CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
ZACHARIAH WANTED TO KNOW, “WHO IS RABBI BERLINGER?”
“The former head of this community. One of the last alive who lived through the Holocaust.”
“He survived the Nazis?”
The mayor nodded. “He was taken to Terezin, along with many others. He served on the governing council in the camp and tried to look after people.”
The fortified town of Terezin had been a holding point from where tens of thousands of Czech Jews were transported east to death camps. Many, though, died there from squalid conditions.
“The rabbi is highly regarded,” the mayor said. “No one questions him. If he asked to speak to these two intruders, then that’s what would happen.”
He also heard what was unspoken. This man’s election depended on the support of such people. Though this man might be king, Berlinger was the kingmaker. But still, “I have to know why he is interested.”
“Would you tell me
“The man caught at the synagogue has something that belongs to me. I want it back.”
“This must be something of great importance.”
“It is to me.”
He was choosing his words carefully.
Say enough, but not too much.
“I have sent someone to find out what is going on. How about until he returns you and I pray. Look there, in the east window, the morning sun can now be seen.”
He glanced up the wall to the narrow slit that blazed with the day’s first light. He realized that Jews for 700 years had watched that sight. Everything he was about to do, everything he’d planned, he did for them. 100,000 of his brethren had been exterminated during the war, the Czech president simply handing the country over to Hitler as a German protectorate. Immediately laws were implemented that forbid non-Aryan doctors from caring for the sick. Jews were forbidden from public parks, theaters, cinemas, libraries, sporting events, public baths, and swimming pools. They could not serve in public office and were forced to use only certain compartments at the rear of trains and none of the public facilities at stations. Shopping was allowed only at designated times. Curfew was 8:00 P.M. No telephones were permitted and none could change their residence without approval. The list of restrictions had been endless, all eventually leading to arrest and extermination.
But the Nazis had not razed the Jewish quarter.
The synagogues went untouched, including the Old-New. Even the cemetery had not been overly violated. The idea had been to transform everything into an elaborate open-air exhibit.
The Exotic Museum for an Extinct Race.
But that never came to be.
Russia liberated the country in 1945.
Coming to Prague always seemed to strengthen his resolve. Throughout history Jews had respected strong leadership, clear motives, and unflinching action. They appreciated decisiveness. And that was what he would provide. But the mayor was right. Time to pray. So he clasped his hands behind his back, bowed his head, and asked for God’s help in all that he intended.
“There is one thing,” the mayor quietly said.
He opened his eyes and stared down at the man, who was a third of a meter shorter.
“You asked about documents that were once stored in the loft. We do, as required, bury them from time to time. But we have developed a different way of accomplishing that obligation.”
He waited for an explanation.
“Space in the old cemetery is gone, and no one really wants to dig there anyway. There are too many unmarked graves. So we have a crypt in which the writings are placed. They have been stored there since the war. It’s a system that works. Our problem has been the upkeep of that crypt. Most expensive. Labor-intensive.”
He caught the message.
“We fight every day,” the mayor said, “to reclaim our property and restore the cemetery and the synagogues. We try to manage our lives, recall our heritage, restore the legacy. To do that, we encourage outside investment.” He paused. “Whenever we can.”
“I believe one of my foundations could make a suitable donation to assist with those costs.”
The mayor nodded. “That is most generous of you.”
“Of course, it would help if I could see this crypt, so as to gauge the appropriate amount of the contribution.”
The head nodded again. “I think that would be entirely reasonable. We shall do that. Just after we pray.”
———
TOM WATCHED THE OLD RABBI, LEERY OF EVERYTHING THAT WAS happening. He had no idea if this man was who he claimed to be. What he did know was that the unedited message had been read, its contents now known to a third party.
The smug messenger from Barnes & Noble came to mind, along with his warning.
