Sherry Maysonave

Tatae’s Promise: You will live… you will tell

- Based on the true story of a young woman’s escape from Auschwitz

by Sherry Maysonave and Moises J. Goldman

Chapter One

A Silent Scream

September 1939

Zielun, Poland

Black smoke roiled in the village air dense with soot and cinders. Trembling, eighteen-year-old Hinda Mondlak watched the flames rise higher, fiery fingers reaching toward heaven, lighting the starless night sky. A northern wind emboldened the blaze and whipped her dark russet hair, flogging her face as if punishing her further. Hinda stood next to her father, who had his arm around her shoulder, holding her close to him. His presence usually radiated safety, but tonight, it did not stop her shivering nor the tears slipping from her azure eyes.

Hinda’s feet shifted, registering the earth’s convulsive vibration as the ground under them quivered. Her chest heaved, and her breath slowed. Her hand flew to her mouth. The massive roof and walls crashed downward, crumbling with loud cracks that echoed, multiplying the eerie sounds. Her beloved synagogue disappeared in the blaze.

Government orders. Not Polish ones, but official German commands: Burn all synagogues in German-occupied areas of Poland.

Her heart quaking, Hinda gazed upward to her father—Salomon Mondlak, who was a tall and strikingly handsome man. He appeared remarkably calm in the light of the roaring fire. Yet his face had turned ashen. Ash, Hinda thought. Their temple was soon to be nothing but rubble and gray ash. Is that my fate, too? She pinched the skin on her arm, examining its fragility.

German soldiers marched near them, their pounding boots loud exclamations. One soldier cocked his gun in their direction and yelled, “Go home, dirty Jews, go home.”

Hinda remembered when the Nazis had first occupied the village of Zielun. German soldiers had come to their home, to all the homes, assuring the town folk that their lives would not change, only their government. A lie, a colossal lie.

Without a word, and with his head held high, Hinda’s father—Tatae, as she called him—tucked her arm into his in the most gentlemanly fashion and began walking away as if they were strolling in a serene, picturesque park. Hinda’s back now turned toward the burning synagogue, she felt the heat of the immense blaze spread through her dorsal vertebrae. The heat penetrated her very bones, which then crackled with warnings and foreboding. Her every instinct proclaimed that soon she would witness another Gestapo-ordered fire—one even more personal. A silent scream screeched through her entire body.

∞ ∞ ∞

Chapter Two

Far, Far Away

May 4, 1934

Zielun, Poland

At half past four in the morning, chirping birds awakened Hinda. She nestled into the soft mattress and pulled the covers over her head. A rhapsodic feeling curled her lips upward into a smile. Today, she turned thirteen. Yet the birds’ melody would be her only birthday song.

Intrusive sounds, loud thumps and thwacks, came through the walls, drowning out the birds’ warbles. Hinda bolted upright in her bed. While her large family—eleven children, seven boys and four girls—made significant noise when they were arising to start the day, these were not their typical early morning sounds.

Hinda glanced around the room she shared with her three sisters. Fanny was the oldest; her bed was empty. Hinda’s younger sisters, Rachel and Sara, both still slept.

Once again, abnormal noises from the other room startled Hinda. Deciding that something big was happening, she leapt from her bed, ran her fingers through her hair, and straightened her nightclothes.

Entering the main living room, Hinda gasped. “What? This is the day?”

Trunks and valises littered the floor. Fanny and her six older brothers—Shio, Leon, Isaac, Manuel, Jack, and Zalel—were dressed in their best clothing. Fanny looked elegant in her navy suit and matching hat and gloves, though the buttons on her suit were faded. The brothers’ clothing, hand-me-down jackets and pants, was a bit ill-fitting, their suits either too big or too snug.

Jack strode over to Hinda, making mock boxing movements with his hands and feet. “Sorry that it’s today, your birthday, but our passports and tickets suddenly came through late yesterday. This is our only chance.” He cuffed her arm, then leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Can you wake up Rachel, Sara, and Joel? I would like to see them before we leave.”

Hinda hesitated, wanting to stand close to Jack another minute. But her father suddenly announced, “It’s time to load up. Trains to Mlawa run on schedule.”

Hinda rushed to knock on Joel’s door, then to get her younger sisters. In the girls’ bedroom, Rachel, who was seven, was already up and dressed. Three-year-old Sara, who clutched a cloth doll to her chest, still lay in her bed. Her eyes were wide open, and her mouth was set in a decided pout. Hinda scooped Sara and the doll into her arms and motioned for Rachel to come with her. Two steps into the hallway, they collided with Joel, who was in his first year of high school. In the order of the eleven children, Joel was just one year older than Hinda.

His eyes barely open, his raven hair wild on his head, Joel groaned. “It’s not even five o’clock yet. Why did you wake me?”

“The older ones got their travel papers. They’re leaving in a few minutes,” Hinda replied. In her arms, little Sara squirmed upon hearing the news. She contorted her body this way then that and tossed her head back. Unable to safely hold her little sister when she was in the throes of an emotional spell, Hinda set Sara on the rug.

That is when Hinda saw her mother, Esther, who sat in the corner, a handkerchief to her nose. Esther’s shoulders shook, and whimpers escaped from her mouth. She appeared wrung out, as if she had been crying all night.

Amidst the commotion, Salomon, Hinda’s father, spoke calmly, but authoritatively. “We must be on our way.” To his wife, he urged, “Esther, start saying your farewells. Time is short.”

Beginning with her sons, Esther’s body fell onto each one. She hugged them, patted their shoulders and their faces. Between cries and expressions of love, Esther pleaded with them to stay. When she came to Jack, she sobbed uncontrollably.

Hinda had never seen her mother so distraught. She looked frail and sick, whereas before, she had always appeared sturdy, strong, and uniquely beautiful.

Salomon went to his wife. He stroked her sable-colored tresses; his thumb gently slid over her silky white cheek. He then cupped her face in his hands and peered into her wide-set green eyes. “Esther, it’s their freedom, their destiny. Let them go. Let them find safety and better fortunes.”

Her chin quivering, Esther attempted to stand erect and compose herself.

“Come now. Let’s go outside and give them a proper send off,” Salomon encouraged. As he held Esther’s hand, guiding her out the door, he tapped Hinda on the shoulder. “Try to smile and wish them well.”

With Joel following behind her, Hinda led Rachel into the front yard. On the road, a man waited with a horse-drawn wagon. A friend from synagogue and a nearby farmer, he had readily agreed to use his wagon to transport the travel trunks to the train station.

Hinda knew this day was coming. Even still, she felt ill prepared. She remembered the family meeting that her father had called this past February. His usual serene face had worn a tormented expression when he announced that it was prudent for the older siblings, those who had graduated high school, to leave Poland and seek better lives and safety in North America. On that very day, he stated, each one of the seven oldest had applied for travel papers. Salomon had emphasized that it could be as early as the following week, or it could be months, before their papers were granted or denied. But, if approval papers came in, he had said, they would have to leave immediately. Hinda’s brother, Jack, who had a keen interest in politics, had then explained that, in addition to Poland’s depressed economy, worrisome events were occurring in nearby Germany. In January of last year, 1933, Jack said that a man named Adolph Hitler, who had a reputation for being prejudiced against non-Aryan people, had been appointed chancellor of Germany. Just one year later, this January, the German government had banned Jews from membership in the German Labor Front. Moreover, Jack exclaimed, the German government, under Hitler’s reign, had founded concentration camps in March of last year. Six months later, Jack said, with a clear grimace etched into the downturn of his lips, many of those camps were already filled with German Jews, whom Adolph Hitler had classified as not only non-Aryan, but as undesirable people. The German government was interning Jews. Knots had formed in Hinda’s stomach. Searching the faces of her parents, Hinda saw not just concern, she saw flat-out fear. She then understood why her parents were willing to split the family and to get their older children not only out of Poland, but out of Europe.

When the final travel trunk was hoisted into the wagon, one of the horses snorted and neighed. The noise brought Hinda back to the reality of the present moment. She squinted her eyes at the scene on the dirt road in front of her home. My family. Over half of my family is leaving, and they’re going far, far away.

On the street, Jack set down his suitcase. His index finger punched the air repeatedly, pointing to Hinda in an exaggerated manner. Silently, he mouthed the words: I love you. Hinda pursed her lips sweetly against her hand and then flung the air kiss toward Jack. She then tried to coax her lips into a smile, but sadness pushed them sideways as she choked back a sob.

Sidling closer to Hinda, Joel muttered, “I wish I were leaving with them.” He thrust his hands inside his pockets and cast his eyes down at the grass.

Hinda leaned her head against Joel’s shoulder. Then, she gazed across the lawn, checking on her mother, who clutched little Sara tightly in her arms. Torrents of tears pelted Esther’s face and dripped from her chin.

Sighing, Hinda inched closer to Rachel, who was weeping audibly and wringing her hands in her skirt, wrinkling and wadding the fabric. Hinda placed her hand on Rachel’s shoulder, hoping to assuage her little sister’s angst and to find comfort for herself.

The man with the wagon whistled to the horses, and they clomped down the road. The older brothers turned and waved heartily as they walked away. Fanny stared straight ahead and just kept on walking.

After a few steps, Salomon stopped. He called out to Esther and the four remaining children on the lawn, “When they get settled, we will try to get out, too, and join them.” He looked upward to the sky streaked with clouds. “God willing, we will see them all again.”

Suddenly, it felt as if boulders sat atop Hinda’s shoulders and were crushing inward on her heart. Her cherished family. Would they ever all be together again? The answer she heard reverberating inside quickened her pulse. Hinda clasped Rachel’s hand. Gripping her sister’s palm against her palm, skin to skin, Hinda silently mourned the ache that was taking root deep in her soul.

∞ ∞ ∞

Chapter Three

The Bubbling Wrka

March 1938

Zielun, Poland

A farming community, Zielun was dubbed a shtetl because of its proportionately large Jewish population. This morning, on the main street of the village, knots of people huddled together here and there. They spoke in low voices.

Hinda departed from the small grocery, and her skin broke out in chills. The once refreshing village air was now thick with fear. Whispers of war crowded the atmosphere as if a dense fog had moved in and cloaked the peaceful beauty—verdant fields, lush fruit-tree forests, and magnificent snow-capped mountains—surrounding the scenic village.

Hinda shepherded her younger sisters, Rachel, who was eleven, and Sara, seven, down the street. The grocery bag, crammed with fresh turnips, carrots, and cabbages, weighed heavily on her arm. Nearing seventeen years old, Hinda was her mother’s main support now that the only kids at home were Joel, Rachel, Sara, and her. Memories—of the day, now four years ago, when seven of her siblings departed for foreign lands—flashed through her mind. Saying goodbye to them had been traumatic for the entire family, but it was especially agonizing for her mother. For the remainder of that day, whatever chore her mother was performing, Hinda had heard her mother intoning prayers for the family to be reunited. Hinda’s faith was her second skin, yet she had felt unable to honestly articulate such prayers. Her instincts shouted that her mother’s petitions to God were futile.

“Hinda, you are blessed with good instincts,” her mother had told her since she was ten. “You must always trust yourself.”

At times, this thing called good instincts felt like a blessing to Hinda. Other times, it provided such a stark view of reality that it caused her angst. Esther had also claimed that Hinda’s older brother, Jack, was gifted with exceptional instincts. Wishing she could talk with Jack about such things, Hinda wondered if intuition had helped him get along in life, had guided him and given him confidence as he found his way in a new land.

Last year, word had come in a letter from Jack that Fanny had settled in New York City, and the other brothers and he had all gone to Mexico City. He relayed that they had met a man on the ship to New York who talked about the numerous job opportunities in Mexico City, particularly in the textile industry. Jack reported that, indeed, all the brothers had found secure employment there. Shio, Leon, Isaac, and Zalel were all working in textiles. Manuel was a Hebrew teacher. And Jack had landed an excellent job in journalism.

Hinda pondered her older siblings’ choices. New York, Mexico City. Such foreign spheres. Worlds away from Poland. From threats of war. They were the lucky ones, she decided. Abruptly, she was jolted from her reverie when she felt multiple tugs on her skirt. She looked down to see Rachel peering upward at her.

“Can we go to the river after lunch?” Rachel asked.

Hinda sighed at the thought of the river—the bubbling Wrka located on the outskirts of Zielun. “What a lovely idea. Let’s get these vegetables home, and then we’ll ask Mommy.”

Perhaps, at the river, Hinda could escape her instincts that augured more disruption and heartbreak for her family.

∞ ∞ ∞

Filling their baskets with mushrooms, Hinda and Rachel scampered through the forest on the way to the river. Feeling free, they danced and skipped among the trees. Hinda had been relieved that her mother had told Sara to stay at home—an unusual occurrence. Not taking it lightly, Sara had fussed, stomped, cried, and begged, but her mother remained adamant that Hinda and Rachel go alone and enjoy the river.

Responsible for the care of her youngest sister, Hinda had become Sara’s second mother—in charge of bathing her, dressing her, brushing her thick hair, and teaching her reading and arithmetic. In contrast, her relationship with Rachel was not so maternal. With Rachel, who was six years younger than Hinda and quite mature for her age, she shared a camaraderie, a deep bond that connected them to a powerful force, one even beyond sisterhood.

Hinda’s basket now brimming with mushrooms, she eyed the flowing water of the river. It beckoned. “Our work is done, Rachel. Let’s go enjoy the river.”

Rachel found her spot at the top of the riverbank. She had brought a small notepad and colored pencils to sketch the birds that inhabited the lush foliage along the Wrka, varying species singing their cheerful songs that harmonized with the river’s gurgling. Nature’s symphony.

Hinda stretched out on the low riverbank. Daring to remove her boots, she dangled her feet in the water. It swished around her toes, tickling her. She reveled in the feeling of the grass and earth on her back. Her proximity to the water and its bubbling sounds were soothing balms, medicine for her anxious heart. Since childhood, when she had played games among the trees and on the riverbank with her siblings and friends, the Wrka River had been her bliss, her rapturous place. And now, it was only at the river that she could cease worrying and not hear the words War! War! reverberating in the very air and in her bones. At the river, her world felt safe. She could relax, be a teenage girl unleashing her vivid imagination, dreaming of true love and a grand life.

Later, when Hinda and Rachel returned home, the happy carefree mood at the Wrka was soon dispelled. Her father sat at the kitchen table talking earnestly with their brother, Joel, who was in his last year of high school. Joel was a strapping young man who had broad shoulders, black hair, and bright eyes that changed from blue to green, depending upon what color he wore.

A letter from the Polish army, recruiting Joel to serve, lay on the table. Salomon picked it up and shook the letter for emphasis. “This is a solicitation, not an official order. You must finish high school first. Education is your ultimate worth.”

Joel sighed in relief. “Father, I have no desire to enlist. I want most to continue my education, but I’m scared. The school superintendent says that they may come for us boys, force us to serve.”

Upon hearing Joel’s words, Hinda winced. She remembered him wishing he could leave Poland when the older brothers and Fanny did. The hair on Hinda’s arm prickled. It stood straight up as if an invisible comb had raked it upward.

Copyright © 2022 Sherry Maysonave and Moises J. Goldman

USA Copyright registration number: TXu 2-325-098

USA LCCN: 2023942942

ISBN-13: 978-1959096962

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED