Sylvia waited till the Nazis’ footsteps could no longer be heard. Then, with trembling hands, she opened the wardrobe. The children unfolded themselves from their compact hiding spot and stepped out.
“Mama, what happened?” Becca asked.
“They took Papa away,” Sylvia said, as she took Baby Lilly from Peter.
Peter shook his tingling arms, released from the tension of holding his sister.
“Why?” Becca asked.
Sylvia hugged Becca against her side. “I don’t know. Nothing makes sense anymore.”
“What are we going to do without Papa?” Tears began streaming down Becca’s face.
Sylvia looked sadly at the smashed apartment door. “I don’t know. They took the butcher shop and our apartment, too.”
“How can they do that?” Peter snapped. “It’s ours.”
“A Nazi is a Nazi,” Sylvia said. She glanced at the window, and then did a double take. The sky outside was glowing red.
Sylvia ran over and looked out at the sky. “The synagogue’s on fire!” she cried.
They stared out the window and down the street. Nazi storm troopers were making a bonfire out of Torahs, holy scrolls, and prayer books next to the blazing old majestic synagogue. They could see Rabbi Mosel trying to stop them, pulling at them, but the officers struck him and pushed him to the ground.
“There’s no hope now. The world has gone mad,” Sylvia said, her voice trembling, “and I am nearly there.”
The children wrapped their arms around their mother. The burning synagogue reflected in Peter’s eyes, and he feared the music inside him had died.
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