Chava’s Diary – Condensed

I’ve been reading the November issue of The Smithsonian which is filled with stories of the Holocaust. So, dear friends, this is what I came up with for Pegman’s trip to Krakow.

March 28, 1939
To provide a friend who will keep my secrets I started a diary.
Present: Mother left for France. Father joined the army.
A memory: Ten-year-old Lev playing violin.

January 10, 1940
We’ve moved into a school with boys! Sixteen-year-old girls shouldn’t be subjected to such horrors!

March 6, 1942
Horrid night. Clanking wheels. Jangling keys.
Nazis, moving people to unknown places.
Lev kissed me last week! We shared sweet caresses while spring flowers scented the air.
We shall marry when this horror is over.

June 16, 1942
The pogrom has begun. Mother! Where are you?

July 17, 1942
Except for barbed wire and guards, the ghetto is quite ordinary, filled with beloved neighbors.
But not Lev. My love, my protection disappeared on last night’s transport.
Writing squelches the pain.

August 17,1942
At dawn, soldiers marched five families toward a shallow trench.
One shot, two, twenty, on and on …
The sound of boots and laughter. Oh, God, they’re coming back.

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Remembering Aseel

Sure! We were invited to Uncle Abóòd’s parties! Remember? The youngest sat at the table farthest from the wall, so waiters knew we weren’t allowed any arak. Still, we boys sipped the last drops from abandoned glasses while Uncles Yaman, Rifal, and Tarek shimmied to the beat of tabans and swayed to the gently plucked strings of a rebab.

Jeez, don’t you remember that although the air swam with the aroma of freekeh chicken, tabbouleh, and manoushi bread, those of us that weren’t too drunk could smell the jasmine in Aseel’s hair?

No! You’re not actually asking, “Who was Aseel?” Really? Come on. Aseel broke every man’s heart. Every boy’s heart! Remember? We vied for her hugs, prayed for her kisses, longed for her stories.

Ah, now you recall. Yes, Aseel’s stories centered around women’s freedom and o.k., erotic sex. I’ll give you that.

What? Seen her? No. She disappeared long ago.

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Wait

This was inspired by a school shooting on October 24, 2014. A fourteen year old boy – who apparently had everything in his favor including family ties, strong tribal connections, a winning smile, intelligence and a good sense of humor – shot four fellow students and himself. He and another are dead. Two girls are alive but so disfigured they have not yet been identified and one young man may have lost his jaw. What is it about young heartbreak that drives children to such measures? (Remember, this boy had one foot merely dangling over the boundary between childhood and the world of a teenager, and was years away from becoming a man.)

Son- Before the Story
i am broken
how will i mend?
how is it possible
to shine in her eyes
one day
and be invisible to her
the next?
I cannot sweat it off

Father – Before the Story
just wait
you have loved her one short year
a nano-second, a blink
there will be another girl
many other girls
that will shine in your eyes
take time
wait

The Story
there is no waiting
son hides the gun
in his day pack
between a sandwich
and her class picture

lunchtime – eight shots
two dead
four disfigured for life