Goodbye

By Brianna Boiciuc, Age 13

WINNER (Ages 9-13) Winter/Spring Writing Contest 2024

         Seven-year-old Joseph looked both ways before crossing the street. It was mostly vacant, but one never knew what may laying waiting in this ghetto of danger and starvation. The young boy peeked down beneath his threadbare, ragged coat to see a pitifully small half loaf of black bread.

I have to be careful. This all the food Mama and I get for day.

Joseph crossed the street, his boyish face withdrawn and alert, his eyes wide with fear. There was no hint of mischief or laughter in him one boy at his age might have. Instead, his cheeks were sunken and there were bags under his eyes.

After crossing the street, Joseph opened the door to an apartment and passed door after door until he stopped at one and knocked.

Joseph's shoulders slumped, and he reached under his shirt to find the key on a string that was tied around his neck.

 “If I'm not home yet, Joey, let yourself in and lock the door after you,” his mother had told him that same morning, like she did every morning.

Joseph's mother had to work in a factory during the day, so Joseph had to wait in line to get their rations, which often took hours. The ghetto was overcrowded and there were many people to receive their rations.

Joseph stepped into the drafty, cold room and shivered, mostly from the cold but also from loneliness. He sat down on the single bed and looked around the room. The furniture consisted of the bed and a table. At dinner, Joseph and Mama pushed the table up to the bed to use the bed as a bench. Sometimes Joseph wondered why they even bothered if their dinner was only bread, anyways.

Well, usually. Sometimes Mama managed to bring something home, like cheese, a bruised apple, or, Joseph's favorite, white bread. Even if it was crusty, it was much, much better than the black, sawdust bread they were given as rations. How Mama got hold of these rare treats, Joseph didn't know. All he knew was how good they tasted. And how they made the black bread taste so much worse. Day by day, every day, the bread tasted more and more like sawdust.

Why are we here, Mama? Joseph had asked his mama this nearly every day when they first arrived here a year ago.

Mama's answer had been, We are Jewish, Joseph, and some people don't like us. So we will go somewhere where we will be safe.

Until Papa comes home?

Mama would always hesitate here before continuing. Yes, until Papa comes home.

Now he stopped asking. He understood now. This was the way it had to be with the Nazis in power.

“I wish I were a Nazi,” Joseph said once. “I could bring Papa home. And I would tell the people to like us.”

Mama gave a little gasp, and she spoke sharply, “Don't ever say you want to be a Nazi. You don't want to be a Nazi. Never say that. Never.”

Joseph silently wondered why Mama had gotten angry, but he nodded obediently.

------------

Now, Joseph put the bread on the table. He laid down flat on the bed and thought some more about the war.

He had been too young to know what was happening at first. Mama and Papa had been whispering more than usual, sometimes late into the night. Jewish friends and family visited more often. After dinner Joseph was sent off to play in his room, and more whispering was done, from what he saw on trips to the bathroom.

Then Joseph stopped going to the parks and to the movies. When he asked why, his parents said that it was better to spend time indoors.

Papa was taken away.

Not long after, Mama and Joseph moved into the ghetto.

Joseph had not had a very happy childhood.

He closed his eyes on tears.

Joseph must've dozed off, because the next thing he knew, Mama was shaking him awake. She looked tired, he noticed as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Come, Joseph, let's eat,” Mama said softly.

He nodded, and they blessed the food and divided it.

“Joseph,” Mama said after the short diner, “let's do something fun.”

Fun? Joseph looked up, half with interest and half in disbelief. There was nothing fun in the ghetto.

“Let's memorize a prayer,” Mama suggested.

A prayer? Joseph shrugged.

     “I'll say it and you repeat after me,” Mama said. “Our Father who Art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name.” She paused as Joseph repeated her, then continued until the whole prayer was done.

When they finished, Joseph thought he saw traces of tears, but Mama blinked them away. She looks sad, Joseph thought to himself.

“Well, memorizing that prayer will give you something to do while I'm away at work. Do you remember it, Joseph?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Keep on repeating that prayer until you know it by heart. Then I will hear you say it tomorrow night. Alright?”

Joseph nodded.

Mama got up from the bed and checked the door to make sure it was locked. Then she and Joseph got into bed. Joseph fell asleep quickly, but Mama laid awake, thinking about that prayer she had assignment Joseph to memorize.

A tear slipped down her cheek, then another, and another until the tears were freely streaming down her face.

What have I done?

 

By dinner the following day, Joseph could say the prayer forwards and backwards. He stood before Mama and said the prayer, which Mama called the Lord's Prayer.

He noticed again how sad Mama looked. “What's wrong, Mama?” He asked.

Mama slowly licked her lips before answering, “Tomorrow, I'm not going to work.”

“But, Mama—” Joseph said, his expression confused.

“Hush, Joseph. Let me finish. Tomorrow, a lady is going to come here, and you are going to leave the ghetto with her,” Mama said, her eyes searching      Joseph's eyes, as if looking for assurance that she was doing the right thing.

“No, Mama, let me stay here! I need to get our rations, and, and....I can't leave you, Mama! Please, let me stay!” Joseph pleaded.

Mama's face looked just as frightened, worried, and scared as Joseph's must have.

“Joseph, you have no idea how much I want you to stay with me. More so, I want to leave the ghetto with you! But the Nazis will miss me at work and wonder where I am. I can't leave, but Joseph, you can.”

Joseph began to protest again but Mama cut him off. “Things are going on here, Joseph. Bad things. I want you safe. Please, Joseph, do what I say.”
     Joseph's eyes filled with tears, and he launched himself at his mama, hugging her tighter than he ever had before. “Mama,” he sobbed.

“Shh, Joseph. It's okay.”

Tears streamed down from pairs of eyes. Joseph's sobs eventually quieted down to hiccups, then to an even rhyme of breathing. He was sleep.

Mama laid herself and Joseph on the bed and held her son for the last time.

-------------

“Joseph, wake up.”

Joseph opened one eye and saw Mama. He opened his other eye and yawned.

“Joseph, the lady I talked about last night is coming soon,” Mama said, her voice wobbly.

“Mama, I don't want to go,” Joseph protested once again.

Mama didn't answer, she only hugged Joseph close. Finally, she said, “Recite the Lord's Prayer to me.”

“Why, Mama?”

“If anyone should stop you once you are out of the ghetto, they might think you are a Jewish escapee. They might ask you to recite the Lord's Prayer, since it is a Christian prayer and a Jewish boy shouldn't know it.”

Joseph told Mama the Lord's Prayer.

When he finished, there was a tear in Mama's eyes. “Perfect,” she whispered.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Mama got up and answered it.

“Come in,” Joseph heard Mama say.

A young women stepped in, holding a large laundry basket in her arms. She spotted Joseph and gave him a small but kind smile. She came and knelt down in front of Joseph, setting down her basket.

“Hello. I'm Irena Sendler. You may call me Miss Sendler. I'm going to help you escape the camp. You have to do what I tell you to do, alright?”

Joseph nodded.

Miss Sendler pulled out sheets from the basket. “You are going to hide in the basket and I will carry you out of the ghetto. Once we are out of the ghetto, I will go somewhere safe and you will get out of the basket. You are no longer Joseph, the Polish Jew. Your name is now Adolf. I am bringing you to family in the countryside. Do you know the Lord's Prayer?”

Joseph nodded again.

“Good. If someone stops you and asks you to recite the Lord's Prayer, do it. Now, we need to get you dressed. Anyone who looks at you will know that you are from the ghetto.”

Miss Sendler picked up a shirt, pants, and a coat and put them on Joseph. “Much better. Say goodbye and into the basket you go.”

Joseph turned away from Miss Sendler and faced Mama, his eyes already welling up with tears. He ran and hugged Mama fiercely.

Mama hugged him back, then crouched. “Joseph, once you get out of the ghetto, you are Adolf. But once the war is over, you are to be once again Joseph. Then you will be Jewish again. Never forget that. And also remember—” Mama's voice cracked, and she paused a moment, then continued, “Remember that I love you, and that I'm sending you away because of my love for you. Remember, Joseph. Never forget.”

“I will, Mama. I won't forget,” Joseph promised.

He hugged her once again. They remained there for a minute, then Mama slowly pulled away. “Goodbye, my sweet little boy,” Mama said, stroking his hair.

“Goodbye, Mama,” Joseph said. He reached out and stroked her hair.

Smiling sadly, her heart breaking, Mama lifted her son into the basket and covered him with the sheets.

“Goodbye, Joseph!” Mama cried out, the tears flowing down her cheeks.

“Bye, Mama!” Joseph said through the sheets.
     “I love you, Joseph!”

“I love you, Mama!”

Mama's eyes met Miss Sendler's, and she nodded. “Go. Bring my baby boy to safety. And thank you. You are very brave.”

“So are you. We need courageous people in war,” Miss Sendler said quietly.

Mama nodded her agreement.

Irena picked up her basket and moved toward the door.

“Bye, Joseph!” Mama said one final time.

“Bye, Mama!”

The door shut.

Joseph was gone.

Mama sat on the bed and cried.

-------

Joseph quietly lay curled up in the laundry basket as Miss Sendler carried him through the ghetto, toward the entrance.

Once they arrived at the gate, the guard asked them a few questions then let Miss Sendler go.

A few streets later, the basket was set down and the sheets lifted up and away. “Adolf, you can come out now. Remember your new name.”

Joseph – or Adolf – nodded solemnly.

“Come now, Adolf.” Miss Sendler took Adolf's hand and led him out the ally.

They walked a street together, then took a turn, bumping into a plump lady.

“Irena, what a surprise to see you!” the lady said. Her words were nice, but, Adolf thought, her voice wasn't.

“And who is this?” The lady looked down her long nose at Adolf, who just barely resisted the urge to hide behind Miss Sendler.

“Mrs. Pert, this is Adolf. I am bringing him to the countryside for his parents, who are busy helping the Nazis win the war. Say hello, Adolf,” Miss Sendler said. She squeezed Adolf's hand as if to give him courage.

“Hello, Mrs. Pert,” Adolf said just above a mumble.

“And I suppose you know the Lord's Prayer as a good child should?” Mrs. Pert said, her eyebrows raised.

Miss Sendler nodded, her face calm. “Of course. Adolf?”

Adolf looked up at Miss Sendler, his mind suddenly going blank. He blinked in frustration as he tried to remember. He pictured Mama's face that night when she had first repeated the prayer to him, and he remembered it.

“Our Father Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name. Your—”

“Yes, yes I see, you know the prayer,” Mrs. Pert said. She looked a bit disappointed. “Very good. Farewell.” She sniffed and walked past them.

Miss Sendler looked down at Adolf. “Well done. We are a few streets from my house.”

“Do I really have family in the countryside?”

Miss Sendler's eyes darted around the street for any listeners before answering. “You have friends in the countryside who will take care of you until the war's over.”

“Will Mama know where I am?”

Miss Sendler hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes, of course.”

Adolf nodded, satisfied, and continued walking with Miss Sendler.

That night, Adolf had a bath, something he never had since before the ghetto. Miss Sendler and her mother, Mrs. Sendler, were both calm and friendly. Better than those things was the food. And to Adolf's delight, there was real, white bread, with no sign of black, sawdust filled stuff he used to eat.

Miss Sendler brought him to the countryside, where a middle-aged couple took him in. They were kind but not Adolf's parents, who he yearned for.

Every so often, Adolf would ask where his parents are and if they were coming to get him, and the couple would assure him that his parents are safe and would come for him soon.

Of course, they couldn't have known.

--------------

Three years after Adolf escaped the ghetto, the war was over. Adolf was now ten years old, and he realized he could now be called Joseph again. He did what his mother requested of him and remembered his Jewish heritage.

The couple who took him in searched for his parents. After months of waiting, they received word that his mother had been caught during a random street round-up the Nazis often conducted in the ghetto. She had been caught the day after Joseph escaped the ghetto. She, along with the others caught in the round-up, were taken to the gas chambers.

The couple also found out that Joseph's father had survived the Nazi camp he was taken to and was now in a refugee camp.

When Joseph saw his father on the train as he stood in the train station, his eyes filled with tears and he ran to meet him. Even after four years, his father recognized his son at once and ran to hug him. They met in the middle of the train car, blocking the passengers’ way but caring not bit for them, only for each other.

When father and son finally broke apart, the tears ran down both of their cheeks, their joy and sorrow couldn't be put into words, so they remained silent.