“But they could not find a room in the inn, right Mütti.”

  Magda smiled. “No, Dina, they could not. So Joseph found a man who let them stay in his stable. Can you imagine that the God of the Universe chose the most humble of places to be born?”

  “And then the angels came?”

  Emily laughed. “Soon you will be old enough to tell the story, Dina, for you know it by heart already.”

  Magda opened the Bible and read. “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria. And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; because he was of the house and lineage of David: To be taxed with Mary, his espoused wife, being great with child.

  “And so it was that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

  “And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, “Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

  “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”

  “And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us. And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child. And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.”

  Emily put her arm around Dina. “When Yeshua grew up, he taught the things of God to the people of Israel. But many people who were not Jews believed also. That is because God sent Jesus to everyone to tell them they did not have to live in the darkness of sin anymore. He said, ‘I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”

  “When your papa and I met, and I showed him the menorah, he said Gott spoke to him and said ‘I am the light.’ Then when the Nazis found us and sent us away to the concentration camp ...”

  “… That is when you met Joshua?”

  “Yes, Dina, that is when we met Joshua, a Jew who knew his Messiah. He gave his life so your papa and I could escape from the Nazis. When we light the menorah, I always remember him, for not only did he save our lives, he showed us the one who gives eternal live.”

  “Yeshua Hamaschiach?”

  “Yes, Dina, Jesus the Messiah.”

  Dina sighed. “And then you escaped and went to France, and I was born.” She snuggled into her mother’s arms. “Oh, Mama, how I love the stories.”

  Emily looked up. Night had fallen. “Come, Dina, it is time to light the menorah.”

  The March—May 1945

  The man pulled the ragged coat around him. It was spring, but he was cold, always cold. His feet moved on the road, feet that no longer seemed connected to his legs. Steady now, one foot in front of the other.

  I must keep moving … if I stop, I will die …

  They had marched for three days, and today, a heavy snow had been falling since before dawn. It chilled him to the bone. Still they marched, trudging along in the snow, their naked feet turning the white into a morass of mud and blood. They kept their eyes down, so they would not make eye contact with the guards and draw their attention.

  One foot in front of the other …

  He watched those who could not keep up a steady marching pace pulled out of line and shot by the guards. Others, many of them friends, collapsed and died along the side of the road.

  Keep moving or you will die …

  The man looked up. The clouds were breaking, and the steady snow turned to random flakes. He wanted to end it all, just stop, let the guards take him.

  So after all these years of surviving, I am to die on a muddy road in the south of Germany. Ach zo! Then I will be with you, my beloved …

  But his feet would not stop. They moved as though they had a life of their own. He looked down at the hands that were showing out of the frayed cuffs of. Once they had been powerful hands, the hands of a man in his prime, now they were the hands of a scarecrow, the skin clinging to the bones and thin as parchment paper. A small smile played over his once handsome face.

  Oh my dearest, if you could see me now …

  In the days before Nazis forced them out of the camp, rumors abounded that the Americans were only hours away. Many of the guards deserted, and a spirit of hope grew among the Jews. Still, conditions were horrific, and hundreds died every day. Typhus raged. Then, early in the morning of April 26, the Nazis put many prisoners on a train. After it left, the guards came to the barracks. The old man had been told to prepare to leave. The SS troops formed up a large group of prisoners, half Jews and half Russian POWs, and marched out of the camp.

  The old man had fallen in beside his friend, Hirschel Grodzienski. “What’s this all about, Hirschel?”

  “They say Hitler is fleeing to Tyrol to keep up the war there. They need us to build a fortress for him to hide in.”

  Another man next to them scoffed. “That’s another lie. The Nazis do not want to be caught with so many of us. Then the world will know what they have done. Did you not see the guards passing out food and clothing as we left? They are trying to smooth things over, to make the prisoners say how kind they were to us. The animals.”

  A third man whispered, “Kaltenbrunner will kill us all. Even in the death throes of the Third Reich, the Nazis will do their best to murder all the Jews.”

  And so they marched, rumors swirling up and down the line.

  It was late at night in the former offices of the camp commandant. Gerd Hirschberg sat at a desk going over the lists of prisoners. He did not expect to find anything good about Emily’s parents, but he looked anyway.

  The record keepers divided the information in the records into five columns: family name or given name, place and date of birth, last place of residence, prisoner number and barracks, when they had arrived, and what had happened to them. Name followed name with “died” and the date in the last column. Gerd went through the files until he found the records from 1935 to 1936. Now he was going through them, name by name.

  So many deaths ... This cannot be!

  Gerd leafed through the records page by page until he came to March 1936. Then he saw the entry. There they were! Emilé and Rachel Weissbach from Munich. His eyes went to the last column. His heart sank. Rachel was dead—soon after they arrived, it appeared. He looked at Emilé’s entry. The last column was empty! He checked again—there was no entry, it was blank.

  This can only mean one thing. Emilé died within the last few days and the Germans did not have time to make an entry or …

  Gerd lifted the phone and called in his aide, Sergeant Rosko.

  “Sir?”

  “Sergeant, Have they dispersed the prisoners from the barracks yet?”

  “No, sir. The transports to the hospitals have not arrived, so our men are making the survivors as comfortable as possible until they do.”

  “Good.” He pointed to the map of the camp. “I want you to go to these barracks and find someone who has been in charge. Bring him to me.”

  “Yes, sir.” Rosko turned and left.

  In about half an hour, there was a knock on the door.

  “Come.” Gerd looked up.

  Sergeant Rosko entered. He looked back. “Don’t be afraid, come in. The captain only wants to ask you some questions.”

  Then a man shuffled through the door—or what was left of a man. Gerd shook his head in disbelief. The man before him was skin and bones, skeletal, but his eyes were alive.

  Gerd motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit, please,” he said gently. The man complied.

  “What is your name?”

  The man lifted his head. “I am Yitzhak Perlman.”

  “Have you had some food? Blankets? Are you comfortable?”

  “Yes, they fed us, Captain, but the food was too rich for my stomach. I threw up. The clean water was good, though.”

  Gerd turned to his sergeant. “Rosko, go down to the mess and have the cooks make some broth for these men. Something light that they can handle.”

  Rosko nodded and left.

  Gerd looked at the man. “Mr. Perlman, was Emilé Weissbach in your barracks?”

  Perlman nodded. “Until three days ago.”

  Gerd’s heart sank. “He died?”

  Perlman shook his head. “No, Captain. Before you got here, the Nazis rounded up several thousand prisoners and marched them out of camp. They went south. I think the Nazis were trying to get as many prisoners out of the camp as they could, so you would not see the enormous evil of what they have done here. I think they meant to kill us all, but you arrived too soon.”

  “And Emilé?”

  “He was taken in the march. He was alive when last I saw him.”

  Alive! Emily’s father is alive!

  Gerd picked up the phone. The operator answered him. “Yes, put me through to the general’s office immediately!”

  One foot in front of the other. If I stop I will die.

  The snow had started again and then stopped, but he did not feel the cold anymore. He had fallen into a rhythm with his feet—

  Step, step, left, right, move or die, move or die …

  The men moved in a long column down the road. They had not rested for hours. The road wound through the trees, rising toward the mountains, and the man could see the tops of majestic peaks lifting over the horizon. Soon they came into an area of heavy woods where the trees grew right down to the road, muffling the sound of the marching feet.

  Hirschel marched next to him. “Tyrol, they are taking us to Tyrol.”

  He answered his friend. “Does Hitler think he can hide in the mountains? His kingdom is over. Why doesn’t he just let us go?”

  Hirschel shook his head. “He is a madman. Even as his mighty Third Reich crumbles around him, he sits in Berlin like a horrible spider, spinning his webs and pursuing his murderous schemes. I think he will not rest until every one of us is dead, or he is dead.”

  Hirschel began to speak in a low monotone.

  May the Lord answer you on the day of distress; may the Name of the God of Jacob fortify you.

  May He send your help from the Sanctuary, and support you from Zion.

  May He remember all your offerings and always accept favorably your sacrifices.

  May He grant you your heart's desire and fulfill your every counsel.

  As his friend spoke, the man began to speak the words with him…

  We will rejoice in your deliverance and raise our banners in the name of our God; may the Lord fulfill all your wishes.

  Now I know that the Lord has delivered His anointed one, answering him from His holy heavens with the mighty saving power of His right hand.

  Some rely upon chariots and some upon horses, but we rely upon and invoke the Name of the Lord our God.

  They bend and fall, but we rise and stand firm.

  Lord, deliver us; may the King answer us on the day we call.

  The tears in his eyes surprised him…

  To Seek and To Find

  The jeep rolled slowly down the snowy road. Ahead of him, Gerd could see the tracks of feet, hundreds of feet. All along the way, they had seen the bodies of dead men. He had stopped to look at the identification number tattooed on each arm. He had memorized Emilé’s—123356. None of the men he saw were Emily’s father.

  Yeshua, help me!

  They pushed on up the mountainous road. Above them, a Stinson Sentinel purred through the sky, looking for the column of prisoners. The snow thinned, and the grey curtain of clouds lifted. The radio in the back seat crackled to life. Gerd looked around. The radioman listened and then turned to Gerd. “Sir, the advance scouts have entered a village called Waakirchen, about a mile ahead. They found many dead and dying in the snow and a lot of prisoners wandering around but no Germans. The guards seem to have run away.” Gerd pulled over and signaled the two platoons behind him. A young lieutenant raced to the side of the Jeep. He was Japanese, a member of the 552nd Division.

  “Sir!”

  “Lieutenant, get your men up the road on the double. Be sharp. It looks like the Germans have abandoned the prisoners, but there may be some up there still willing to die for the Führer. And once you have secured the village, have some of your men collect any dead bodies. We need to identify them for the record.”

  “Yes, sir.” The young man shouted orders, and the two platoons of Japanese troops left on the run. Gerd shook his head.

  Only in the American army could a German captain command a group of Japanese GIs …

  They had come to a small village in the mountains. The guards let them rest in a large meadow. Then a German armored vehicle came roaring up. The man in the Kübelwagon shouted at the officer in charge. “Die amerikanischen Truppen kommen!”

  The officer turned to his men. “Töten Sie soviel Gefangene, wie Sie können!”

  Some guards began firing at the prisoners. Others threw down their guns and ran away.

  Hirschel grabbed him. “Run, run for your life.”

  He ran toward the woods as fast as he could. Others were with him. He saw a man get shot, stumble, and fall. Then they were in the woods, racing through the trees …

  Gerd pulled into Waakirchen. In a large meadow outside of town, he found the 552nd boys rounding up the survivors. All around, there were mounds under the snow. He could see men lying on the ground, still moving. He called the lieutenant over. “Lieutenant, what’s your name?”

  “Ichiro Imamura, sir.”

  “Well, Lt. Imamura, I want your men to check every body in this meadow. Some of these prisoners are still alive.”

  “Yes, sir.” The Lieutenant went off to gather his men.

  Sergeant Rosko approached with an old man in a ragged coat and striped pants. “Sir, this man wishes to speak to you.”

  The old man spoke in German. “Guten tag,”

  Gerd replied. “Guten, tag, wie gehen sie?”

  The old man smiled. “Ah, you speak German? Gut.”

  They continued speaking in German. Gerd asked the man what he needed.

  “When the Germans started firing, many ran into the woods, maybe a few hundred. They are probably hiding, afraid of the Germans.”

  Gerd shook the man’s hand. “Danke, now go with the soldiers, they will help you. We have trucks coming to take you back to the hospitals. We will find the others.”

  The old man bobbed his head and then shuffled away. Gerd turned to his Sergeant. “Rosko, get me twenty or thirty men. Bring them to me.”

  In a few minutes, Rosko was back with the men. Gerd addressed them. “There are several hundred prisoners hiding in those woods. We need to bring them out. As you walk through the woods, I want you to shout this phrase. 'Wir sind amerikanische Soldaten! Haben Sie Angst nicht. Sie sind jetzt sicher.’ It means ‘we are American soldiers, do not be afraid, you are safe now.’”

  Gerd led the men into the woods. They spread out—each shouting the phrase Gerd had taught them. Soon men came out from behind trees and out from under logs and brush. Soon there was a large group. Gerd stepped in front of them. “Emilé, Emilé Weissbach?”

  A man stepped forward. “I am Hirschel, Emilé’s friend. He fell back there. I think they shot him.”

  Dear Jesus, not after all this …

  “Show me!”

  The man led, and Gerd and Rosko followed. They came to a small swale where a brook ran through the trees. “Emilé, Emilé Weissbach, can you hear me?”

  Nothing. Gerd shouted again. There! A voice!

  “Ich bin hier...”

  Gerd pushed through the brush. A man in a ragged coat was lying beneath a tree. Hirschel ran forward and knelt down beside him. “Emilé, Emilé, are you hurt? I thought they shot you.”

  The man opened his eyes. He smiled. “Nein, Hirschel. These old legs just gave out, and I fell.”

  Gerd came and knelt beside Hirschel. “Are you Emilé Weissbach from Munich?”

  “Yes?” A question came into the man’s eyes.

  “Do you have a daughter named Emily?”

  Amazement came over Emilé’s face. “Yes, I had a daughter, but she is dead. She must be dead.”

  Gerd laughed out loud. “Thank you, Yeshua!”

  The two Jews looked at him in wonder. Gerd put his hand on Emilé’s shoulder. “No, Emilé, she is not dead. She is safe in America.”

  “America, but how, when …?”

  “She is my wife, Emilé, I saved her from the Nazis when she came to my barn after they took you away.”

  “Emily, alive?”

 

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