The sun will shine brightly above.
And once again we will be,
who we once were, we’ll be free.
His voice—so pure, smooth, and flawless. It’s as if he’s singing from his soul. His voice pulses through me like flickering sparks, drawing a smile along my lips, and tears from my eyes. The crowd shifts, offering a peephole view of the man they’re surrounding. He’s young, younger than the sound of his voice, but maybe older than me. He’s smiling, too—it’s contagious. No one smiles anymore, but here…they are.
“Look at them,” a man mutters in German, nudging his counterpart.
The second man lets out a snort. “These people can’t figure out when to be quiet.”
“We should remind him,” the first man says, tapping his fingers against his holster.
I peer to my left at the two, watching the evil glimmer in the soldiers’ eyes.
They both laugh as if killing innocent people is a joke. Still watching them in disbelief, I notice one reach for the whistle dangling from his neck. My heart pounds and heat writhes through me as I rebalance my weight on my bike and push forward to leave the nook. I head straight for the crowd. “Pardon me,” I say again and again, warning people I’m coming through.
Shrill whistles cut through the air as German commands ring loudly in the square. The cobblestones scrape beneath my bicycle tires as I skid my feet against the rubble, stopping my bike from rolling into the man who was performing and his flat-top hat sitting by his feet, filled with one-cent coins. Fist fightsare breaking out behind me and to the sides, everyone stumbling to escape but caught between too many others as the German soldiers move in closer, enforcing terror.
“All Jews, stay where you are!” a soldier hollers.
The singer wears a black overcoat, unbuttoned over a white dress shirt, dark pants, and worn black boots. His white armband donning the Star of David, stands in stark contrast against the dark fabric. They’re all branded this way. My heart pounds as I glance around, caught between fear and instinct.I shouldn’t even be considering what I can do to help…I don’t have anything to offer anyone. But his voice—the raw hope it carries, compels me. Before I can stop myself, I drop my bike and hop to the side.
Why am I doing this?The thought echoes through me as I run toward the singer. “Run,” I whisper. He hesitates for a split-second, and in that second, our gazes meet. His hooded eyes, hazel, flecked with a hint of blue, and fringed with dark lashes, steal my ragged breath. Our shared look, fierce with disbelief, speaks through our silent exchange. “Did you hear me?” My words come out in a hiss as I grab his armband, tear it from his sleeve, snatch up his hat full of coins and shove both against his chest. “Go!”
I whip my head around, searching in every direction for who might have witnessed my defiant act, but with everyone scampering away, I don’t think anyone was focused on us.Us?What has gotten into me? Our eyes meet for one more fleeting moment, carrying an inexplicable draw to him, and a need to prove humanity still exists among us. Finally, he takes off running, weaving through the others.
The whistles grow louder, and I grab my bike’s handlebars and jump back on, turning in a circle along the stone to leave the inlet.
“You there, halt!” a soldier shouts, pointing at the singer.
Keep running, I want to shout out to him.
I pick up speed on my bike and ride through the dispersing commotion, wondering why anyone would stay and do as they were commanded while others have fled to hide. The whistles blow again, louder and piercing. “Jews, line up!”
Are they really going to punish these people for simply standing together in the square?
Both soldiers have assault rifles clutched in their grips and my veins flood with cold as my heart races with anger. As I approach the space between the soldiers and the group of quivering Jewish people, I deliberately let my front tire catch on a cobblestone divot and tumble off my bike. The action is jarring, but it works. I crash hard onto the street. Pain fires through my ankle, sharp and stinging, but I don’t let myself stop to think about it.
My purse spills out of the basket, scattering its contents across the ground. I cry out and clutch my ankle, the pitch of my voice drawing the attention of the German soldiers who walk toward me, their faces expressionless.
With a sideways glance, I spot the Jewish people slipping away, their desperate movements hidden by the growing commotion. Relief consumes me, but it’s quickly replaced by the weight of what I’ve just done. I’m shaking, not from the pain, but from realizing I’ve just acted out in a form of resistance.
“You shouldn’t be here,” one of the soldiers says to me, his voice gruff as he hauls me to my feet.
I don’t wear a white armband with the Star of David because I’m not Jewish, and my blonde hair and blue eyes make it easy for others to mistake my Polish heritage. At times, it seems I can move along more freely than most, but there’s no mistaking the vitriol these German soldiers have for all Poles.
Everything inside of me wants to fight back, to tell them they’re nothing but scoundrels with weapons. I should have theright to be wherever I choose. So should the Jewish people of this city. This isourhome.
“I—I got lost,” I stutter and reach for my hurt ankle, trying to sound more pitiful. “All that whistling—well, it startled me.”
“Is that right? You’re lost?” one of them asks as the others share a laugh.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I question whether they’ll accept my lie. And what will happen if they don’t…
TWO
ELLA
