The Underground Reporters (11 page)

“How can I walk down the street after what you have written about me?” joked his father.

Any excuse to laugh felt good these days. Laughter was a way to forget the cruelties of the war, a way to feel that life was normal. Nothing else about life in Budejovice felt normal anymore.

It was becoming increasingly dangerous to walk in the streets, and
Jewish people were forbidden to enter certain parts of town at all. Arrests were becoming more commonplace, as Jews suddenly vanished off the streets. Where did these people go, John wondered, as his parents whispered about the disappearance of this acquaintance, or that colleague.

“Will we be arrested?” John asked his parents. “Or crammed in some little shack?” he added, remembering what he had heard about the ghettos in Poland and Germany.

“No,” his father said quickly. “We’re safe here in our home.”

When Ruda heard about these new arrests, he felt less certain about their safety. He believed that it was only a matter of time before the Jews in Budejovice were treated as badly as those in other cities. How could he believe otherwise? Since the first anti-Jewish laws had been proclaimed, the situation had kept getting worse and worse.

All the same, he believed in the strength of his writing, and in the power that came from
Klepy.
As each edition of the newspaper was published, he continued to appeal to the young people to write more. And they did. They contributed articles, poems, and drawings. Each edition was longer than the one before, and more elaborate. The newspaper grew from five pages to fifteen, and then to twenty-five. The young people wrote despite the restrictions placed on them, and despite any fears they might have. They wrote to reclaim their freedom.

That was what Ruda had really done by creating this newspaper. He had pulled the Jewish community of Budejovice together, and given them something to fight for.

CHAPTER
15
F
RANCES IN
B
RNO
F
EBRUARY
1941

Far away, in Brno, Frances Neubauer was feeling very lonely and missing her family terribly. Aunt Elsa and her cousin Otto were wonderful and made her feel at home. But she was fourteen now, and she had already been away from home for more than six months. She had no idea how much longer she would be separated from her family.

Aunt Elsa lived with her son, Otto, in a comfortable apartment. Elsa’s sister, Josie, a rather stern older woman who had never married, also lived in the house. Josie managed the household, preparing the meals and doing all the chores. She enjoyed this work, and the family loved her hearty cooking and her meticulous housework. Frances shared a bedroom with Elsa. Josie had a room of her own, as did Otto.

The Jews in Brno lived under restrictions similar to those in Budejovice. Frances could not go to school, to the movies, to the synagogue, or to the park. Her only friends were Jewish teenagers who had been introduced to her by her aunt. She was happy to have Otto’s company – he
was seventeen, the same age as Reina, and was a warm and fun companion. But she missed her family.

The only connection Frances had with her family was by mail. The letters from her mother were full of descriptions of the changes in Budejovice. Her mother worried constantly about the war, and the impact it was having on Jewish families. But her letters also included wonderful news about
Klepy,
and the contributions that Frances’ brothers were making to the newspaper. Reina had already written many poems and stories. Frances was not surprised to read copies of his pieces, but she was delighted that even Beda was writing stories for the newspaper. Reading the letters from home, she was filled with longing for her family. And she was envious. If she were still in Budejovice, she too might be writing for
Klepy.

Meanwhile, Frances was becoming an accomplished seamstress. Aunt Elsa was a gifted seamstress whose skills were widely admired, and she still had a successful dressmaking business, despite the limitations on Jewish businesses in Brno. Her customers remained loyal to her, and continued to bring her work, while other Jewish businesses were being closed down. Aunt Elsa paid Frances, who was then able to send money back to her own family in Budejovice.

Each day, Frances sat at her aunt’s side, in the bright light of the living room, watching her create fashions for the customers who arrived on a regular basis. Aunt Elsa cut her own patterns, and taught Frances how to measure each woman and design a dress that would be unique and perfect. It was a challenging task, but Frances paid attention and learned
quickly. The first outfit she sewed by herself was a beautiful peacock-blue dress with a white lace collar and fashionable pointy pockets. She proudly modeled the dress for her aunt, who praised her talent.

“I’m so proud of how much you are learning. Before long, you will be a fine dress designer,” her aunt said, smoothing her carefully coifed hair.

I wish my parents could see this,
thought Frances sadly. She loved her aunt, and she was grateful for her generosity, but she longed to be back home.

One day, Frances went for a walk to buy a newspaper. She approached a park close to her aunt’s apartment and paused. The park was off-limits to Jews, but it was such a long walk around the park to the stall where the newspapers were sold.

She shivered and looked around. No one was in sight.
What harm will it do,
she thought.
No one will see me.
And the park looked so inviting. It reminded her of the times she had spent with her brothers, playing in their own park close to the synagogue. The sun shone brightly, casting deep shadows on the path. The branches swayed in the cold air, almost beckoning her to enter. She took a deep breath and walked through the gates.

Immediately, Frances felt a sense of freedom and independence. She could smell the scent of pine cones, and imagined what the park would look like once winter had ended, and the flowers were in bloom. She stopped and bent to admire a small stream, with its glassy layer of thin ice, then straightened quickly and continued to walk. She couldn’t
dawdle, much as she wanted to savor this time.

As she rounded a turn deep inside the park, she suddenly froze in her tracks. Two soldiers in Nazi uniforms were walking toward her. Had they seen her? Yes – they had!

Frances’ mind began to race, and her stomach lurched. What should she do? If she ran, it would make her look suspicious. There was only one thing to do – keep walking, and hope they would not notice anything wrong.
As long as I act calm, they will never guess that I’m Jewish,
she thought, struggling to compose herself. She bent her head and walked forward, trying to control the pounding in her chest. Ten more steps, and she would be past the soldiers. Five more steps, and she would be safe. But she couldn’t help glancing up at the faces of the approaching soldiers. They were boys, not much older than she was.
How is it possible,
she wondered,
for these young men to have turned against us just because of a difference in religion?
They looked no different from Reina or Otto.

Now she was just steps away.
I’m safe,
she thought.
I’ve made it, and I promise I will never, ever do this again.
And then, just as she was about to pass the soldiers, one of them stepped in front of her, blocking her passage.

“What are you doing in the park?” he demanded fiercely.

Frances opened her mouth but nothing came out.

“Typical Jew,” the other soldier scoffed. “She’s too stupid to talk.”

Frances felt hot and cold at once. How could they tell she was Jewish? She had no sign on her forehead. She had no banner announcing her religion.

“Get out of here!” the first soldier bellowed. “And don’t come back.”

Frances turned and she ran. She ran along the path, past the pond, around the tall trees and bushes, and out of the park gates. She ran and ran, and did not stop even when she reached her aunt’s apartment building. She ran up the stairs, through the door, and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

“You were so lucky,” Aunt Elsa cried, when Frances finally explained. “You might have been beaten or arrested. You mustn’t walk in the street alone again. And never in the park.”

Frances nodded. She did not need to be told. She knew she would never go near the park again. Before, all those rules and regulations had been official matters. Now – as she remembered the sneers on the soldiers’ faces – it was personal. They hated her. They hated her family. But why?

CHAPTER
16
T
HE
U
NDERGROUND
R
EPORTERS
M
ARCH
1941

In Budejovice, as elsewhere in Europe, the radios blasted speeches from Adolf Hitler on a regular basis. Hitler proclaimed that the Jews were evil and had to be eliminated. Many German people were easily persuaded to follow this mesmerizing leader, who promised wealth and better working opportunities during a difficult time – as long as the Jews were kept in their place. Besides, those who did not support Nazi policies were in danger of being arrested. Newspapers were also full of articles that blamed Jews for the war, for poverty, even for poor farming conditions. Citizens all over Europe were encouraged to turn against their Jewish neighbors and friends, or risk punishment themselves.

On the streets of Budejovice, Nazi soldiers were always on patrol, and they would arrest Jews for no reason if they were found in public. German enforcers were brought into town to keep the Jews in their place. These were big, burly men, thugs who took pleasure in beating up innocent Jewish citizens.

One day, John ventured several blocks away from his apartment, and
closer to the center of town. He knew it was dangerous to be this far from home. But he yearned for the freedom, for just a moment, he had had only a couple of years earlier – to walk wherever he wanted.

He turned a corner, going toward one of the movie theaters. How long was it since he had been able to go to the movies? He looked up at the marquee to see what was playing and was quickly shocked back into reality. The theater was advertising a new propaganda film that promoted discrimination against Jews. There was an ugly picture of a cowering Jewish man and a proud Nazi soldier standing next to him. John turned and ran all the way home. After that, he did not venture to go wandering again.

“The only place you are allowed to go is to Mr. Frisch’s house for lessons in the winter, and over the bridge to the swimming hole in summer,” his father said. “You’ll be safe as long as you don’t go near the center of town.”

There were new rumors now, about places in Europe where Jews were being arrested and sent away from their families, to prisons and work camps. Conditions there were brutal, and people were dying.

Ruda struggled with the growing rumors and dire predictions from other countries. And most of all, he struggled for a way to write about these things in
Klepy.

“We can’t sit around, waiting for a future that may never arrive,” he complained one day to the other reporters. The young people were gathered in Ruda’s apartment, seated around the kitchen table.
“No one is coming to help us. We must take responsibility for helping ourselves.”

“What do you think we should do?” asked Reina Neubauer.

“Did you hear about Mr. Mayer?” asked Jiri Furth. Mr. Mayer owned the textile store in town, and had two children. “He was overheard criticizing the Nazis. I heard that he was arrested and no one knows where he’s been taken, not even his family.”

Ruda sighed and nodded. The Nazis had forbidden anyone to speak out against their evil policies. They couldn’t write in
Klepy
about Mr. Mayer’s disappearance, for example, without risking punishment. It was one thing to produce a newspaper with funny stories and harmless jokes. No one outside the Jewish community cared much about that. But if they wrote articles of protest against the Nazis, or complained about their conditions, someone might report them.

“We’ll be careful,” agreed Ruda. “But we still have to say something significant.” He wanted so much to speak out forcefully against their oppressors. Yet he knew that they had to keep a fine balance between entertainment and more important topics.

“I believe we can resist the Nazis with articles that talk about our strength and unity as Jews,” he said. “Like this.” He pointed to a poem in a previous edition of
Klepy.
Some time ago, Jewish men had been told to report to a central place in town, where they had been given shovels and ordered to clean the streets of snow.
Klepy
had published this poem about the work detail:

A
FTER A
S
NOWSTORM IN
J
ANUARY

Today the Jews went to work, Looking strained, they cleared the snow,…

Some were ashamed to be seen. Embrace your work,

So that we can show them our strength!