The Children’s Train

Eva’s father climbed the porch steps two at a time. He ran into the kitchen, out of breath, waving a letter.

Eva was helping her mother peel potatoes, cutting out the rotten parts. Potatoes had become the main staple of their meals. Meat was hard to come by since the Weinbergs’ butcher shop had been destroyed.

“Eva, you are approved! You have a seat on the train! You leave next Saturday!” Bert said, out of breath.

Eva jumped up and hugged her father. “Oh, Papa! Thank you! Thank you!”

Helga threw down her potato. “She can’t travel on Saturday. That’s Shabbat.”

“Surely, God will understand,” Bert said.

Helga grunted her objection to her husband’s disregard for God’s laws and turned back to the potatoes.

Bert looked at Eva. “We must think about packing. You can take one suitcase and one hand luggage, and we must make you a new coat for the English winter. You’re in luck! I happen to be the best tailor in all of Berlin.”

“No, in all of Germany! Oh, Papa. It’s like an adventure you read about in books. Only it won’t be fun, because I won’t have you. What will I do?” Eva asked.

“It can’t last long. All the good people of the world will end Hitler’s madness soon. You will be where he can’t touch you. England will keep you safe,” Bert said, hugging her. “And we will come soon.”

Eva danced over and hugged her mother, but Helga shrugged her away.

“What about William?” Helga said. “What about your son?”

“William is eighteen. He’s too old to go. He hasn’t been home in weeks, and he’s made his choice,” Bert said.

“I’m going to England!” Eva said, dancing out of the kitchen.

“Why are you doing this?” Helga asked Bert.

“Don’t you understand, Helga? If the children live, our people will survive.”

Helga rolled her eyes and swished her hand through the air. “Oh, Bert, don’t be foolish. No one’s going to kill all the Jews.”