“He’ll be safe and well fed in the countryside, which is more than I can say for the children still remaining in Germany.”
“I know. I have to tell myself that to sleep at night, although I don’t do much of that anyway. I understand England is a small country, and we’re limited in the number of children we can bring in. But America is big, and I hope they’ll stand beside us and take in the Jewish children.”
“Well, unfortunately, they won’t.” Sebastian handed Marla a letter. “I didn’t want to tell you. It’s from America.”
Marla, her hands shaking, pulled the letter out of the envelope.
“Go ahead and read it,” Sebastian said.
Marla read the letter, and her hands shook from anger this time. “The Wagner-Rogers Bill to authorize the admission into the United States of a limited number of German refugee children has failed in committee with the fear it would overburden new social programs . . .”
Marla paused. “But it was supported by private funds.”
She read the letter again, “ . . . and take American jobs.”
Marla stared at the page in disbelief. “They’re children.” She kept reading. “Accepting children as refugees without their parents is contrary to the laws of God.”
She threw the letter down on the desk. “The U.S. senators think God wants the children to remain in Germany with Hitler? It’s over. No help from the Yanks. Cowards!” She crumpled up the letter and threw it across the office. “And Peter Weinberg will be milking cows, instead of playing music. Nothing makes sense anymore!”
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