My Mother's Secret (11 page)

M
y mother and I move to Switzerland, w
here Casmir now lives.

In a country as untouched by the war as any could possibly be in Europe, he asks me to marry him.

I say what he must already know: “I have always wanted to be with you.”

He says, “But you couldn't because your mother was hiding Jews.”

I look at him incredulously. “You knew? How?”

He answers, “Nobody eats that much food, Helena.”

“Why didn't you say something then?” I ask.

Without malice, he replies, “I thought you would tell me when you were ready.”

“We didn't want to put your life in danger.” These words sound weak but are the truth.

“I understand,” he says. “Just promise me one thing: no more secrets when we're married.”

I smile and say, “None, I promise.”

O
n my wedding day, my mother is helping
me with my dress when she asks, “Do you know when a woman is the most beautiful?”

I answer, “When she is loved.”

She says, “That's exactly right,” and so I know she is happy for Casmir and me.

D
r. Wolenski never forgets my mother and
sends her money every year.

Bronek sends us endless parcels from the United States, and my daughter wonders how it is that we get presents from people all over the world.

I tell her that her grandmother Franciszka, for whom she is named, is an angel that had so much love to give that it spread around the world. “All that love is just coming back,” I say.

Love is the only thing that you get more of when you give it away.

M
y mother is the most incredible woman that I
know.

She is softhearted yet strong willed.

She is compassionate yet unwavering in principle.

She is a loving mother, yet she risked my life to save others.

She lost her son in the conflict between the Jews and Germans, yet she held no bitterness toward either one.

She hid two Jewish families and a German soldier for twenty months and asked for nothing in return.

A
fter my mother passed away, some people asked
me, “Why? Why do you think she hid the Jews?”

The honest answer is, I don't know.

We didn't think about our motives, my mother and I.

There was certainly nothing to be gained by our actions at the time.

We weren't religious, and we didn't have an affinity with the Jewish people.

I think it simply came down to not being able to turn away people who would have otherwise faced a certain death.

Does that make us exceptional? Or is it only exceptional because so many others chose not to do the same thing?

The standard defines the exception.

We did not think of ourselves as extraordinary.

All we knew was that we needed to be strong to see it through, and thankfully we did.

I
miss my mother.

When I see her in my mind, I se
e this tobacco-chewing, defiant, small woman with a spirit that would not be dominated. She always wore the same skirt that looked too big for her, and it never occurred to me until many years later that she might have liked a new dress for herself. I was too self-absorbed to realize this at the time.

•   •   •

I
N FRONT OF
where we live now, I have planted an apple tree with seeds we kept from the tree that Damian planted.

An apple tree is again the first thing I see in the morning from my bedroom window.

I am grateful, and it is a peaceful feeling.

Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time;

it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable.

—S
YDNEY
J. H
ARRIS

T
his book is fictional, but it was inspired by the tr
ue story of Franciszka Halamajowa, who with her daughter saved the lives of fifteen Jews in Poland during the Second World War. She also hid a young German soldier in her attic at the same time. Her son died while transporting a wagon full of supplies to partisan Jews hiding in the forest.

Before the war, there were six thousand Jews in Sokal, Poland. Only thirty survived the war and half of those because of one Polish woman, Franciszka.

I believe that all of us, like Franciszka, have within us the potential to be great. Sometimes we coast through life without this potential surfacing because life has been easy on us.

When we have much to lose, but still choose to do the right thing, we uncover the nobility that is within all of us. To endure what is unbearable and to do it with grace, that is how we know that we have arrived.

In 2012, I visited Yad Vashem, the Holocaust museum in Jerusalem, where there is a tree planted and a plaque to honor Franciszka Halamajowa and her daughter, Helena.

People who were not Jewish, but who nevertheless risked their lives to help the Jews escape execution during the Holocaust, are recognized as “the Righteous among the Nations” in Israel. This is how Franciszka and her daughter are remembered.

It was my son, Matthew, who actually found the tree, as bushes had grown in front of the plaque, preventing me from seeing it initially.

Upon seeing their names there in print before me, I was overcome with emotion.

I had written about this woman and her daughter and I had imagined their lives, but here was evidence that they indeed did exist. I didn't realize how deeply I would feel until this moment.

Planting a tree to remember them by feels so right.

I
am nothing but truthful when I say that this boo
k would not have been possible without the incredible generosity of time and insight provided to me by some very special friends.

Brian Goldstein read the initial draft of the story when it was only about ten pages long and provided me with an enthusiastic response that encouraged me to proceed further.

From there, I ventured to have Richard Self read it, who told me that he could see exactly what was happening through my words and that the story had an inspirational feel to it like the classic
Jonathan Livingston Seagull
. Well, that provided me with quite the lift. His fourteen-year-old daughter, Jacqueline, read it and liked it too, so now I had some confidence about the range and reach of the story.

I was fortunate to then have Jack Gluckman leave me a voice mail saying that he had just read the book and to give him a call immediately. He said, “Honestly, when you asked me to read your book, I thought, okay, I'll read a few pages to be polite, but you're not a writer, so how good could it be? You know, I couldn't put it down and read it all in one go with tears in my eyes when I finished. Thank you for sharing it with me.” It just doesn't get much better than that.

He then asked me if it would be all right to pass it on to friends of his who were from the publishing industry. You guessed it; my answer was “Absolutely.”

One veteran of the industry said it was too short and was not interested in proceeding further. Howard Wells, however, a twenty-year veteran of the industry who is now retired, said to me, “This is authentic and reads like poetry.” For Howard those words are as good as it gets.

“Not too short?” I asked.

He said, “Have you read
The Little Prince
?”

Okay, that's about as short a book as you can get, and yes, I have read and loved it! It works on so many levels.

Howard followed up with, “I read more books in a month than most people read in a year, so trust me when I say I like it.”

Hey, who wants to argue with that?

The lesson I have learned is that a positive response cannot only motivate but lead to even greater achievement than initially thought possible. I sharpened my iPad and kept going.

Elayne Freeman, a librarian with a special interest in Holocaust literature for young adults, read the book in fine detail. Being an expert on both the Holocaust and of that time period, she was able to provide me with specific suggestions to make it more credible. I welcomed every word and proceeded to rewrite.

Next, I dropped off a copy for Arnold Noyek, who is a creative thinker, a leading educator, and an innovator in global health. He is greatly admired for his vision and his peace initiatives in the Middle East. I couldn't believe his response. He read it that night and called me right away. I could feel his energy bouncing off the walls.

Now Arnold has more energy than just about anyone I know, but he says things like, “Jen, this is brilliant and I see great possibilities for this book to promote peace and understanding.”

He also sends me an e-mail: “This manuscript has great adaptability as a curriculum tool for teaching ethics, values, and the ultimate commitment to living a life where human concerns for engaging in tolerance, kindness, and doing the right thing trumps all.”

Wow, do these words turn me on or what? Arnold makes me want to make the book even better, and so I pursue more research and fill in details on dates and time lines that give the story more authenticity.

About now, I remember that Lori Lothian is a law professor and a great editor, so I call and ask if she will have a look. She graciously reads the book not once but multiple times and suggests that I pay attention to providing subtle details that add realism to the story. Her suggestions make the story come together like a well-planned meal where not only is the food pleasing, but the dishes and napkins all match too.

Every time I think the story has reached its destination and cannot possibly be improved, fate sends me someone to take it one level higher. At times, it feels that there is a greater force at work.

Lori has two nephews—Owen, twelve, and Branton, fifteen—who read it and love it too. Owen says it's going to be a
New York Times
bestseller and then runs out of the car to knock on a tree (wood). This story makes me laugh and endears me to these boys, whom I have met only once.

By now, I am thinking the book is pretty much finished. Sitting at my desk and reflecting on what a journey it has all been, I see it—a quote that is typed out and sitting upright in a plastic stand that a friend of mine, Tony Hamblin, gave me years ago as a reminder of how I should live my life. It talks about how our biggest regrets are not what we did, but what we did not do. It was so perfect for where I was at that moment, and also what the story is about. That is why I decided to end the story with this quote.

After the manuscript was completed, I asked some other people to read it. Their responses, touching and inspirational, were humbling. You can see their words at the beginning of the book.

Finally, the passage from manuscript to book was only possible with the wisdom and advice of a wonderful man . . . Alan Bower, and the team at iUniverse.

Thank you for letting me share this voyage with you. It was filled with the kindness of so many.

 

Living with gratitude,
J. L. Witterick