Hanna was a 15-year-old when her parents were taken by Nazis as she, her sister, and two older brothers hid in a hiding place under the kitchen table. When Hanna and her sister were taken to a Polish concentration camp, she and her sister worked sewing pieces of clothing of Jewish prisoners together into parachutes. When an opportunity to flee to a nearby house happened, Hanna and her younger sister fled to a home where the occupant turned the girls in to the SS for money. When the next opportunity to flee happened, Hanna escaped with her sister and two other teens, and this time someone helped them on their journey to return, on their long way home. While her parents were killed at Auschwitz, Hanna immigrated to Kansas City where I came to know her as my tailor and friend. And one day she told me a story that opened my eyes and gave me greater appreciation for my father who volunteered to fight in WWII in the Battle of the Bulge. Now, it is time for a world torn by antisemitism to know of Hanna’s journey and her long way home.
The Long Way Home
A tribute to a young girl’s courage…
And how the human heart
Can sometimes
overcome incredible odds
of unspeakable evil.
by Barbara Lindstrom
Chapter One
1942: A Tailor Shop
Bendzin, Poland
Nine-year-old twin girls twirl across the floor of a Jewish tailor shop chanting, “Funf, sieben, neun.”
Counting in precision they whirl in a polka dance, throwing their blond-curly heads back and cackling in a mad swirl of color. Young Hanna, whose Papa owns the tailor shop, watches as the girls spin and laugh in matching lacy dresses, trimmed in blue ribbons. She looks down, embarrassed by her own frayed, frequently mended and fading green dress. Hanna begins to tremble as the sound of stomping footsteps of Nazi soldiers grows louder as the Secret Service troops march in goose step past the tailor shop.
The twin’s mother, a stout and angry German woman, demands Hanna’s attention. She pounds her fist on the counter as her 9-year-old twins’ giggling turns more ominous into howls of laughter. Hanna nervously twirls a toy dreidel on the wooden counter and looks up at the bloated red face of the woman as spittle shoots from her dark lipstick-stained lips.
“Stoppen! Beenden!” The woman points to the girls and then to two chairs on opposite sides of the shop as the pouting twins, dutifully shuffle to their assigned corners.
“Have you finished the work I gave you, Frauline?”
Hanna freezes for a few seconds, before turning to run, leaving the dreidel to wobble to a stop on the counter. Parting the curtains, she hurries to the back of the shop where a gray-haired middle-aged man wearing a black Yamanaka slowly turns with his arms open wide to greet her.
2
“Hanna, what is it, tell me,” Papa asks, embracing and swaying Hanna gently for comfort.
“Remember, malutka, my little one, when I would rock you like this when you--”
“Papa! It’s that horrible, wicked Frau what’s her name?”
“Ah, Frau Fister? Ya,” Papa whispers, “And please keep your voice down, as her highness, is high up in the Nazi party.”
“I don’t care. I hate her and her ugly--”
Papa quickly places his hand over Hanna’s mouth to silence her.
“Shh. Hush now,” Papa holds his other hand up to silence her and raising his eyebrows in alarm he begins tapping his forefinger against his pursed lips. He shakes his head slowly, fearful of what would happen if overheard. From the front of the shop, Frau Fister barks her demands.
“Hier kommen. Nun!” Frau Fister stomps and kicks the wooden counter as she swipes the dreidel off the counter, breaking it into pieces when it hits the wall and falls to the floor.
Hanna steps through the parted curtain and goes to pick up the broken dreidel as she watches the woman strut and preen like a large breasted bird, poking her beak like nose to the left and right as she tries to look past the curtain. She stops when Papa enters the room and grasps Hanna’s hand and pulls her to his side as he faces the disgruntled customer. Controlling his anger with a long deep sigh, he gasps as Hanna hands him the broken dreidel and swallows to hide his disgust, slipping the toy, symbolizing a Jewish tradition, into his coat pocket.
“Now, Frau Fister,” forcing an anxious smile, “What can for you today?”
3
“I want my clothing. Immediately. You do not need to fix anything, and you should know, I have found a more suitable tailor who is not, not—shall I say?”.
“Jewish?” Papa nods as he quickly turns to swipe through the curtains while praying in a low whisper as he goes to gather her clothing he was actually working on, removing the attached invoice to stuff it into his other pocket.
“Dear God, help me to keep from strangling that wretched peacock!”
Papa reappears through the curtain, placing the clothing in front of Frau Fister, patting the pieces gently, while his trembling hands betray his rage.
“I had only begun working on them but had not finished. There is no charge.” Looking across the counter dividing Jew from non-Jew, Papa visibly shudders as hate shoots from the German Frau’s steely dark blue eyes.
“Gudt! Because I will not give my Ayrian money to a filthy Jew.” The woman gathers her clothing, and signals to her twins to follow, but halfway to the door, the girls turn, sticking out their long, pointy pink tongues. Papa grabs Hanna’s shoulder, squeezing it to remind her to be silent.
“You were raised not to hate. Hanna?”
“But an eye for an eye, Papa!”
“Guten abend, fraulines,” Papa nods at the girls as they skip to exit. “We can discuss the Torah teachings. Later.” The shop door slams shut.
“Pointy tongues, slitty eyes, and slightly pretty dresses. I suppose.” Hanna shrugs,
4
looking down to straighten her own skirt and pulls on a loose thread attached to a mended hole. Papa pats her head and watches outside as the twins run after their mother who pulls a hanky from her sleeve to sniff with dramatic flourish, then waving the hanky at a shiny sedan, slowing to a stop outside the shop.
“Disgusting Jews,” The haughty woman grumbles to the Nazi officer who nods and holds open the rear door of the sleek car. As the Nazi nods in deference, he clicks his heels acknowledging her status, as the twins hurry to follow their mother into the back seat. Shutting the car door, the Nazi Secret Service, SS, officer with a jagged Swastika scar across his right cheek looks up at the tailor shop to study details of the exterior, as if committing what he sees to memory.
Hanna looks up at her father and places her hand on her father’s hand as he gently and lovingly massages her shoulder. Papa quickly takes a step back, pulling Hanna with him so the Nazi cannot see them as he peers up from the street below.
“Papa, why--are they so hateful?”
“The German Frau and her daughters, I think, are a little jealous. Not everyone can be Jewish.”
“Oh Papa, you are too forgiving to those who hate us for--for nothing! Really, Papa, can you not ever hate anyone back? You should have made her pay for all the work you did, because you had just finished it?”
“It is not good luck, or mazel tov, to kvetsh or complain to a goy, a non-Jew.”
5
Hanna takes her Papa’s hand from her shoulder and brings it to her lips. The sweet gesture brings tears to his tired eyes. He crouches to look into Hanna’s troubled eyes, framing her upturned face with his large, gentle hands.
“I love you Papa now and…” Hanna speaks first, watching as her Papa is about to cry,
“Forever. And I love you, now and for all time.” He finishes, softly stroking her cheek before resting his hand upon her head. Removing his wire-rimmed glasses, Papa sniffs back tears, using his apron to wipe smudges from his bent and crooked glasses. “Enough for today, little one.”
“You mean, enough of my whining for today?”
“Ya, that and Mama has been preparing Shabbat for the Friday dinner all day long, with little bits of this and that.”
“With challah bread, my favorite.”
“Amazing. It is my favorite as well, along with a little wine. Which no, you cannot have.”
“Someday, Papa?”
“One day, I will dance at your wedding, and--we will drink wine together,” he finishes touching her nose playfully.
“That seems like a long way off.”
“Ah, there is an old saying, that--”
“You should not make horrible faces at pointy-pink-tongued fraulines?”
6
“That, and time passes so--”
“Quickly? Yes, Papa.” Hanna responds as she has been taught, watching as Papa flips the open sign to closed, looking intently for any SS soldiers on the street, as he opens the door, pulling Hanna behind him and quickly locks and shuts the door, not realizing it would be the last time.
Papa places the key in the pocket with the invoice and removes the bill and tears it to tiny pieces before letting it scatter in the wind.
“I sense something else is bothering you, hmm, am I right?”
“I, well-- I want to grow up to do something important, like, like--”
“Ah, then, to be important and not work in a tailor shop as I do?” Papa pulls his daughter quickly behind him as he hurries along the street, looking for signs of anyone watching their movements.
“I’m sorry, Papa, it is not that I hate sewing, I, mean--”
“You actually detest sewing, but, learning a skill--”
“Like sewing?”
“Ah, yes. Sewing is a skill that could one day be of importance, and since cooking is not a gift you have been blessed with, then perhaps, sewing a bit of this and that may be your, well—your salvation?” Papa pulls Hanna swiftly down the street to the entrance of their apartment. Papa looks behind one last time before he pulls out and inserts a key from his pant pocket, then quickly enters through the door, begins to shut it, when Hanna knocks softly to get his attention.
7
“Forgetting something, or rather someone?” Hanna whispers as Papa reaches out through the cracked open door to pull Hanna inside, then quickly shuts the door and locks it. After a few seconds of silence, a Nazi SS soldier steps from the shadows nearby and inhales the last breath of his cigarette. Tossing the burning remnant to the ground, he grinds the smoldering ashes into the brick-lined street before spitting on the smoky remains. He snorts, shaking his head, as a sinister smile creeps across his jagged scarred cheek. Stroking the Swastika on his face, he smirks with a menacing smile and studies the apartment, making a mental note of where the Jews live. He turns away, pulling out a pad to make a note of the apartment, and two of its occupants.
Inside their apartment, Hanna skips ahead of Papa as they move down the hallway to join Mama and the rest of the family waiting at the kitchen table. Papa wraps his arms around Mama’s shoulders as she continues preparing food and turns Mama into his arms and dances with her for a few seconds before she turns away and is smiling as she pours water from a pitcher to dilute the melted butter, drizzling it atop a steaming loaf of challah bread. She senses their approach and expertly swats away, even before seeing the hands of the older brothers, Alfred and Anton, who are closing in on the loaf, licking their lips hungrily.
“Mama, it is as if you truly do have eyes in the back of her head, “Anton exclaims.
“No, chtopaks, my sweet Polish boys, clean your hands first, and dziewczynas, my sweet Polish girls, sit at the table, please, because I can see your hands are clean.”
“Yes Mama.” Alfred, 15, and Anton, 14 years, dutifully answer in unison and walk to the sink to swish their hands through the soiled water in the half-filled bucket. The boys turn the faucets on, but no water comes out, as they turn to shrug at each other and turn the faucets back
8
off again out of habit.
“Still turned off.” Alfred announces.
“Stupid Nazis.” Anton mumbles.
“Boys, with soap please, and I don’t want to have to use soap in your mouths, do I?”
“Yes. No, Mama, you don’t!” The brothers answer and lather with soap, looking down at the soiled water before plunging their hands into the grimy suds.
“My sons will remember to always clean their hands before placing the candles on the table, which represent… what?”
“The two, rules?” The brothers respond as if reciting what they have been taught about Judaism from memory.
“Ah, the two commandments received by Moses on Mount Sinai that we celebrate for Shabbat, which are…?” Papa chimes in with his answer, to instruct his sons as he loves to do at dinner time.
“To remember?” Alfred repeats as he quickly tears a chunk of bread and tosses it in his mouth before Mama can slap away his hand.
“And to observe?” Anton smirks, watching his brother hide the bread in his cheek.
“Good, chtopaks, now place the candles as I have shown you. Where is Lily?” Mama looks around the kitchen for the youngest member of the family.
Tiny for her nine years, Lilly pops her head out of a basket filled with clothing where she
9
has been hiding under the kitchen tablecloth.
“I was hiding, Mama--like you have shown us?”
“Come, my Lilly, sweet flower.” Papa holds his arms wide as Lilly is helped from the basket and is scooped up high into the air to be lowered to the chair next to Hanna. The children take their seats around the table, Papa sitting at the head as Mama stands at his side and reverently lights the candles, she has placed in silver holders and moves them to the center of their Shabbat feast.
“I light these candles with this prayer, asking for a blessing upon our family, and for this time to talk and celebrate with our family.” Mama savors each word as if saying it for the first time, hoping it will not be the last.
Papa slices the braided Challah loaf and hands out slices to each child as Mama places a serving bowl of watery soup near Papa who begins ladling each child a half scoop of the watery-white-colored liquid. As Papa ladles the soup into each bowl, the children look quizzically as the white diced pieces plop and make tiny splashes in front of them.
“Ah, I see your puzzlement and can assure you there are bits of potato and carrot slices for each of you, along with a delicious broth and bread to hopefully fill your tummies,” Mama tries to convince her children there is enough to satisfy their growing hunger, just as Hanna notices Papa has not given himself any soup. She slowly pushes her soup bowl toward him.
“Thank you, Hanna, but you, little one, are still growing.”
“Papa, will you say the Shabbat prayer for us?” Mama nods at Papa, folding her hands
10
and bowing her head. She eyes each of her children with a look designed to encourage them to follow her example. Hanna pushes her bowl back to her Papa, and holds up her spoon to share with him.
“Barruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam, Blessed are You, Eternal our God. Sovereign of the universe. You hallow us with Your commandments, and You command us to kindle the lights of Shabbat.” Papa finishes the prayer and looks to Mama to continue as she begins to sing softly, with the children and Papa joining in.
“May God bless you and guard you. May the light of God shine upon you, and may God be gracious to you.” The faces of each child glowing in the candlelight as Mama wipes away her tears before they can fall.
“Thank you, Papa,” Mama whispers. Hanna peeks one eye open to study her Mama, watching as tears slowly trickle down her face. She tries to memorize how her Mama and Papa look, shutting her eyes tightly so she can keep the picture close to her heart.
“We are grateful for this delicious food. Children, tell your Mama thank you.”
“Thank you. Thank you, Mama. Yes, thank you.” Each child chimes in as there is a pounding at the front door as men’s voices are angrily shouting in German.
Papa places his finger to his lips to silence the children, “Remember what we practiced?”
While Mama toes to lock the kitchen door, she quickly moves to the window, pulling the cafe curtains shut over the sink, as Papa taps his finger to his lips to silence the children and whispers, “Remember your hiding place--children?”
The Long Way Home
A tribute to a young girl’s courage…
And how the human heart
Can sometimes
overcome incredible odds
of unspeakable evil.
by Barbara Lindstrom
Chapter One
1942: A Tailor Shop
Bendzin, Poland
Nine-year-old twin girls twirl across the floor of a Jewish tailor shop chanting, “Funf, sieben, neun.”
Counting in precision they whirl in a polka dance, throwing their blond-curly heads back and cackling in a mad swirl of color. Young Hanna, whose Papa owns the tailor shop, watches as the girls spin and laugh in matching lacy dresses, trimmed in blue ribbons. She looks down, embarrassed by her own frayed, frequently mended and fading green dress. Hanna begins to tremble as the sound of stomping footsteps of Nazi soldiers grows louder as the Secret Service troops march in goose step past the tailor shop.
The twin’s mother, a stout and angry German woman, demands Hanna’s attention. She pounds her fist on the counter as her 9-year-old twins’ giggling turns more ominous into howls of laughter. Hanna nervously twirls a toy dreidel on the wooden counter and looks up at the bloated red face of the woman as spittle shoots from her dark lipstick-stained lips.
“Stoppen! Beenden!” The woman points to the girls and then to two chairs on opposite sides of the shop as the pouting twins, dutifully shuffle to their assigned corners.
“Have you finished the work I gave you, Frauline?”
Hanna freezes for a few seconds, before turning to run, leaving the dreidel to wobble to a stop on the counter. Parting the curtains, she hurries to the back of the shop where a gray-haired middle-aged man wearing a black Yamanaka slowly turns with his arms open wide to greet her.
2
“Hanna, what is it, tell me,” Papa asks, embracing and swaying Hanna gently for comfort.
“Remember, malutka, my little one, when I would rock you like this when you--”
“Papa! It’s that horrible, wicked Frau what’s her name?”
“Ah, Frau Fister? Ya,” Papa whispers, “And please keep your voice down, as her highness, is high up in the Nazi party.”
“I don’t care. I hate her and her ugly--”
Papa quickly places his hand over Hanna’s mouth to silence her.
“Shh. Hush now,” Papa holds his other hand up to silence her and raising his eyebrows in alarm he begins tapping his forefinger against his pursed lips. He shakes his head slowly, fearful of what would happen if overheard. From the front of the shop, Frau Fister barks her demands.
“Hier kommen. Nun!” Frau Fister stomps and kicks the wooden counter as she swipes the dreidel off the counter, breaking it into pieces when it hits the wall and falls to the floor.
Hanna steps through the parted curtain and goes to pick up the broken dreidel as she watches the woman strut and preen like a large breasted bird, poking her beak like nose to the left and right as she tries to look past the curtain. She stops when Papa enters the room and grasps Hanna’s hand and pulls her to his side as he faces the disgruntled customer. Controlling his anger with a long deep sigh, he gasps as Hanna hands him the broken dreidel and swallows to hide his disgust, slipping the toy, symbolizing a Jewish tradition, into his coat pocket.
“Now, Frau Fister,” forcing an anxious smile, “What can for you today?”
3
“I want my clothing. Immediately. You do not need to fix anything, and you should know, I have found a more suitable tailor who is not, not—shall I say?”.
“Jewish?” Papa nods as he quickly turns to swipe through the curtains while praying in a low whisper as he goes to gather her clothing he was actually working on, removing the attached invoice to stuff it into his other pocket.
“Dear God, help me to keep from strangling that wretched peacock!”
Papa reappears through the curtain, placing the clothing in front of Frau Fister, patting the pieces gently, while his trembling hands betray his rage.
“I had only begun working on them but had not finished. There is no charge.” Looking across the counter dividing Jew from non-Jew, Papa visibly shudders as hate shoots from the German Frau’s steely dark blue eyes.
“Gudt! Because I will not give my Ayrian money to a filthy Jew.” The woman gathers her clothing, and signals to her twins to follow, but halfway to the door, the girls turn, sticking out their long, pointy pink tongues. Papa grabs Hanna’s shoulder, squeezing it to remind her to be silent.
“You were raised not to hate. Hanna?”
“But an eye for an eye, Papa!”
“Guten abend, fraulines,” Papa nods at the girls as they skip to exit. “We can discuss the Torah teachings. Later.” The shop door slams shut.
“Pointy tongues, slitty eyes, and slightly pretty dresses. I suppose.” Hanna shrugs,
4
looking down to straighten her own skirt and pulls on a loose thread attached to a mended hole. Papa pats her head and watches outside as the twins run after their mother who pulls a hanky from her sleeve to sniff with dramatic flourish, then waving the hanky at a shiny sedan, slowing to a stop outside the shop.
“Disgusting Jews,” The haughty woman grumbles to the Nazi officer who nods and holds open the rear door of the sleek car. As the Nazi nods in deference, he clicks his heels acknowledging her status, as the twins hurry to follow their mother into the back seat. Shutting the car door, the Nazi Secret Service, SS, officer with a jagged Swastika scar across his right cheek looks up at the tailor shop to study details of the exterior, as if committing what he sees to memory.
Hanna looks up at her father and places her hand on her father’s hand as he gently and lovingly massages her shoulder. Papa quickly takes a step back, pulling Hanna with him so the Nazi cannot see them as he peers up from the street below.
“Papa, why--are they so hateful?”
“The German Frau and her daughters, I think, are a little jealous. Not everyone can be Jewish.”
“Oh Papa, you are too forgiving to those who hate us for--for nothing! Really, Papa, can you not ever hate anyone back? You should have made her pay for all the work you did, because you had just finished it?”
“It is not good luck, or mazel tov, to kvetsh or complain to a goy, a non-Jew.”
5
Hanna takes her Papa’s hand from her shoulder and brings it to her lips. The sweet gesture brings tears to his tired eyes. He crouches to look into Hanna’s troubled eyes, framing her upturned face with his large, gentle hands.
“I love you Papa now and…” Hanna speaks first, watching as her Papa is about to cry,
“Forever. And I love you, now and for all time.” He finishes, softly stroking her cheek before resting his hand upon her head. Removing his wire-rimmed glasses, Papa sniffs back tears, using his apron to wipe smudges from his bent and crooked glasses. “Enough for today, little one.”
“You mean, enough of my whining for today?”
“Ya, that and Mama has been preparing Shabbat for the Friday dinner all day long, with little bits of this and that.”
“With challah bread, my favorite.”
“Amazing. It is my favorite as well, along with a little wine. Which no, you cannot have.”
“Someday, Papa?”
“One day, I will dance at your wedding, and--we will drink wine together,” he finishes touching her nose playfully.
“That seems like a long way off.”
“Ah, there is an old saying, that--”
“You should not make horrible faces at pointy-pink-tongued fraulines?”
6
“That, and time passes so--”
“Quickly? Yes, Papa.” Hanna responds as she has been taught, watching as Papa flips the open sign to closed, looking intently for any SS soldiers on the street, as he opens the door, pulling Hanna behind him and quickly locks and shuts the door, not realizing it would be the last time.
Papa places the key in the pocket with the invoice and removes the bill and tears it to tiny pieces before letting it scatter in the wind.
“I sense something else is bothering you, hmm, am I right?”
“I, well-- I want to grow up to do something important, like, like--”
“Ah, then, to be important and not work in a tailor shop as I do?” Papa pulls his daughter quickly behind him as he hurries along the street, looking for signs of anyone watching their movements.
“I’m sorry, Papa, it is not that I hate sewing, I, mean--”
“You actually detest sewing, but, learning a skill--”
“Like sewing?”
“Ah, yes. Sewing is a skill that could one day be of importance, and since cooking is not a gift you have been blessed with, then perhaps, sewing a bit of this and that may be your, well—your salvation?” Papa pulls Hanna swiftly down the street to the entrance of their apartment. Papa looks behind one last time before he pulls out and inserts a key from his pant pocket, then quickly enters through the door, begins to shut it, when Hanna knocks softly to get his attention.
7
“Forgetting something, or rather someone?” Hanna whispers as Papa reaches out through the cracked open door to pull Hanna inside, then quickly shuts the door and locks it. After a few seconds of silence, a Nazi SS soldier steps from the shadows nearby and inhales the last breath of his cigarette. Tossing the burning remnant to the ground, he grinds the smoldering ashes into the brick-lined street before spitting on the smoky remains. He snorts, shaking his head, as a sinister smile creeps across his jagged scarred cheek. Stroking the Swastika on his face, he smirks with a menacing smile and studies the apartment, making a mental note of where the Jews live. He turns away, pulling out a pad to make a note of the apartment, and two of its occupants.
Inside their apartment, Hanna skips ahead of Papa as they move down the hallway to join Mama and the rest of the family waiting at the kitchen table. Papa wraps his arms around Mama’s shoulders as she continues preparing food and turns Mama into his arms and dances with her for a few seconds before she turns away and is smiling as she pours water from a pitcher to dilute the melted butter, drizzling it atop a steaming loaf of challah bread. She senses their approach and expertly swats away, even before seeing the hands of the older brothers, Alfred and Anton, who are closing in on the loaf, licking their lips hungrily.
“Mama, it is as if you truly do have eyes in the back of her head, “Anton exclaims.
“No, chtopaks, my sweet Polish boys, clean your hands first, and dziewczynas, my sweet Polish girls, sit at the table, please, because I can see your hands are clean.”
“Yes Mama.” Alfred, 15, and Anton, 14 years, dutifully answer in unison and walk to the sink to swish their hands through the soiled water in the half-filled bucket. The boys turn the faucets on, but no water comes out, as they turn to shrug at each other and turn the faucets back
8
off again out of habit.
“Still turned off.” Alfred announces.
“Stupid Nazis.” Anton mumbles.
“Boys, with soap please, and I don’t want to have to use soap in your mouths, do I?”
“Yes. No, Mama, you don’t!” The brothers answer and lather with soap, looking down at the soiled water before plunging their hands into the grimy suds.
“My sons will remember to always clean their hands before placing the candles on the table, which represent… what?”
“The two, rules?” The brothers respond as if reciting what they have been taught about Judaism from memory.
“Ah, the two commandments received by Moses on Mount Sinai that we celebrate for Shabbat, which are…?” Papa chimes in with his answer, to instruct his sons as he loves to do at dinner time.
“To remember?” Alfred repeats as he quickly tears a chunk of bread and tosses it in his mouth before Mama can slap away his hand.
“And to observe?” Anton smirks, watching his brother hide the bread in his cheek.
“Good, chtopaks, now place the candles as I have shown you. Where is Lily?” Mama looks around the kitchen for the youngest member of the family.
Tiny for her nine years, Lilly pops her head out of a basket filled with clothing where she
9
has been hiding under the kitchen tablecloth.
“I was hiding, Mama--like you have shown us?”
“Come, my Lilly, sweet flower.” Papa holds his arms wide as Lilly is helped from the basket and is scooped up high into the air to be lowered to the chair next to Hanna. The children take their seats around the table, Papa sitting at the head as Mama stands at his side and reverently lights the candles, she has placed in silver holders and moves them to the center of their Shabbat feast.
“I light these candles with this prayer, asking for a blessing upon our family, and for this time to talk and celebrate with our family.” Mama savors each word as if saying it for the first time, hoping it will not be the last.
Papa slices the braided Challah loaf and hands out slices to each child as Mama places a serving bowl of watery soup near Papa who begins ladling each child a half scoop of the watery-white-colored liquid. As Papa ladles the soup into each bowl, the children look quizzically as the white diced pieces plop and make tiny splashes in front of them.
“Ah, I see your puzzlement and can assure you there are bits of potato and carrot slices for each of you, along with a delicious broth and bread to hopefully...
