Father Ludwik Quotes in Once
“We can only pray,” says Mother Minka. “We can only trust that God and Jesus and the Blessed Mary and our holy father in Rome will keep everyone safe.”
I can hardly breathe.
Suddenly I realize this is even worse than I thought.
“And Adolf Hitler?” I whisper. “Father Ludwik says Adolf Hitler keeps us safe too.”
Mother Minka doesn’t answer, just presses her lips together and closes her eyes.
I turn and run down the steps. Halfway down I crash into a kid coming up. As I scramble over him, I see his face. He’s older than he was, but I still recognize him. Wiktor Radzyn, one of the Catholic kids from my class when I went to school here.
I don’t stop.
I keep running.
“Clear off, Jew!” yells Wiktor behind me. “This is our house now.”
Why are some people kind to us Jewish book owners and some people hate us? I wish I’d asked Mr. Kopek to explain. And also to tell me why the Nazis hate Jewish books so much that they’ve dragged Mum and Dad and all their Jewish customers off to the city.
I tell myself a story about a bunch of kids in another country whose parents work in a book warehouse and one day a big pile of Jewish books topples onto the kids’ parents and crushes them and the kids vow that when they grow up they’ll get revenge on all the Jewish books and their owners.
It doesn’t feel like a very believable story.
Suddenly I’m thinking about another story. The one Mum and Dad told me about why I had to stay at the orphanage. They said it was so I could go to school there while they traveled to fix up their business. They told it so well, that story, I believed it for three years and eight months.
That story saved my life.
Father Ludwik Quotes in Once
“We can only pray,” says Mother Minka. “We can only trust that God and Jesus and the Blessed Mary and our holy father in Rome will keep everyone safe.”
I can hardly breathe.
Suddenly I realize this is even worse than I thought.
“And Adolf Hitler?” I whisper. “Father Ludwik says Adolf Hitler keeps us safe too.”
Mother Minka doesn’t answer, just presses her lips together and closes her eyes.
I turn and run down the steps. Halfway down I crash into a kid coming up. As I scramble over him, I see his face. He’s older than he was, but I still recognize him. Wiktor Radzyn, one of the Catholic kids from my class when I went to school here.
I don’t stop.
I keep running.
“Clear off, Jew!” yells Wiktor behind me. “This is our house now.”
Why are some people kind to us Jewish book owners and some people hate us? I wish I’d asked Mr. Kopek to explain. And also to tell me why the Nazis hate Jewish books so much that they’ve dragged Mum and Dad and all their Jewish customers off to the city.
I tell myself a story about a bunch of kids in another country whose parents work in a book warehouse and one day a big pile of Jewish books topples onto the kids’ parents and crushes them and the kids vow that when they grow up they’ll get revenge on all the Jewish books and their owners.
It doesn’t feel like a very believable story.
Suddenly I’m thinking about another story. The one Mum and Dad told me about why I had to stay at the orphanage. They said it was so I could go to school there while they traveled to fix up their business. They told it so well, that story, I believed it for three years and eight months.
That story saved my life.