took in their dark clothes and frightened faces, “That depends on whether or not you want to cross tonight. What do you have to offer?”
Drawing all his valuables from his pant pockets the young husband said, “Take anything you’d like just as long as you bring my wife and me to safety.”
The man sneered at the offerings that were placed in front of him, “I’ll take the diamond necklace and earrings. These coins, too.” He lifted the pocket watch from the hands, read the inscription and then gave the watch back, “Never let it be said that I am a heartless fellow. Here, keep this so as you are not left with nothing.”
The man and his wife, shocked at the gesture, did not ask any questions. He shoved the watch back into his pocket where it belonged, hidden among their false traveling papers. Climbing onto the rickety old boat, he helped his wife for the hull was slippery and she was weakened with fear. As the old man pushed the boat into the wading river, the sound of the keel scraping against the rocky shore sent a chill up the husband’s spine, ‘I am leaving a country I have loved, everything I have ever known,’ he thought. His resolve grew stronger. ‘But they have not taken everything for I have my wife, my unborn child, and my faith.’ The future and the future of his young family were as unknown as the dark land that lay on the other side across the cold, foreboding strait...
The story had been told to him so many times during his childhood that it seemed to be not only his parents’ story, but also his own. His mother and father started their new life, poor and broken without any support and no family to rely on. His father had pawned the gold watch many times to feed them in the beginning but somehow he had always saved enough money to retrieve it. They told their son stories of his faraway relatives that he would never know; his aunts and his uncles, nieces and nephews, cousins, and all his distant relatives that had died or been scattered during those haunting times in Germany. He remembered each of those lost histories as clearly as his father’s words when he had read to him from the Torah: “Only be careful and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things that your eyes have seen, or let them slip from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them.”
He had not forgotten his papa’s words. It was this reflection that was giving him the strength to touch the pocket watch one last time. As his trembling hand placed the watch inside the display case at the Holocaust museum, his soft voice carried in the open room, “May this remembrance help others to learn from our story and to not forget what has happened to our people.” He continued with the solemn benediction, “Mutter und Vater… Mother and Father, just as you were helped in your escape, let us never forget that not everyone is to blame but everyone is responsible.”
2nd Place:
Olivia Vargas, Grade 10.
Seattle Preparatory School, Seattle. Teacher: Chris Kiehn.
Regrets
When the journalist first called to schedule an interview, I was surprised, and a bit apprehensive. While I am one of the oldest surviving German soldiers from WWII, I have never given an interview nor have I been asked in decades. I prefer to put the war behind me; those were the darkest years of my life and continue to haunt my sleep. While it might seem odd for a former German soldier, I believe attention should be focused on the survivors of the Holocaust, because they are the ones who suffered. I, myself, have never fully recovered from the war years, but I believe I do not have the right to complain. I survived the war, while so many other people did not, many of them at my hand. I am alone; to this day I am unable to build close relationships because I fear others will discover what I did. So, I live my life trying to pretend I am a different person – a stronger, better person than I can claim to be. My selfishness created a cavern in my heart that can never be filled. For my actions, or lack thereof, during the war, I have been given the punishment of a long and healthy lifetime, to sit alone, think and remember.
The reporter, a young woman, arrived at my house in the early afternoon. We sat across from each other and as I looked into her pale blue eyes - eyes so similar to those I had seen and loved in my past - my stomach began to churn as I struggled to hold back tears. My tears come so easy now, as if the dam of shame that I built up so long ago has slowly started to break under the pressure of holding back the crushing memories. Her first question was so basic it took me by surprise.
“Before the war, did you have any close relationships with Jews?”
Where could I possibly start? What was there that I could conceivably say to make this young lady understand the complexity and shame that would accompany my answer? There was a moment of cumbersome silence and then I began.
“There was a Jewish family that moved next door to my family when I was six years old and I grew up as much in that household as I did in my own. There were three people in the family. Mr. and Mrs. Meier and their daughter Anna, but there was always a fourth place setting at the table for me. Our families were close and the fact that they were Jews was never something we really thought about. Anna and I were soon inseparable, first as friends, later as something much more profound – we were each other’s best friend and we grew to love each other completely. When we were together time flew by and often if felt as if there were not enough hours in the day. To this day, I am not sure if one can experience a stronger bond than the one I had with her.
As the anti-Semitism movement progressed, Anna was soon obliged to wear a yellow star and forced to remain in her house. We had not so much as been apart for more than a day, but now I was forced to walk alone and I felt as if a half of me was missing, although I was conflicted. I was angry – with the new laws and restrictions and I think I grew to blame her for being Jewish and ruining my life. I soon stopped visiting her and spent more time with other boys my age going to the Hitler Youth Army events, which was what was expected of a good German boy. Then, on June 17, 1941, I went to visit my grandfather, who lived about an hour outside my Munich. When I returned home the Meiers were gone, only their possessions remained. I remember a crushing pressure in my chest as my heart broke, but I also knew that there was nothing I could do to change things. According to the Führer, Jews were parasites who could no longer be allowed to live off of the German citizens. So, as I walked into their house, which still held Anna’s smell that I loved, I willed myself not smell it. She needed to be gone, along with all the other Jews. The crushing weight upon my chest didn’t lift however; I had recently learned that the survival of the German race was at risk if Jews were allowed to remain. It was just the way it had to be.”
At this point the young lady asked me another question, again just a simple question. Yet as the words left her mouth, the pressing feeling in my heart began again.
“Did you ever see Anna again?” inquired the journalist, completely oblivious to what was happening within me. I slowly began to answer the question.
“I was drafted upon my 18th birthday. I was assigned the relatively simple duty of protecting the rail lines through Poland, which carried supplies from town to town and supplied weapons to the German troops. They were always at risk of being sabotaged, so my duties were simply to walk up and down the rail looking for anyone unusual. When in town, we stayed on base and did not venture out into the city. Poles weren’t Jews, but they were to be avoided as if they were. One day we were instructed that there would be special cargo leaving the next day, and once a week thereafter. All men were expected to be at the station ready to ensure it was successfully loaded. The next day, instead of walking the rails, I stood waiting with the others for the cargo. Soon, a convoy of covered trucks pulled into the station with four Nazi officers in each. I thought to myself that this cargo must be very special to get that kind of attention. Once the train stopped and the doors were opened an officer started yelling, ‘Everyone out! Men to the right, women and children to the left.’ We all stood motionless as the trucks emptied their ghost-like cargo into the world of the living. It was chaos. Families did not want to be separated and clung to each other screaming, crying and begging for anyone to help them. ‘Separate and line them up,’ barked one of the Nazi soldiers in my direction. Quickly, my comrades and I began separating the men from the women and children. It was then that I realized what they were. They were Jews being deported from German occupied land. For the rest of the afternoon, I worked with my comrades recording names, occupations and collecting the valuables of every Jewish man who had come on the trucks. By four o’clock, all of the work was done. It was at that point that we were given the task of loading the Jews into the cattle cars – 100 per car. I was moved down to assist with the women and children. I stood next to the last car on the train, waiting for the others to fill it. As I watched, I suddenly saw familiar pale blue eyes looking directly at me. As I walked a few meters forward, my heart filled with happiness, fear and strangely hatred. It was Anna. ‘How did she get here? Where were her parents?’ I wondered to myself. She looked too thin and scared. Our eyes locked and I could see that hers were begging me to do something, anything that would stop her from being herded on to the train. My long strides had me to her in seconds and I pulled her out of line not knowing what I would do next. ‘How did you get here? Where have you been?’ I asked with a more accusing tone than I had intended.
“‘They brought us,’ she said meekly. ‘We have been in a ghetto for almost a year now. My parents are dead. A Nazi officer shot them because they were protecting me and setting an example to the others.’
“I didn’t know what to say or do. There had to be more to what she was saying. A Nazi officer would not just shoot unarmed civilians, even if they were Jewish. ‘Can you help me? Help me get me out of here!’ she pleaded quietly in a desperation filled a tone. I looked around. I wondered what I could do without being seen. It was then that I realized that if she were in line for my car, I could slip her behind the train and she could hide in the dike on the other side of the tracks. It was just a fleeting idea and my common sense quickly took over. She was a Jew; she was being deported to a place where Jews were to live together. It was what was best for everyone. “With my decision made, I said loudly, ‘Back in line Jew.’ The look on her face is one that to this day haunts my dreams. I turned around and never looked back – it was what was best for Germany and its citizens.”
I look up at the young woman who quietly said, “Didn’t you know what was happening?”
“No.” I said. “Not at that point. Later I heard rumors, but even then, I did not believe it. I know it is not an excuse, but we were told that they were just being deported and that it was what was best for Germany. I had no reason to believe otherwise, and this is what haunts me today. I should have known. I should have at least tried to do something. I know now that she was gassed two weeks later in Birkenau.”
As I finished, the journalist, with an expression of sadness and pity, asked a final question,
“What have you learned from your experiences during the war?”
“Humans can do horrible things to each other when convinced that their survival depends upon it. I know that and yet, I am a still a failure. I sit back and listen to the stories of Kosovo, Rwanda and now Darfur, and I do nothing. After the Holocaust, the world said ‘Never again’ and I agreed. But it continues to happen and I personally do nothing. What I learned from this experience, that of Anna’s and the others, is that we as a species need to go break through our need to feel comfortable and take a risk, even as just one person. We need to protect those who are being consumed by those who see them as expendable. I refused to stand up for humanity when I had the chance to do so directly and my fate is to live with that everyday, but we can avoid that for the young people of today. We, as a world community, need to confront injustice directly and not think about ourselves as individuals, but as a whole. It is only through this collective mindset and direct action that we will truly achieve ‘Never Again.’”
3rd Place:
Sofia Smith, Grade 10.
Seattle Preparatory School, Seattle. Teacher: Tim Reilly.
Returning to the Kingdom of Night
For my Omi, who was never afraid of the dark.
(Scene opens with a little girl of about 6 and her grandmother in a kitchen making tuna melts with pickles.)
Little Girl: Omi?
Grandmother: Yes, Sofi-Fini.
Little Girl: Can I cut the pickles this time? I’m tired of stirring.
Grandmother: Are you going to be careful not to cut yourself?
Little Girl: Yes, Omi. I promise I will be.
Grandmother: Then yes, you may.
Little Girl: (Claps hands in excitement) This is going to make the tuna melts taste even better!
Grandmother: Yes, liebshon, I suspect it will.
Little Girl: Omi?
Grandmother: Yes, Sofi-Fini?
Little Girl: What does the word mean. Kosher? (Mispronounces it)
Grandmother: It’s Kosher, Sofi-Fini. With a long O. Now you try it. Little Girl: Koooooooosher. I like it.
Grandmother: “Kashrut” or Kosher comes from the Hebrew root Kaf-Shin-Reish, meaning fit, proper or correct. (Girl still looks puzzled) It is a list of laws telling us what we can and cannot eat.
Little Girl: But what if I want to eat something that is against the rules?
Grandmother: Well, you don’t.
Little Girl: But why?
Grandmother: Because the things not on that list are unclean.
Little Girl: So everything that says ‘Kosher’ on it, we can eat?
Grandmother: Not everything is labeled as clearly as these pickles Sofi-Fini.
Little Girl: But then how will I know? I don’t want to go around eating dirty food! What if all this time I’ve been eating the wrong foods? I mean, Mummy makes me take a bath every day, but that doesn’t clean your insides!
Grandmother: (Chuckling) Sofi-Fini, I think you’re going to be alright. Just do your best to follow Kosher. Once we are done here I can write them down for you, if that would help.
Little Girl: Pretty please Omi! I would like that very much. (Girl drops knife down the drain in her excitement. In shock she cries out.) Oh!
Grandmother: Sofi-Fini! Oy Vey! You’re all thumbs. Now I’m going to have to reach down there and get it. (Rolls up sleeves and reaches down the drain.)
Little Girl: (Confused) Omi?
Grandmother: (still muttering to herself) Yes, Ms. Clumsy?
Little Girl: What’s that on your arm? (Grandmother freezes. Hastily rolling her sleeve back down.) Ooh! It’s a tattoo isn’t it? But why did you just get numbers all in black? Mummy says I can’t get one, ever. But don’t you think that it would be cool to have a dragon or something behind your –
Grandmother: Sofi-Fini, that’s enough.
Little Girl: But Omi! If you have a tattoo they can’t be that bad! Let me see it. I’ve never seen one up close.
Grandmother: No.
Little Girl: But Omi! I really want to –
Grandmother: (Yelling) Genau! I said that’s enough.
* * *
(Same girl and her grandmother. Both about 6 years older. Sitting in the living room looking at a photo album.)
Girl: Wow Omi, these are so cool! So there’s you and Opa getting married. I love the dress.
Grandmother: It was rather glamorous, wasn’t it?
Girl: Sh”on! (Laughing) Opa looks so young! I can’t imagine him without glasses.
Grandmother: (Chuckles) Or with hair!
Girl: Well that too. (Flipping back through the pages) Is this the earliest scrapbook you have?
Grandmother: I think I have some photos from before that hidden away somewhere. Would you like to see them?
Girl: I’d love to!
Grandmother: (Gets out a box of photos) Here they are.
Girl: (Quickly flips through the photos, looking perplexed) These are all of you when you’re in like your 20’s. don’t you have any from when you were a little girl? Everyone says I look so much like you; it’d be great to compare baby pictures.
Grandmother: (With distance) I don’t have too many things from my childhood.
Girl: (Still engrossed in pictures, not noticing the change in her grandmother) Really? Mom saves every napkin I’ve ever used. I just figured she got that from you.
Grandmother: No, Sofi-Fini. There isn’t much record of my early life.
Girl: Why is that?
Grandmother: (Pained) Sometimes it’s best to just forget such things. (Falsely cheery) Why would I want to focus on the past when I have such a beautiful present?
Girl: (Smiles) Alright. Grandmother: Let’s look at some more wedding pictures; that Opa of yours hasn’t looked as nice since! Girl: Is this the wedding part? So there you are, there’s Opa. Where’s everyone else?
Grandmother: Well you know your Opa lost most of his family in the epidemic. He hardly even knew his father or any of his brothers. And then his poor mother, may she rest in peace, died not 6 years later from a bad fall.
Girl: I know. But what about you? I always hear you and Aunt Marney telling stores of getting all the sisters in trouble. But where are they all. I only see you and Auntie M...
Grandmother: (Same pain and distance) They couldn’t be there.
Girl: And you weren’t pissed? I know if Hannah was even five minutes late I’d kill her!
Grandmother: (Dabs at eyes) God willing, Hannah and you will never be separated like I was from my sisters.
Girl: What –
Grandmother: Sofi-Fini? Would you mind terribly if we packed these up for now? Your old Omi can’t sit on the floor for too long.
Girl: Sure Omi. You go into the den. I think West Wing is on. I’ll clean up.
(Grandmother exits. Girl pulls out cell phone.)
Hey Hannah. So I’m with Omi, we were looking at some old pictures...Yeah, they’re great, aren’t they?...I know! She looks like Grace Kelly...but the weird thing is that she doesn’t have any pictures of before her wedding...I saw those. But they’re only like what, a month? A year? Before her wedding?...I guess I wanted baby pictures. Pictures of her and Auntie M and all the sisters...what do you mean by that?...Why would they have been burned?...Wait what?...Nazis?...Yeah, of course I’ve seen the tattoo. I’m the one who told you about it, remember?...I guess that makes sense...I guess I just never thought about it...she’s Omi, you know? She can’t handle us wearing dirty shoes. How did she survive that?...I was kind of kidding...I know it’s not funny!...Well I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to do...I can’t believe our grandmother went through that...yes, I know she’s Jewish...of course I know she lived in Austria at that time...I know what happened to all the Jews in Austria during WWII...I just never thought about it, ok? I never wanted to think about it...All her sisters?...her mother?...her father?...Why am I just finding this out now?...I mean, why haven’t we...What do you mean it never came up?...We never talk about it?...Obviously if I’d been thorough that I wouldn’t want to either...but she’s never? Not ever talked about it?...It’s kind of a big thing to keep inside...umm yeah, I guess...hey Hannah? I gotta go. Bye. (Hangs up, sinks into arm chair, face in hands.)
* * *
(Girl sitting at a table with her grandmother. Girl is working on homework, grandmother is reading the newspaper.)
Girl: Hey Omi?
Grandmother: Yes, Sofi-Fini?
Girl: What’s today’s date?
Grandmother: Let me check...(looks at front of paper, reads, comprehends, smiles)
Girl: Omi? Grandmother: (through a grin) It’s January 27th.
Girl: Omi, why are you smiling?
Grandmother: January 27th is a good day.
Girl: Why’s that?
Grandmother: Some very brave people did some very good things to a group of very lost people.
Girl: Oh yeah?
Grandmother: Sofi-Fini?
Girl: Yes Omi? Grandmother: Would you like me to tell you a story? It’s not a happy one, mind you. In fact it’s the most horrible story I can think of. But it’s mine. Mine, and Marney’s and my sisters. And all of our sisters. Do you understand?
Girl: I think so.
Grandmother: I don’t particularly want to tell it, but it needs to be told. I need someone to listen without interrupting. Can you do that?
Girl: Yes, Omi. I think so.
Grandmother: (Back to her usual brisk self for a moment) It’s not a particularly difficult question, Sofi-Fini. You either can or you can’t. Oy Vey! I don’t know hwy you can’t just answer this simple question!
Girl: (Slight smile) Yes Omi, I can do that.
Grandmother: well then come here, sit here next to your old Omi and I’ll tell it to you. (Takes the girl’s hand)
Girl: Omi! You’re shaking... Grandmother: You will too, once this is over.
* * *
To the best of my knowledge, I am the only person who has been told a direct account
of what happened to my Omi. She entered Auschwitz in May of 1943 and was freed on
January 27, 1945. I cannot tell the story of her imprisonment, which would be a
betrayal of her confidence in me. But this is my feeble attempt to honor my Omi
as well as all the brave souls who lived through the Holocaust.
