“So do I, my darling.” And then she confessed with a sad smile, “I still wish you were at home with us.”
“I'm happy here,” Amadea reassured her, feeling a tug at her heart. She missed them both at times, but she was still certain of her vocation. In four and a half years, she would take her final vows. There was no question of that. She had never doubted it once since she'd been there. And then as her mother got up to leave, “Merry Christmas, Mama.”
“Merry Christmas to you,” her mother said softly and then left the little cell where they visited, divided by the wall with the narrow grille.
Amadea hurried back to work after that, and at the time set aside for examination of conscience, she thought of all her mother had said to her. She had a great deal to think about, but there was no doubt in her mind what she had to do next. She went to find the Mother Superior in her office directly after lunch, during the time normally set aside for recreation. She was relieved to find Mother Teresa Maria Mater Domini at work at her desk. She looked up as Amadea hesitated. She had been writing a letter to the Mother Superior of the Convent in Holland where Sister Teresa Benedicta had gone, thanking her for responding to their need.
“Yes, sister. What is it?”
“Peace of Christ, Mother. May I speak to you?”
She signaled to her to come in and sit down. “Did you have a nice visit with your mother, Sister?” The wise old eyes were taking her in. She could see that the young nun was worried about something, and looked disturbed.
“Yes, thank you, Mother, I did.” Amadea had closed the door behind her when she entered the room. “I have something I have to tell you, which I didn't know when I came in.” The Mother Superior waited. She could see that it was something serious. The young nun looked upset. “I never knew that my mother wasn't born Catholic. She told me today that she converted to Catholicism before she married my father. She was born Jewish. Her family was deported the day after Kristallnacht. I never knew them because they disowned my mother when she married my father, and never saw her again. My grandmother finally met us two years before I came in. But my grandfather never allowed my mother to see the rest of them again. They wrote her down as dead.” She looked up at the Mother Superior, and took a breath. “She says that no one seems to have any record of her history. She never registered, she has no passport. My parents lived in Switzerland for three years before we moved back here. I was born there. She has her marriage certificate to my father, which says she's Catholic. My birth certificate says they both are. But I'm half Jewish, Mother. I never knew that before. And I'm afraid now that if I stay, I will put everyone at risk.” It was exactly why Sister Teresa Benedicta had just left.
“We are not at risk, my child, and neither are you. From what you're telling me, no one knows your mother's circumstances. Is she planning to register as a Jew with the police?”
Amadea shook her head. “No, she's not. She leads a quiet life, and there is no reason for anyone to find out.” It was not honest, admittedly, but it was practical, and there were lives at stake. Both Daphne's and hers, and Amadea's. Even those of the other nuns perhaps. The Mother Superior did not appear to disapprove. “Sister Teresa Benedicta's circumstances were entirely different from yours. She was born fully Jewish, and she was well known as a lecturer and an activist, before she came here. She's a convert. You're not. She brought a great deal of attention to herself before she became a nun. You are a young girl who grew up as a Catholic. And with any luck at all, no one will ever realize that your mother didn't grow up Catholic, too. If she stays quiet, hopefully no one will ever know. If something happens to change that, I'm sure she'll let us know. In that case, we can spirit you away somewhere. This is precisely what I didn't like about Sister Benedicta's circumstances-it panics everyone. There is no need for alarm in your case. You came here as an innocent young girl, not as a grown woman who was known, had converted, and drawn attention to herself. In her case, it was wisdom to leave. In yours, it is imperative to stay. That is, if you want to stay.” She looked at her questioningly, and Amadea looked relieved.
“Yes, I do. But I was afraid you would want me to go. I will, if that is ever what you wish.” If so, it would have been the ultimate sacrifice to Amadea, for the good of the others. And her “small way” of denying herself for them. Saint Teresa's “small way” was self-denial in God's name.
“It's not. And Sister,”-she looked at her sternly then, as a mother would to admonish a child-“it is very important that you not discuss this with anyone. No one. We will keep this information between us.” And then she looked up with concern. “Do you know what happened to your mother's family? Has she heard anything?”
“She believes they were sent to Dachau.” The Mother Superior said nothing and pursed her lips. She hated what was happening to the Jews, as they all did.
“Please tell her that I'm sorry when you write to her. But do it discreetly,” she said, and Amadea nodded, looking grateful for her kindness.
“Mother, I don't want to leave. I want to take my solemn vows.”
“If that is God's will, then you shall.” But they both knew it was still four and a half years away. It seemed an eternity to the young nun. She was determined to get there and let nothing stand in her way. They had just overcome a great obstacle in the last half-hour. “Do not confuse your circumstances with those of Sister Teresa Benedicta. That is a very different case.” And it had been a severe one, with high risk for all concerned. This was not, in her opinion.
“Thank you, Mother.” Amadea thanked her again and left a moment later, as the Mother Superior sat at her desk, looking pensive for a long moment. She wondered how many more of these circumstances existed behind the convent walls. It was possible there were others she wasn't aware of, and perhaps the nuns themselves had no idea, as Amadea hadn't. But it was better not to know.
Amadea felt immensely relieved for the rest of the day, although she was still concerned about her mother and sister. But perhaps her mother was right, and the truth of her origins would never come out. There was no reason for them to. She prayed that night for the relatives who had been deported and possibly even killed, whom she had never known. She remembered then the time her mother had taken her to the synagogue, and Amadea couldn't understand why at the time. She had forgotten about it afterward, but now, thinking back, she realized that she must have somehow been touching some piece of her past. She had never taken Amadea there again.
14
THE PERSECUTION OF THE JEWS CONTINUED, PREDICTABLY, into the following year. In January 1939, Hitler gave a speech, threatening them, and making clear his enmity toward them. They were no longer welcome citizens in their own country, as Hitler vowed to make things tough for them, and already had. The following month they were told to hand over all gold and silver items. In April they lost their rights as tenants and had to relocate into entirely Jewish houses, and could no longer live side by side with Aryans.
As a result, Jews were trying to emigrate, which was far from easy. In many cases, the countries they wished to emigrate to would not take them. They had to have relatives and sponsors abroad and often didn't. They had to have jobs to go to, and permission from both the Germans and the countries they wanted to go to, and were often denied by either or both countries. And they had to have money to pay for the entire process, and most didn't. Few were able to pull all the necessary elements together, in the time allotted, with success. Many German Jews still insisted and believed that things would calm down again. What was happening was hard to believe. This wasn't reasonable, they were Germans. Nothing bad could happen. But too many had already been deported and sent to work camps, and the reports that filtered back were increasingly alarming. People were dying of abuse, malnutrition, overwork, and illness. Some simply disappeared in silence. Those who saw the handwriting on the wall were already panicked. But leaving Germany was nearly impossible to do.
Throughout the year, the Kindertransport that Amadea had told her mother about was continuing to pick up children and send them to England. It had been organized by the British, and the Quakers had gotten involved with it. They were shipping children out of Germany, Austria, and Czechoslovakia. A few were Christian, but almost all were Jewish. The British had agreed to accept them without passports as long as they were no older than seventeen, so as not to jeopardize jobs for Britons. The Nazis had agreed to let them go, provided they took no valuables with them, and took only a single small valise that they could carry. Watching them leave from railway stations, and the parents who took them there, tore one's heart out. But it was the only assurance their parents had now that they would stay safe, and might escape the fate the Nazis were condemning Jews to. Parents told their children on railway platforms that they would join them in England soon. Parents and children alike hoped that
