Words not Spoken
November 7th, 1938 She told me that a German diplomat, Ernst vom Rath, was shot in Paris today. I remember her mentioning him before; he works for a malicious man named Adolf Hitler. This vicious man has a vendetta against Jews, or scapegoats, as she calls her people. The man who shot vom Rath is a Polish Jew. She is terrified for her family ’ s safety. I could feel the fear in her words. Being the one she confides in, I know her well, but I don ’ t bring her comfort anymore. I feel helpless. Powerless. November 8th, 1938 As she sobbed, I could feel her tears on my skin. Her words became hard to understand. She mentioned the shooting victim again; his condition is deteriorating. Her fears are escalating. The whispers behind closed doors worry her. Today is Tuesday. She longs for Tuesdays of the past; ballet lessons with her friends. I too, wish for them; the days when she shared her joys with me, not her anxieties. Her depressed disposition has been like this for a while now. I haven ’ t been much help to her, but , it is reassuring to know, she will trust me with her deepest thoughts, again tomorrow. November 9th, 1938 It has been almost a whole day, but still not one word from her. Will my deepest fears become a reality? Has she lost hope in me? Is she safe? Where has she gone? She has never missed a day of communicating with me. Ever. What is that sound? It ’ s unfamiliar. Something sharp pierces my sleeve. A wintry wind blows me over and I feel the floor shaking, as I lie here, alone. November 10th, 1938 The door bursts open. Somebody barges in. It ’ s not her. A huge black, gloved hand grabs me violently. I am tossed, as if worthless , onto a pile. The heat rises up my spine. Flames lick at my pages, destroying her precious words. Shared memories smolder along with the sacred writings of her people. I struggle to keep her last words alive. Her passion, her strength, her love.
May they rise from these ashes.
Ella Sadka, Eighth Grade
17
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