My Observation of a Jewish Family
By: Miss Lionheart
Dear Journal,
I have the discomfort of being a garden dwarf. I am intelligent, but I pretend to be a simple statue. Here I am going to record the events that I remember happening to a little boy, Friedrich, who lived in my owner's house during the infamous Holocaust.
My first memory of him is when he was playing in the snow with his mother. They looked so joyous and carefree! I wished to move and play with them, but I restrained myself. That day I learned that Jews are no different than other citizens.
Although everyone thinks I am a statue, I am often confided in. Hans, a good friend of Friedrich's, once sat down in the garden to talk to me. His grandfather had just visited, and complained about how "venomous" Jews are. Hans signed, and told me how untrue he thought that was. He gave me a pat on the back and walked inside. I sighed, too.
As the years went on, Hans and Friedrich became close friends. Jews, however, became even more separated from other citizens. Friedrich has confided in me often. There was a very cruel incident involving Friedrich at the swimming pool. When Hans and Friedrich were checking out their stuff so that they could leave, the pool attendant discovered that Friedrich was a Jew. The attendants kicked him out without letting him change! As if that wasn't bad enough, they criticized him and his religion in front of all the people there! I was furious when I heard this, but I would not allow myself to betray my intelligence by yelling. I remained silent.
That same year, many people who followed the Nazis vandalized Friedrich's house. I heard all of the commotion. It was horrible! Hans spoke to me two days later and told me that Friedrich's mother, Frau Schneider, had been hurt in the vandalizing, and had died late that night. When I was alone again, and when no one was watching, I let the tears stream down my face.
Three years later, Herr Schneider, Friedrich's father, hid a rabbi who was wanted by the Nazis. He was discovered and both men were taken away. I could only assume they were to be killed. Hans told me that Friedrich was not noticed and was now in hiding. Anger welled up in me. How could the Nazis take two good men away and force an innocent boy into hiding?
One year later the unthinkable happened. Friedrich must have gone secretly into Hans' family's room, because I saw his face in their window for a brief moment. Only a few minutes later, air-raid sirens blared. Everyone rushed down into the shelters. I can only assume that Friedrich stayed in the room because he never left the building, and the Richters (Han's family) came to the shelter alone. Even though I am an intelligent garden dwarf, I can't walk. I can, however, hobble. I managed to hobble to safety, but not before a piece of shrapnel hit my hat and broke off the tip. From my shelter, I watched Friedrich run out of the building and knock loudly on the door of the human's air-raid shelter. I heard the conversation between my owner, Herr Resch, and Friedrich. Herr Resch was screaming at Friedrich, ordering him out. "He's a Jew," Herr Resch complained, "and I don't want that scum in this shelter!" Friedrich whimpered that he was afraid. A bomb blasted near me, and I couldn't hear the rest. I was unhurt, but worried about the boy. He must have been forced out, because he soon started crawling toward me, under the stoop.
He reached the stoop, and was about to put his arms around me for comfort when a piece of shrapnel from the latest bomb hit him in the right temple. I stared in horror as blood trickled down his cheek. I wept has he breathed his last.
When the air raid was over, I hobbled back to my spot in the garden, picking up the tip of my hat on the way. This way no one would know that I had moved. Herr Resch, the Richters, and the others climbed out of the shelter. Frau Richter searched frantically for Friedrich. She saw him under the stoop. Everyone thought he had fainted until Herr Resch cruelly kicked him. Friedrich rolled out from under the stoop and his wound could be seen clearly. Hans stared palely down at his dead friend and I saw two tears trickle down his cheek. I had to work very hard not to cry. I had grown very fond of Friedrich and his family. Now he was dead. Dead. A victim of prejudiced people. That was the end of Friedrich, a precious Jew.
I can only hope, dear diary, that someone, somewhere, will stop the atrocious Nazis and their massacre of innocent Jews.
*****Polycarp******