Chapter 55 Chapter Fifty-Four

A Jewish Journey (from Ellen Jastrow's manuscript) Christmas, 1942.Lourdes. Auschwitz is on my mind when I wake up in the morning. All Americans in all four hotels were allowed to go to church for one time only, and attended midnight mass in the cathedral.As usual, we were accompanied by the somewhat polite security police who had been following us.Besides them, there were a few German soldiers with rough attitudes.Since last week, whether we are going for a walk or shopping, whether we are seeing a doctor, pulling a tooth or getting a haircut, he has followed us every step of the way.It was Christmas Eve (it was so cold in the high Pyrenees that, needless to say, there were no fires to keep warm, either in the church or in the corridors of the hotel), and these soldiers celebrated Jesus Christ's birthday would have been good enough to get drunk with one of his mates, or to get some animal lust out of the few poor French whores who were here for the pleasure of the eye-signers, but they were terrified of the drudgery assigned to them. Obviously annoyed.Natalie didn't want to go to mass, but I did.

I haven't been to mass for a long time.In this holy city where everyone worships, I saw the real mass, and saw a group of pious men and women; because there is a shrine here, some of the people who came to worship were paralyzed, some were lame and broken, and some were paralyzed. Blind, maimed, and dying, they formed a horrible procession; and if anyone really believed that even a sparrow fell to the ground, God has mercy, these must be him. The object of cruel teasing, or the victim of his carelessness.The cold air in the church was threatening, but after the Mass began, the atmosphere in the church was as warm as spring compared with the desolation in my heart at this moment: hymns were played, the bells were melodious, communion was received, and the atmosphere of kneeling and worshiping was solemn. .Since I am here entirely of my own free will, just out of politeness, I should have knelt with them when I had to.However, I, a strong Jew, refused to kneel despite the disapproving glances from all around me.I also didn't go to the post-mass Christmas party for our group at the Ambassador Hotel, although I was told there was all you can drink black market booze, as well as black market turkey and sausage.I went back to the Gallia Hotel and was escorted to my door by a bad-breathing and rough German soldier.So I fell asleep, and when I woke up, I was thinking about Auschwitz.

My first break with my Judaism was at the Talmud in Auschwitz.All the scenes at that time are still vivid in my mind, as if it was yesterday.The superintendent of that school thought that I dared to believe in heresy, so he slapped me hard and expelled me from the lecture hall. I was heeling in the snow in the city square through the purple twilight window, There was a pinprick pain in both cheeks; I can still feel that pain.I hadn't thought about it in years, but even now I think it was an intolerable outrage.Perhaps, in a larger city, such as Krakow or Warsaw, the dean of the Talmud there would have been reasonable enough to laugh off my profanity.If that's the case, my life's voyage may be different from today's.That 100,000,000 hands held a small branch in Luhuo County, but it changed the course of a rushing torrent.

This thing is too unfair!After all, I was a child of the rules, "soft as satin," as they say in Yiddish. The fine nuances of the law, what the common fool would call "a dead end" to the essence of Judaism. "In terms of ethical details, I can speak clearly and clearly, which is better than others.Those assertions and reasoning are so rigorous and elegant that they are almost comparable to geometry. Whoever wants to master them needs not only a taste, but also a thirst for knowledge.I have exactly this thirst for knowledge.I was a brilliant student of the Talmud, smarter and quicker than the superintendent.Possibly that narrow-minded, stubborn fool with the black hat and the big beard just wanted a chance to kill me; that's why he slapped me across the face, Expelled from the lecture hall, sent me on the journey to the cross of Christ.

I still remember that passage: on page 111, the title is "The Sacrifice of the Passover".I still remember its content: demons, and spells to avoid ghosts, fight ghosts, and exorcise ghosts.I still remember why I was beaten.I asked, "But, Mr. Reza, is there really such a thing as a devil?" I snarled, "Get up! Get out! You infidel!" And I staggered out of the school into the gloomy, snow-covered Auschwitz. I was fifteen years old.For me, Auschwitz was a big city at that time, and I had only been to the grand metropolis of Krakow once before.Our village, Medzis - about ten kilometers up the Vistula River, you can get there - the houses are all wooden houses, and the streets are all crooked and muddy trail.Even the church in Medziz—which we children always avoided as we avoid the leprosy hospital—was a board house.Auschwitz has level streets; a large railway station, many buildings of brick and stone, many shops with brightly lit glass windows, a few churches of stone.

I am very unfamiliar with this city.In the code school, we lived a strict barracks life, except for a few small streets and alleys directly adjacent to our small dormitory and the teacher's house across the school, we hardly ever went out.But the rage of rebellion took me out of these back streets and into the city that day.I walked through Auschwitz, churning with outrage at my mistreatment, and finally I couldn't suppress the doubts that had plagued me for years. I am not stupid at all.I know German and Polish, I read newspapers and novels, and, because I am a clever student of the Talmud, I can see beyond the lecture hall to the outside world; Dangerous and sinful temptations, but that is a much wider world after all, and you see only a monotonous and narrow world in the middle of the black lines of the Talmud, where the moments Overseeing your codex teachers, wise as they are, are tedious and annoying, and their endless analysis and commentary on that important tome that is 1400 years old can only make youth feel tired. All my wits and energies are wasted.From the age of eleven until the moment I was beaten, my heart was filled with increasingly painful contradictions. As a student of the Talmud school, I naturally dreamed of becoming a world-renowned genius scholar of Talmud in the future. But at the same time, a sinful voice in the back of my soul whispered to me: I was wasting my time.

The superintendent's rage made me wander around like a homeless stray dog, and as I trudged through ankle-deep streets in snow, thinking of all the above, I came to one of the largest Christian churches in Auschwitz In front of the door, I stopped. Strange to say, I forgot its name!The church nearest to Codex was called Calvaria; I still remember it.And the cathedral was another, much grander building in a great square. My anger has not subsided.On the contrary, the rebellious emotions accumulated in the past four years suddenly broke out at this time, breaking through the shackles formed by years of indoctrination since I was born, and overcoming the obstacles formed by an immature religious conscience. It's as incredible as cutting your own wrist.I slipped into that church.I wrapped myself up to keep out the cold, so I looked like any other Christian kid—I guess now.Anyway, there was some kind of ritual going on, everyone was staring ahead, no one noticed me.

As long as I live, I will never forget the shock I felt when I saw the colossal statue of Jesus bound to a cross on the wall ahead of me where the synagogue kept the holy box: Naked and bloody; and I will never forget the strange fragrance of pagan incense, and the huge pictures of saints on either side of the walls.I was stunned when I thought that to the "outside" world (as I thought it was) this is religion, this is the way to God; time.Never since then have I experienced that sense of strangeness, that sense of solitude, and never have I experienced that dazed sense of a radical and irrevocable change in the soul.

The so-called "never" means until last night. Possibly because I lived in Lourdes, where the terrible commercial atmosphere—which pervades the city even now in the off-season, even now in wartime, makes everything seem unbearably vulgar— For several weeks, I became more and more irritated, perhaps because I still remember the poor crippled people who assembled in that cathedral, or because once my rebellion showed, I and Na All the anger that had been smoldering in my heart due to Tali's various encounters burst out at this time, breaking my spiritual instinct of restraint-whatever the reason, the actual situation is that last night when I attended midnight mass , although the Christ on the cross is very familiar to me now, although I have written many books on Christianity, and I have really loved European religious art, last night I felt strange and alienated, I felt lonely and alone , exactly as I felt in that church in Auschwitz when I was fifteen.

I woke up this morning with this in my head.I'm writing this page of my diary right now while drinking coffee.Coffee is not bad.In France, even in the heat of battle, even under the heel of the conqueror, money can buy anything.in Lourdes.Even the black market price is not very expensive.It's off season. I haven't kept a diary since we came to Lourdes; to be honest.I hope to start writing again on the steamer sailing home.This hope is getting slimmer.My niece and I, while keeping things secret from each other, may actually be in a much worse situation.Let's hope her optimism is real and not my faux calmness.She didn't understand some situations. The Consul General did right. In order to avoid disturbing her, he didn't tell her our difficulties in detail.However, he was very frank with me.

The troubles we have encountered are beyond anyone's control.It is of course the most terrible misfortune that we are still not legally able to leave Vichy France after only a few days.Everything was in place, the precious papers were in hand, but as soon as the news of the American landing came, all train timetables were suspended and the borders were closed.jim.Geiser acted calmly and swiftly to protect us by providing us with official press credentials and advancing the date of issue to 1939.With these credentials we became reporters for Life magazine, which indeed published two of my articles on wartime Europe. Not only that, but he also did other things for us.When they destroyed the documents, they found two letters from Life magazine requesting permission to reprint the works of some writers and photographers.In Marseilles there is a syndicate specializing in the forgery of documents for refugees. This syndicate is highly skilled and is headed by a well-known Catholic priest.In this sudden crisis, although the Consul General had to deal with many other things, he managed to obtain a few forged letters written on the special letterhead of "Life" magazine through his underground connections, and Natalie and I really became successful. Journalists officially hired by Life magazine; the credentials looked authentic, with scuffs, folds, and slightly faded colors, as if they had been used for years. james.Geiser doesn't expect these fake documents to cover us for a long time, but he believes that at least it can be used in an emergency until it helps us escape.But as time goes on, the danger gradually increases.He had expected us to be released within days or weeks, since we were not at war with Vichy France after all.We just severed diplomatic relations, so Americans are not "enemies" and should not be "detained" at all.However, our group in Lourdes, a total of about 160 people, was actually "detained" there. From the very beginning, we have been under the strict control of the French police, and all actions are strictly controlled. We were under the watchful eye of a uniformed police officer. A few days earlier, the German secret police had set up guard posts around the four hotels where we Americans were quarantined, and since then we have not only been detained by the French In this way, the demeanor of the French does not show a vague embarrassment of humiliation, and they make us as easy as possible in some small matters, but the Germans never move an inch. No matter where we go, they always keep a straight face and goose step to accompany us. In the corridors of the hotel, they stare at us and keep a close eye on us. If anyone accidentally offends us If any German commandment was violated, they would snap orders. It was some time before I gradually understood the real reason for this long detention.Gaither himself didn't know at first.The charge d'affaires of the United States who was detained in Vichy was later brought to us with all the staff of the embassy. He lived in two other hotels, and even telephone communication was prohibited.The chargé d'affaires, Tucker, was an able man—a great admiration for my work, though this was irrelevant—and it seemed that he could only speak briefly on the telephone with the Swiss representative in Vichy once a day.So we, especially those who lived in the Gallia Hotel, were practically completely cut off from the outside world and knew nothing about everything. The reason for our hindrance, which was finally cleared up, was actually very simple: the Vichy personnel who were supposed to exchange with us in the United States almost without exception refused to return to France.This is also understandable, because the Germans have occupied the whole of France by this time.But this greatly complicated the situation, and the Germans took the opportunity to step in and seize this favorable opportunity.So far, they are still negotiating through their Vichy puppets, but it is also clear that they are using us to bargain. If the French had been quick to send us to the Spanish border, which was only thirty miles away, we might have been out in a week or two.If so, it can be regarded as a reasonable reward for the large amount of food and medicine that the United States has generously donated to this government over the past few years.But these men of the Vichy regime belonged to that chilling type of human life.They are servile, pompous, pretentious, cunning and hypocritical; they are reactionary and conservative, and discriminate against the Jewish people;He is so vile that it insults French culture.They were the remnants of the gang that framed Dreyfus.Anyway, we couldn't get away.We are still here, a bargaining chip in the hands of the Germans for the return of their motley assortment of spies imprisoned abroad; There was another reason why I woke up with Auschwitz on my mind. During our long stay at Mendelssohn's apartment in Marseilles, there was a steady stream of refugees passing by—often staying only a night or two at most—so we heard many terrible secret rumors among European Jews.According to these rumors, many atrocities were taking place in the East: mass shootings, gassing in sealed cars, and those who were deported to concentration camps were either killed immediately or tortured to death by starvation or slavery.I have never been sure of the reliability of these rumors, and I still can't be sure, but one thing is certain; the place-name that was repeated, that was always whispered in the most horrifying and frightening words , it is Auschwitz.When people mention this place name, they usually use Germanic language, and its harsh pronunciation is still fresh in my memory. If these rumors were not purely a general terror of misery, then Auschwitz must have been the focus of all horror—my Auschwitz, where I went to school as a child, where my father taught I bought a bicycle, and my family sometimes went there for the Sabbath, listening to the hymns led by missionaries preaching revival in Yiddish; it was also there that I saw the interior of a Christian church for the first time, For the first time, I saw a life-size statue of Christ on the cross. Under the circumstances, the ultimate danger we faced was deportation to the mysterious and terrifying concentration camp of Auschwitz.That way, the noose around my neck would tighten in a snap.But the idea that our contingent existence on this little planet would not follow such an artistic pattern--the idea does comfort me--and besides, the distance between us and Auschwitz a continent, yet only thirty miles from Spain and safety.I still believe that we will return home in the end; the most important thing in the face of disaster is to maintain hope, be vigilant, and be ready to defeat those officials and animals when necessary, which requires courage. Natalie and her children had the opportunity to escape, but because of her lack of courage at the critical moment, they also ended up in trouble.I wrote a diary entry in very violent terms about Byron's surprise visit, and its sad end.My anger at Natalie was compounded by the guilt I felt for the increasingly dire and sad situation that Natalie and her children were now in because of me.She never allowed me to confess my guilt, she kept interrupting me, saying she was a grown-up, doing exactly what she wanted, and held no grudge against me. Now, we have been under the supervision and control of the Germans for a week; although I still can't forget that Natalie should have taken the opportunity to leave with Byron, but at the same time, I can understand better Why would she not do that.Without legal documents, if it falls into the hands of those wolf-hearted guys, it will be a very terrible thing.When dealing with their detainees, any policeman must put on a more or less serious, hostile, and cruel face; if they want to carry out orders, they have to suppress their sympathy.None of the Italian or French policemen I've dealt with in the past two years--and some American consuls, for that matter--haven't been likable. But these Germans were different.It seems that the order does not just guide their actions, it seems that the order has completely occupied their souls, and neither their faces nor their eyes can accommodate even a shred of human reason.They are the herdsmen and we are the livestock; or, they are the ant soldiers and we are the aphids.The order severed all ties between us.everything.It's astounding.Indeed, I was terrified by the cold, empty look on their faces.I knew there were one or two "decent people" (Gaiser's term) among the upper echelons, but I didn't run into them this time.I've also met some "decent people" in Germany before.And here, you can only see another face of the Teutonic nation. Natalie could well go on an adventure with Byron; young men of his wit and bravery were rare, and besides, he had special diplomatic papers.All it takes is a sudden dash through the flames, and everything will be fine.If she had been Natalie she might have done it, but she cringed for the sake of the baby.james.Gaisel still insisted (although, as the days passed, his confidence gradually waned), he was right to advise her, and the end result would be all right.I think he's starting to get suspicious now too.He and I talked it over last night as we walked through the snow to midnight mass.The Germans, he insisted, were not going to examine anyone's papers too closely, now or in the future, because they wanted to keep their spies as secret as possible in the deal.Natalie, Louise, and me are just three hot, living people, maybe fifteen Germans.If they can do this, they will be satisfied, and they will not have any further problems. He thought it important that I should keep my identity a secret.So far we have been dealing with the lower ranks of the French and Germans, and for a few years none of them could read much, let alone mine.He said that there would be no problem with my papers proving my identity as a reporter, and none of the police officers found out that I was a "celebrity" or important person, nor did they find out that I was Jewish.With this in mind, he dismissed the suggestion that I give a lecture to the people in the hotel.To pass the time, a reporter from the United Press was staging a group of talks at the Gallia Hotel.The title he gave me was Jesus—and that was a matter of course.That would have been a few days ago, if it hadn't been for Jim.Geiser vetoed that suggestion, and I probably would have agreed; but since I went through that midnight mass, I don't in any way—not even when I'm back in America, not even if someone pays a lot of money—to Let's talk about Jesus again.My heart has begun to change. As for what kind of change this is, I still need to explore further.In recent weeks, even about Martin.I also find it more and more difficult to write about the subject of Luther.Last night, the change in my heart just showed its clues, and I still need to concentrate to sort out a clue.In the next few days, I will trace in this journal the eight years I have traveled from the first time I saw Jesus crucified in Auschwitz until my conversion to Christianity in Boston. the way.As I write this, Natalie walks in from her bedroom with Louis in her arms, both fully dressed for her morning walk.Opening the door, our sullen German shadow glared at us.