At last, the service was over, and everyone headed for the door. Renia observed each microgesture. They kissed the statue of Jesus, she kissed the statue of Jesus.
Outside, in the cool, clear air, she was overwhelmed by relief. The Hollanders and all the neighbors had seen her at church, and witnessed her sincere prayers. It was a grand performance, and she’d passed.
*
And then, another miracle. Bliss, sheer bliss.
Renia had written a letter to her sister Sarah, who, the last she’d known, had been at a Freedom kibbutz in B?dzin. Even in the horror of 1942, a fairly reliable Judenrat-run postal service still functioned; the militiaman had posted it for her.
Now, a few days later, she received a reply—from Sarah!—containing the most wonderful news in the universe: Renia’s parents, brothers, and sisters were all alive. They’d found shelter in the forest west of Wodzis?aw, close to the town of Miechów. Aaron, meanwhile, was still at the labor camp.
By the time Renia finished reading, her tears soaked the page.
Although overjoyed her loved ones were alive, Renia found it unbearable to imagine them living in the forest, in the cold of late autumn. How could she enjoy a clean, warm bed in a part-German home while they suffered from hunger and frost? Renia imagined little Yankeleh, such a smart kid, destined to become a great adult, shivering and starving. Her longing to be with him overwhelmed her.
Renia lived day by day, hour by hour, waiting, worrying. And then arrived a letter from her parents.
Again, the thrill of receiving their note was accompanied by great pain at their suffering. Moshe and Leah were living in destitution, no roof over their heads, starving. Yankeleh, they wrote, tried to cheer them up, to give them a reason to live. There’d been no word from the two sisters who’d fled to Warsaw. Renia felt sick with helplessness.
She wrote immediately to Sarah and Aaron, asking them to help their parents. The two siblings managed to convince nearby farmers to deliver a few supplies, which cost them enormous amounts of money.
More letters came from Sarah. Leah and Moshe had been elated to learn that Renia was alive and well. But they feared that it was too dangerous for her to stay where she was without the proper documents—the passport that she’d found at the station was not valid in this area. Renia knew that her family was probably right: if and when Mrs. Hollander eventually decided to register her with the police, she would be exposed.
And so, Renia decided, it was time to go see Sarah. To go to B?dzin, to the Freedom kibbutz.
Chapter 8
To Turn to Stone
Renia
OCTOBER 1942
Sarah had arranged everything.
It was a bright autumn day, and Renia was returning from church, like a regular Catholic girl. She arrived at the Hollanders to find the sister of the militiaman who had taken her in. “A smuggler from B?dzin is here,” she whispered.
“Already?” Renia’s heart leapt into her throat. This was it.
Sarah had hired a woman to help Renia cross the border from the General Government to the Third Reich annex. En route, she would be passing Miechów, the town where Jews—including her family, who had recently been caught—were being temporarily trapped. Her heart ached, longing for them. She was determined to stop there on the way. Today, at last, she would see her parents and her beautiful, sweet Yankeleh.
Renia served the Hollanders dinner in a state of exhilaration, her limbs light, cheeks flushed, heart bounding with energy. Mrs. Hollander noted how happy she seemed—so unusual for her.
That evening, after scheming with the militiaman’s family, Renia approached her boss. “My aunt fell ill,” she claimed. “They called for me to come quickly, to care for her for a few days.”