Mother Minka Quotes in Once
I don’t argue. You don’t with Mother Minka. Nuns can have good hearts and still be violent.
“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.
“Look,” he says, “I can’t tell you what the Nazis are doing because Mother Minka made me swear on the Bible that I wouldn’t tell anyone. She doesn’t want everyone upset and worried.”
“Thanks,” I say. “But I know what they’re doing. They’re burning books.”
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.
“Excuse me,” I say to a man walking nearby. “Are you a book lover?”
The man stares at me as if I’m mad. His gray sagging face was miserable before, but now he looks like he’s close to tears. He looks away. I feel terrible. I wish I hadn’t asked.
Not just because I’ve made a suffering Jewish man feel upset at the sight of a crazy kid. Also because I’ve got a horrible suspicion I know the answer to the question.
Maybe it’s not just our books the Nazis hate.
Maybe it’s us.
“That’s a good story,” I say. “And when the man gets better, he and the gorilla go and live happily in the jungle and open a cake shop.”
“Yes,” says Zelda quietly.
She doesn’t look as though she totally believes it.
Neither do I.
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.
Mother Minka Quotes in Once
I don’t argue. You don’t with Mother Minka. Nuns can have good hearts and still be violent.
“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.
“Look,” he says, “I can’t tell you what the Nazis are doing because Mother Minka made me swear on the Bible that I wouldn’t tell anyone. She doesn’t want everyone upset and worried.”
“Thanks,” I say. “But I know what they’re doing. They’re burning books.”
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.
“Excuse me,” I say to a man walking nearby. “Are you a book lover?”
The man stares at me as if I’m mad. His gray sagging face was miserable before, but now he looks like he’s close to tears. He looks away. I feel terrible. I wish I hadn’t asked.
Not just because I’ve made a suffering Jewish man feel upset at the sight of a crazy kid. Also because I’ve got a horrible suspicion I know the answer to the question.
Maybe it’s not just our books the Nazis hate.
Maybe it’s us.
“That’s a good story,” I say. “And when the man gets better, he and the gorilla go and live happily in the jungle and open a cake shop.”
“Yes,” says Zelda quietly.
She doesn’t look as though she totally believes it.
Neither do I.
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.