During this month, Renia, still thin but growing strong, began to write her memoirs. She knew she needed to tell the world what had happened to her people, her family, her comrades, but how? With which words? She scribbled in Polish, using initials instead of names, likely for security, figuring out for herself what had happened, how five years had lasted several lifetimes, who she was, could be, would be.
In a photograph of the comrades in Hungary, her sticklike wrist is adorned with a brand-new watch. Renewed time.
None of the comrades had been to their spiritual homeland outside their imaginations. Still, they knew it would be warm, familiar. “They will receive us with open arms,” Renia believed, “like a mother receiving her children.” They yearned for this land where they would find remedy for all their suffering—the hope that had kept them alive. There, finally, they would be free of the constant threat.
But still, Renia worried. “Will our friends in Israel understand what we’d gone through?” she asked presciently. “Will we be able to live a normal, mundane life, a life like theirs?”
*
And then, at long last, Renia was at the station. Chajka too. The platform was crowded with people who’d met only a few days earlier, but already a camaraderie had formed; an indelible spiritual closeness. Renia was on her way.
Everyone envied her, she knew it, but despite all her longing, she could not find happiness. “The memory of the millions that were murdered, the memory of the comrades who dedicated their lives to Eretz Israel but have fallen before reaching their destination, doesn’t let up.” Out of nowhere, the image of Jews being shoved into a train car would flash through her mind, shivers shooting through her body. Her family, her sister—she could barely begin to think about any of it.
Renia watched as a German army train passed the station on the other track. They must have known they were a group of Jews, she thought. They looked at her, at all the Jews, with evil eyes. A few of them grinned. If they’d been able to, they would have come over and beaten her. But then, Renia thought, if I could, I’d beat them back. She felt a strong urge to provoke them, to show them that she had successfully escaped from the Gestapo and was traveling to Palestine. She had done it.
Melancholy and joy. Warm embraces, sad farewells. Remember us, those left behind, the hugs said. Do whatever you can, wherever you end up, to help the few who survived.
The train moved slowly. People ran alongside, not wanting to let go of their loved ones. Renia too was unable to let go—not of hands, but of feelings. She so wanted to feel joyful, to be enchanted by the glorious sun and the lush landscape, but her heart was heavy, inconsolable, as she thought obsessively about Sarah, Aliza, the orphans that remained in Poland, her brother Yankel, all the children.
Renia was traveling with a group of ten people. Most had photos in their passports, while a few used fake names. According to Renia’s Palestine immigration papers, she was “also known as Irena Glick and sometimes known as Irene Neuman.” Her file includes a signed statement that her marriage to Yitzhak Fiszman, aka Vilmos Neuman was not a true union—presumably, they pretended to be betrothed to ease immigration. （Yitzhak, who posed in a debonair suit with wide lapel alongside Renia in a photo of the Freedom group in Budapest, was actually married to Chana Gelbard, the Freedom courier in Warsaw.） Every faux couple was accompanied by orphaned children or children of adults who had not been able to leave. The children were ecstatic, excited for a new adventure.
Renia reached the border the following night. Would the inspections ever end? The guards searched their belongings without incident. In Romania, they learned that the Palestine bureau’s employees had been arrested. Though nervous, they managed to cross to Bulgaria peacefully. Here the train tracks were blocked by a large boulder. Renia had to walk a half mile to embark another train. The Bulgarians—military, railroad workers, and civilians—helped Renia and the Jews willingly. Their kindness left a lasting impression on Renia as they meandered all the way to the Turkish border.
They were about to leave Europe.