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ALL ABOARD

A Jewish girl’s dream of what was and could be.

By REDWRITERPublished 3 years ago 4 min read
1
Yellow Daffodil and Star of David

Nine years had passed, since that fateful day, coined with the name of Kristallnacht, had taken her grandfather from her. She felt like her life had been split into two separate paths, since that night. Her youth was filled with beauty, hope, and aspiration. The turn of events seemed like an intermission from hell. She couldn’t help but wonder, if the third act would soon be coming to a close.

She was lined up next to her friend Leah as a group of them were being led from their ghetto to the railway. A long train of red cattle stock cars was waiting for them. They were told they were being transported to another location. The Nazi’s were void on the purpose of the move. Many in the ghetto believed they were being led to a labor camp, while the more destitute among them spread rumors of it being a killing camp.

Inside the brick walls crowned with barbed wire, were a collection of tens of thousand starving Jews, who no longer possessed any money to bargain with. The trucks of bulk food deliveries had stopped weeks ago. They were surviving off the potatoes they had planted in the rubble along the edges of the wall. The desperation for better circumstances led the group to be compliant to their marching orders to leave their prison. It seemed opposite of reason to believe their situation would bare any better on the other side. Every move they were forced to make was a step closer to an inferno of displeasure.

Golda knew, that life would not be easy, if she succumbed to the easy drift into a slumber of hopelessness. She focused on the memories she still had of her early childhood. The ones filled with joy and laughter. She used to play the violin. Her father was a carpenter, a maker of instruments. He supplied music stores throughout Warsaw with his finely crafted stringed instruments. Her days were filled with hours of practice. She remembered how her fingers would glide along the strings before pressing them down into the rosewood of the fingerboard. The memory of the tension in her knuckles as she would press into a double stop, was the last memory she had of her ability to exert healthy strength.

While her group was led outside the gates of the ghetto, she saw a small yellow daffodil growing out of the broken brick soil. The image brought her back to the middays of Summer, when the tall grass would sway with the breeze. She would let the grass swish across her finger tips as she closed her eyes and imagined herself performing in concert in front of an audience. She would pretend the grass blades were the strings of a hundred violins reaching out for her to play a melody peace.

While the soldiers had their focus on the group still within the ghetto, Golda bent down to pluck the resilient little yellow daffodil. The fact that it could grow in a place of destruction gave her hope. Maybe one day the world she now lived in would blossom into a better tomorrow. One where people learned to love those different than them. The flower looked like the Star of David, that the Nazi’s had them stitch into the sleeves on their arm. The intended identifier like a brand on a cow was a reminder to Golda of the German people’s failure. Their failure to see who Golda was as an individual. She was proud of her Jewish heritage, but that was not the whole of who she is. She wondered, if given the opportunity to play for her captors, would they see that she is a human capable of beauty of creation?

The question seemed to be but a fantasy as her group neared the cars of the train. The Jews in front of her were being pulled up onto the train by the other weak men who had already boarded. The image brought a tear to fall down her cheek. How could humanity come together and accept an idea to hate one another so intensely? How did them being Jews lead a whole country to support the herding of her people to their untimely deaths? Or better yet, how could her people be slowly conditioned to accept their fate brought about by an illogical hate?

Golda grasped the yellow daffodil in the cage of her fist as she was lifted up into the train car. The smell overwhelmed her. The crowd of people pressed in the car, pushed her up against the wooden planks. A barred opening allowed her to look out at the ghetto one last time before the train departed. Like the flower clutched in her hand, Golda had been picked from the rubble of destruction humanity had caused. Her beauty would not be enjoyed, but the beauty she saw as a child would one day blossom again.

May the children of the Earth be whisked away by the dreams of peace and paint this world yellow.

https://www.redwriter.org/perspective/all-aboard

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About the Creator

REDWRITER

Reaching out to a better tomorrow. I am the REDWRITER.

www.redwriter.org

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