A/N: Over the last few days, I considered archiving this chapter because I felt that the readers might not connect to it the way that I do, since I assume that unlike me, most of my readers don't have family members who are holocaust survivors.
A few months ago, blossom-of-snow, my excellent editor (the word beta never seems to describe her contribution to this story), suggested that I post it as an independent fanfiction, but it didn't feel right. I figured that I'd make that decision once it's time to post it. A few days ago, I was sure I would archive it completely; as today approached, I had a feeling in my gut that I shouldn't. So I am posting this, not without fear of how my readers will interpret it.
I'd love to know what you think of this chapter and if you feel that it feels like an organic part of this story or not.
Sharon left her hometown for Los Angeles, ready to conquer the world and get a fresh start. Contrary to her expectations, Fiona, her dorm roommate, disliked her for no apparent reason, and by the end of her third week at UCLA, Sharon discovered that Fiona spread vicious rumors about Sharon, the worst of which
indicated that she conducted an affair with one of the professors. False rumors about her "promiscuity" prevailed around campus long after she'd been cleared of any misconduct, and the only people who dared to talk to her were male students who hoped to get into her pants.
In an attempt to elevate her social status, Sharon began to frequent frat parties, but she found them boring. She drank to fit in rather than to have fun. One night she went as far as trying to smoke weed with a few extremely friendly second-year students. It made her feel sick and dazed, and she vowed never to touch pot again. That experience made her realize that frat parties weren't for her and would probably lead to even worse rumors if she continued to attend them.
So the public library became her refuge. She appreciated the quiet, the solitude, and the serenity. The books became her friends, each of them pulling her into different worlds and eras. She read all the classic novels, poetry books, and history books, but her favorite book was a crumbling unnamed collection of Celtic folktales and legends.
One Friday night, she saw Mr. Hirsch, the librarian, approach her. "Ah, Miss O'Dwyer, I see you're rereading the mysterious book." An unknown person had donated the book, which Mr. Hirsch assumed was at least one hundred years old and had no title or author. Mr. Hirsch encountered a problem cataloging it until Sharon saw it on his desk and named it "The Mysterious Book."
By now, Sharon had read the book more than ten times, something that Mr. Hirsch always teased her about. Sharon was fond of Mr. Hirsch. In his late forties or early fifties, Mr. Hirsch had an East-European accent that Sharon didn't recognize. While he possessed a sharp wit, it could not mask the shadow in his hazel eyes.
"My mother used to tell me some of those stories when I was a child," Sharon said.
"You're Irish or Scottish?" Mr. Hirsch pulled the chair in front of Sharon and took a seat.
"I'm American. So are my parents. But my grandparents emigrated from Ireland," Sharon said.
"Folklore is a good way to connect to your roots," Mr. Hirsch said. "My people also have tales that go back for hundreds of years."
Sharon wondered who his people were. Hirsch sounded like a German name, but his accent did not sound German in the slightest. "Where are you from?" she asked, hoping that her question wasn't impolite.
"I'm from Prague," Mr. Hirsch said. "Czechoslovakia."
"So what folk stories do they tell there?" Sharon rested her head on her hand.
"Have you ever heard of the Golem of Prague?"
Sharon shook her head.
Mr. Hirsch started telling her about a Rabbi from the sixteenth century who built a character out of clay and brought it to life so that it could protect the Jews of Prague from pogroms. Unfortunately, it got out of hand, and the Rabbi had to kill it in the Old-New Synagogue in Prague.
"That sounds a bit like Frankenstein," Sharon said when Mr. Hirsch finished his story.
"Maybe, but let me tell you that the Old-New Synagogue still exists until this day, and they say that the Golem still lies dead in the attic."
Sharon arched an eyebrow. "Has anyone ever seen it?"
"No, because they say that anyone who ever tried to go up into the attic died," Mr. Hirsch said. He pushed his chair back and walked over to one of the shelves, pulling a book out and leafing through it. "Here, this is the Old-New Synagogue. Here it is." He said and pointed at a black and white photo. "There are many legends surrounding this specific synagogue. It's more than seven hundred years old, and it survived the war and stills stands."
"You came here after the war?" Sharon asked. She'd never met anyone who lived in Europe during World War II. She learned about the war at school, and based on the story Mr. Hirsch just told her, she understood that he was Jewish, which probably meant he had survived the concentration camps.
A veil of sadness spread across Mr. Hirsch's face, and he gave Sharon the slightest of nods.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that. It was insensitive of me," she said.
"No, thank you for asking that." Mr. Hirsch said. "Nobody ever asks."
Mr. Hirsch sat back down. He told her about his family. His wife died before the war, and his son was shot while trying to smuggle food into the Ghetto. Shortly after that, Mr. Hirsch and his fourteen-year-old daughter Esther were loaded by the Germans into cattle cars headed for Poland, to Auschwitz. Mr. Hirsch described how they were separated in the camp, and his daughter perished in the gas chambers.
Tears streamed down Sharon's face as he showed her the number tattooed on his arm.
"Esther loved to read more than anything. She wanted to become a librarian. So when I came here, I decided to become one for her," Mr. Hirsch said.
After that Friday night, Sharon frequented the library more often. She formed a close bond with Mr. Hirsch, who was only a few years older than her father. His presence in her life helped her alleviate her loneliness in Los Angeles, and it appeared to be mutual. After she met Jack, in her second year in LA, she came to the library less but made sure to come over to the library at least once a week and spend time with Mr. Hirsch. A couple of years later, when Jack proposed to her, Mr. Hirsch was the first person she told. When she invited him to the wedding, Jack scoffed at the idea of a Jewish man attending a Catholic wedding. As much as he loved Sharon, Jack could never understand that she and Mr. Hirsch filled voids in each other's lives. Jack came from a big and loving family. Sharon and Mr. Hirsch had none of that.
Despite Jack's doubts, Mr. Hirsch came to the wedding. He and Sharon even shared a dance at the reception and toasted together. For the first time, Sharon saw the light in Mr. Hirsch's eyes, and it made him seem a decade younger.
Upon Sharon's return from her honeymoon, she discovered that Mr. Hirsch has passed away the day before from cardiac arrest. She attended the funeral and sat by his grave for two hours, crying. It took her nearly a year to accept the loss, and every year since, she visited his grave on the day of his death.
"Earth to Sharon." Andy's voice brought her out of her reverie. She was sitting behind her desk at home and staring at the calendar.
"Yeah?" she asked in a hoarse voice.
Andy put his hand on her shoulder. "Babe, you okay? You look upset."
"Today is Jacob Hirsch's Yahrzeit," Sharon replied.
"The what-now?"
Sharon told Andy about Mr. Hirsch and what he meant to her. "Anyway, today is the anniversary of his death. I can't believe I almost forgot about it."
"How do you want to commemorate it?" Andy asked.
"I want to go visit his grave," Sharon replied.
"I'll come with you," Andy said.
Almost two hours later, Sharon and Andy stood in front of Mr. Hirsch's grave. Before going to the cemetery, they had stopped in a kosher grocery store for Yahrzeit candles and a lighter.
"Do you want to read that?" Andy asked and motioned towards a paper Sharon printed before they left the condo.
"Now I'm not sure if I should," Sharon said. "It's a Jewish prayer. I'm not Jewish."
"Don't we all pray to the same God?" Andy asked.
Sharon considered Andy's point for a moment, then nodded. "Praise and thanks be to God throughout the world, which was created according to His intention.
May God's light and love and justice be present in our lives, in the House of Israel, and in all of those who seek the truth. And let us say, Amen."
"Amen," Andy said softly.
"We praise, we continue to praise. And yet, what we praise is beyond the grasp of the words and symbols that beckon us toward it. We know God, and yet we do not know. But still, we pray.
We pray that God, who upholds the harmony of the universe, will create peace within us and between us, and within all who dwell on this earth. And let us say, Amen."
Andy said another "Amen" and wrapped his arm around Sharon's shoulders. "That was beautiful, Sharon."
"You know, Mr. Hirsch and I danced at my wedding. I wish I could share a dance with him at our wedding," Sharon said.
"We'll save a dance for him, okay?" Andy said.
"I'd like that," Sharon said. "Would it be okay if I asked you to give me a few minutes alone?"
"Of course. I'll wait for you by the car."
After he left, Sharon kneeled by Mr. Hirsch's grave and told him about her life, about Rainie and Andy, and the wedding. Even though his grave had long graced this cemetery, she felt like he could hear her. She pressed her forehead to the headstone and placed a pebble on his grave to indicate that she visited him before heading back to the car.
Sharon and Andy ducked into the car and drove away in silence. On the way home, they passed by the public library. The building had been renovated several times since the seventies and looked much less inviting than it did during her time in college.
Andy entwined his fingers with hers over the car console. "Are you still sad?"
"I'm just thinking about a story Mr. Hirsch told me once, about the Golem of Prague. Do you know that story?"
"Yeah, I've seen an old film about it," Andy said.
"He said that the Golem had a word in Hebrew carved on his forehead – truth— and when one letter was erased, the meaning of the word changed to "death." The moral of this story is that when you stop being true to yourself and those around you, it's like you die. And I know you, and I have had a rough time in the last few months. I've shut you out because I was afraid of coping with my past until it got to a point where I felt like part of me was dead."
Andy stopped at a red light and turned to look at her, listening attentively.
"I was a complete Golem myself, and thanks to your support, I am doing so much better now."
"I'm glad you feel better. I know the wedding is a month away, but I don't need to wait that long to promise that I'll always be there for you, no matter what," Andy said and squeezed her hand.
Sharon didn't realize the time has gone by so fast. "We're getting married in a month, huh?"
"In my heart, we're already married," Andy said, his voice thick with emotion.
"Babe, you should probably pull to the curb," Sharon said.
"What? Why?"
"Because I'm going to kiss you, and I don't think I'll be able to stop."
-TBC-