It was almost midnight. Sara let herself into the dark house
silently, threw herself onto her bed and sobbed
uncontrollably, but silently, into her pillow. What had she
done? She had given her three-month-old baby to a neighbor,
together with a fortune in money and jewels, and begged her
to look after her till the end of the war, till she came back
for her. The farmer and his wife had grabbed the money
greedily, and the woman had taken the baby with slightly less
enthusiasm, promising to keep her safe.
Sara's husband had taken the three older boys, on the
principle that at least half the family might survive, and
left her with the three little girls, to try to make her way
to Vilna, where they planned to meet. When Sara succeeded in
controlling herself, she crept into the girls' bedroom, and
gently shook Channele, but the child slept deeply and
peacefully. 'Poor little mite,' she thought sadly, as she
shook her awake more firmly. The child opened her eyes
sleepily and began to protest; she did not want to get
dressed in the middle of the night. Sara did not even attempt
to answer any questions, she took the bundle which she had
prepared earlier, and the pendant inside which her husband
had written Channele's full name on a piece of parchment, she
slipped into her pocket. Then for the second time that
evening, she went to her husband's study and took a
shofor from the drawer. Swiftly she slipped it inside
the bundle, took Channele's hand and went out into the
night.
Sara walked as fast as the five-year-old child's feet would
let her. At first they hastened through the Jewish streets,
but soon came to an area which Channele had never visited.
Sara began to speak in a clear whisper, hoping the child
would understand a little of what she was saying. "Channele,
you know that there is a war, and you know that a terrible
man is trying to kill us all. We are trying to run away from
him, but you are too little to manage without food and drink
for a long time, and your little legs cannot run so fast." "I
want Mummy and Mirel," the child began to wail. "Mirel has
gone to stay with a family for a while, because she is much
too small, but soon the war will be over and I will come and
fetch you both."
Suddenly, Sara froze in her tracks; the monastery loomed
ahead, dark and forbidding. The thought that she was leaving
her child in the hands of a nun, unnerved her. Channele's
increasing sobs gave Sara a strength and authority she did
not normally have. "Listen, we will come and fetch you very
soon. You are going to live with goyim, but you must
always remember that you are a Yiddishe girl. You must say
Shema every night."
Sara dug into her pocket and extracted the pendant. With
shaking hands, she tied it round the child's neck and told
her not to take it off, ever, and then hid it under her
dress. "Listen to Anita; she will look after you till I come
back." Sara picked up the bewildered little girl, hugging and
kissing her, as Anita appeared from the shadows, casting
furtive glances all around. "Hurry," she hissed. Sara
released her daughter, and handed the large sum of money on
which they had agreed, to Anita. She took the shofar
out of the bundle, and gave it to Anita.
"Keep this with you," she whispered, handing her the bundle
at the same time. Before she had a chance to say more, Anita
and the child had vanished in the darkness, behind the
portals of the accursed building.
Sara stood, rooted to the spot. She wanted to run and drag
Channele out of there, but realized the danger for herself,
and for Chasya, who was still asleep at home. Once more she
dragged herself home, allowing her tears to run freely. How
could she have left her two children with goyim, with
a farmer and with a nun? Anita's parents had been their
closest neighbors for over thirty years. Her father had
actually been a Jew! And why had she given them a
shofar ? Anita used to love hearing her father blowing
and practicing right through Elul. Sara's father had been the
Baal Tokeah, the tenth generation in their family!
I gave one shofar to Mirrel, one to Channele; Yaakov
and the boys took one with them, I still have two left from
all those I inherited from my father. Each shofar has
its own history, its own sound. She began to pack, just the
bare essentials which she would need for Chasya and herself.
Not more than they would be able to carry on their perilous
journey to Vilna. The activity calmed her somewhat. In a few
moments she would wake Chasya, that they could be on their
way before sunrise.
Channele was inconsolable. Anita carried her up to her room,
where she tried to gain the child's confidence and make her
feel at home in 'the new house.' But Channele would not be
distracted, she wanted her mommy. Until Anita suddenly showed
her the shofar . . .
Channele stopped crying. Anita had seen Sara's father blowing
shofar for many years. It was much more difficult than
she had imagined, but Anita managed to coax a small sound out
of the shofar . Channele fell asleep to the small toots
of the shofar . After that, whenever, as frequently
happened, Channele was overcome by homesickness, Anita would
pick her up, carry her to her room, and under cover of a
blanket would calm her with the familiar toot of the
shofar .
The war was at an end. Refugees tried to return to their home
towns, to begin to rebuild their lives. Yakov and Sara had
survived, although their children had not. Now they were
determined to retrieve their two remaining children. The
farmer's wife did not really want to part with 'her' baby but
finally, she handed her over.
Sara heaped praise and blessings on the farmer and his wife
for having looked after the baby so well. Yanush, the farmer,
explained to Yakov that the shofar had definitely
saved their lives. The Germans had searched every farm and
cottage in the area, and killed anyone harboring a Jewish
child. They never searched his farm at all, the farmer
boasted.
Now the couple, united with Mirel, turned towards the
monastery. The guard at the gate announced, as he had been
instructed, "We cannot return any Jewish children, they are
ours now." All their pleas fell on deaf ears, no, they could
not speak to any of the nuns; no, they could not speak to the
Mother Superior.
Night was falling, as they sat on a boulder, not far from the
monastery. The sound of evening Vespers came through the
night air, and the parents shuddered at the thought that
perhaps Channele's voice too was amongst them. They were
determined not to leave without her. Yakov walked round to
the back of the building, from where he could see the upper
rooms. In the darkness, he held the shofar to his lips
and began to blow . . . Tekiyo, Shvorim Teruoh. Not a
sound from upstairs, no face appeared at the window.
On the third floor, in a darkened room, Channele (Anna) was
tossing on her bed. She could not sleep. She decided to go to
Anita, to the shofar when she heard it . . . .toot,
toot, toot. Was Anita blowing without her? Barefoot, in her
little nightgown, Channele ran into Anita's room, toot, toot,
toot. No, Anita was not blowing. She was looking out of the
window, listening. Channele joined her.
Anita's mind was in a turmoil. Loyalty to her erstwhile
friends, eternal damnation by the bishop, love for the little
girl she had protected . . . toot, toot. Then something
stirred inside her. She took the shofar from its
hiding place, went to the window and gave one tremulous
'toot.'
Yakov looked up. There, on the third floor, a light had gone
on. It silhouetted a nun and a little girl. They waved to
each other, and Yakov gave one final blast on his
shofar. None of them slept that night. The next day,
many attempts to smuggle the child out, failed; it was
afternoon by the time they succeeded. At last, somehow or
other, Channele was reunited with her parents, who could not
stop praising "one of the righteous of the gentiles" who had
saved at least one Jewish child, at the risk of her own
life.
