We Must Not Think of Ourselves by Lauren Grodstein

Author:Lauren Grodstein [Grodstein, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Algonquin Books
Published: 2023-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

FOURTEEN

Amid all the comings and goings of the ghetto, the new refugees and the suddenly deceased, the Oneg Shabbat group remained remarkably stable. At each meeting, we looked a little worse for wear, of course—a little more tired and a little less robust—but none of us had starved to death or been shot, none of us had succumbed to typhus or the flu. It was impossible to know whether this was because we had been recruited from the ranks of the lucky or because our record-keeping provided us a purpose that made us want to stay alive.

In the library on Tłomackie Street one bright afternoon in late June, we gathered, as usual, to give our reports and share news. I had grown to look forward to these Saturdays, even though there were fewer treats to pass around and we no longer received our stipends. The library still felt like a world apart from our world, and my Oneg Shabbat colleagues felt not exactly like friends, but like compatriots. Ringelblum maintained his sources in the outside, and usually knew information about the war that had yet to trickle down to the rest of us; he had recently told us, for instance, about the fall of Yugoslavia, and that the London Blitz seemed to have ended for good.

Now, as we assembled ourselves on our customary chairs and couches, exchanged good wishes and dark jokes, Ringelblum called us to order. His hooded eyes seemed even bleaker than usual. I noticed that his wife and child hadn’t joined us, and my decent mood started to wane.

“It seems . . . ,” he began without preamble, as was his way. “It seems the Germans have decided to invade Russia.”

Startled silence in the room; rapid blinking.

“Last Sunday, the Nazis invaded Russia across three thousand kilometers of their border, bringing troops in from points in Belarus, Latvia, and Poland. The Allies seemed not to have had any advance warning. Remember, Stalin and Hitler signed a pact two years ago. So this was, of course, unexpected.”

I looked around the room for some clue as to how to interpret the news: Would the Russians repel Hitler, thereby ending the war? Was it foolish to imagine the Nazis could somehow claim Russia? Was this good news? Bad?

“It’s impossible to successfully invade Russia,” someone said, breaking the silence. “Remember Napoleon.”

“Napoleon didn’t have Panzer tanks,” someone else said.

“We cannot know what this means for us,” Ringelblum said. “The West continues to lobby the Americans to join the war. Churchill, especially, has increased his lobbying, and we know that Roosevelt has, at the very least, committed to sending more munitions to the Allies.”

“But not soldiers.”

“No,” Ringelblum said. “Not soldiers. At least not yet.”

We absorbed Ringelblum’s words, trying to determine, still, how to feel. I was certain I wasn’t the only one who thought some nice dried apricots might make the moment less fraught.

“There is more,” Ringelblum said, for there was always more. “Our sources tell us that the Germans have begun building poison chambers in some of the prison camps.

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