The Night, The Day (29 page)

epilogue

M
artin Rosen looked at the
house across the street, then looked down at his daughter standing by his side. It had been more than two years since he’d last stood in this spot, and he wondered if this time he would once again lose his nerve. He had promised Elizabeth that it would be a special day, that he was going to take her to meet the grandparents she’d never known. She was so excited about the prospect, she had insisted on wearing her nicest dress. And now he didn’t know if he was going to disappoint her.

Earlier that morning, he had considered calling his sister to discuss the idea, then decided against it, though he wasn’t completely sure why. Maybe he feared she might deter him, or maybe he just didn’t want to put her in a position where she might feel torn between her loyalty to him and a sense of obligation to inform their parents of his plans. In either case, he was glad that he hadn’t made the call, especially now that he wasn’t certain if he was going to go ahead with it.

“Daddy, is that the house?” Elizabeth asked, pointing directly across the street.

The eagerness in her tone made him realize that he was indeed stuck with his promise.
Just as well
, he thought. Although he had some vague sense of how the events of the last few weeks had brought him to this moment, he was at a loss as to how this was all going to play out in the end. In any event, it was time for him to face his past, and it was time for Elizabeth to learn about hers.

“Yes,” he muttered.

“You grew up there?”

“Yes.”

“It looks like a nice house.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he said, turning once again to gaze at the Brooklyn brownstone. It was a simple edifice, similar to every other house on this Borough Park street, probably at least ninety years old, perfectly square, and possessing little distinction or charm. But he was flattered that she liked it and he understood why: because it had once been his home.

“Daddy, the people around here dress funny. The girls all look like Aunt Esther and cousin Michali and Devorah.”

It was a Sunday morning and the street was crowded with pedestrians walking to and from the main shopping strip, which was only one block away. Most of the men had beards and virtually all were similarly garbed in black suits and black fedoras. The women, too, dressed in a like fashion, with ankle-length dresses and either hats or kerchiefs covering their heads.

Martin wondered if Elizabeth had actually seen many Orthodox Jews, aside from her aunt and cousins. It was something he hadn’t thought about before. In any case, he was certain that this was the first time she’d seen so many in one place. “They dress that way because they’re Orthodox Jews,” he said.

“And why do Orthodox Jews have to dress so funny?”

“That’s a long story.”

“Do Grandma and Grandpa dress like that?”

“Yes, they do.”

There was a brief moment of silence in which Martin considered whether any of the pedestrians noticed them. Elizabeth could pass in her dress, but surely he, in his tweed blazer and khakis, looked out of place. Suddenly, he began to feel uncomfortable. He reached into his breast pocket, took out the Yarmulke he had brought, and placed it on his head.

Elizabeth looked at him inquisitively. Before she could ask, he explained, “When a man goes into the home of an Orthodox Jew, it is polite for him to cover his head.”

“What about a girl?”

“That’s another long story, princess.”

“Will you tell it to me?”

“Maybe, but I think your grandfather would be able to explain it to you better.”

“Is that because he’s a rabbi?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Can I ask him to tell me today?”

He thought for a moment, weighing his response. Part of him wanted to tell her to leave that particular topic for another time, but he also didn’t want to inhibit her. “Sure,” he said, “why not?”

They looked at each other and shared smiles.

Martin took a deep breath and asked, “Are you ready?”

She nodded enthusiastically.

“Then let’s do it,” he said, reaching for her hand.

“Yeah, let’s do it,” she repeated as she grabbed hold of him.

Martin felt a sharp pang of anxiety as he glanced once more at the house. He turned to Elizabeth, smiled again, and together they stepped forward into the rest of their lives.

autho
r
’
s note

T
his is a work of
fiction. The main characters, their names and the incidents in which they are involved, are strictly products of the author’s imagination. Klaus Barbie, Boleslavs Maikovskis, Valerian Trifa, and John Demjanjuk are true historical figures, and, in alluding to them, the author has tried to remain as factual as research allows. The facts surrounding the cases of Maikovskis and Trifa were as described in this book. Barbie was the Gestapo Chief in Lyon during the period in which some of the events of this story take place, and he did lead a raid on a children’s home in the small town of Izieu, in the hills a few miles east of Lyon, on April 6, 1944. The fates of those children and their caretakers were as described in this book.

John Demjanjuk, whose conviction of crimes against humanity was overturned by the Israeli Supreme Court in 1993 as a result of new evidence pointing to another Ukrainian as the infamous “Ivan the Terrible,” was eventually deported from the U.S. in 2009 to Germany and tried in Munich on charges of participating in the killing of thousands of Jews at the Sobibor extermination camp in Poland in 1943. He was convicted, sentenced to five years in prison, and was appealing his guilty verdict while residing in a nursing home in Germany when he died at the age of 91 from natural causes.

Between the years of 1940-1944, the Vichy government collaborated with the Nazis in the organized deportation of some 76,000 Jews to German concentration camps. It should be mentioned that a segment of the French population objected to this policy, and allied themselves with the Resistance to fight against the German occupation and the persecution of the Jews. History has recorded numerous examples of French citizens risking their lives for this purpose. To learn more about these events, the author recommends the following volumes:

Finkielkraut, Alain.
Remembering in Vain: The Klaus Barbie Trial and Crimes Against Humanity
. Trans. Roxanne Lapidus with Sima Godfrey. New York, Columbia University Press, 1992.

Marrus, Michael R. and Paxton, Robert O.
Vichy France and the Jews
. New York, Basic Books, 1981.

Morgan, Ted.
An Uncertain Hour: The French, the Germans, the Jews, the Barbie Trial, and the City of Lyon, 1940-1945
. New York, William Morrow and Co., 1990.

Paris, Erna.
Unhealed Wounds
. New York, Grove Press, 1985.