A rundown Berlin house, made into apartments with broken windows and no electricity, stood as a hollow reminder of the power Nazis held over Germany and the Jewish people.
Inside his ransacked apartment, Arnold Beckman, wrapped in a tattered blanket, sat on the side of the couch where Charlie slept. Evelyn, wearing an oversized robe with a coat over it and well-worn boots, walked into the room and rested her hands gently on her husband’s shoulders. “Have you been in here all night?”
Arnold reached up and patted Evelyn’s hands. His eyes were puffy and red, and his cheeks were wet from tears. He nodded. “Evelyn, I have been sitting here wondering if God will forgive me my selfishness for taking Charlie off the train.”
Evelyn shook her head. “They will arrest us if they find us living in our own apartment. I don’t think God is even watching us anymore.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. We suffer for God,” Arnold said, as his breath blew smoky in the cold air.
“Perhaps, then, suffering together is better than suffering apart. Forgive yourself, Arnie.” Evelyn wrapped her arms around her husband. “Charlie has.”
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