The war was something I tried to ignore as best as I could. I was 15 when it started, and my father always reminded me that I had no reason to worry, he would always protect me. I chose to stay oblivious because I never believed that the war would ever come close enough to concern me. I admit to being quite naïve by choice, but I wanted to continue living in a world that didn't involve the war. The older I got, however, the more the war invaded my life, and it wasn't something I could escape, no matter how hard I tried.
One afternoon I came downstairs and saw my father sitting at the table reading the paper. His eyes were glued to the headlines. He was listening to the radio, and Hitler was making yet another loud speech about peace and change. My mother hated to listen to Hitler's speeches. She always tried to convince my father to turn the radio off, but my father insisted on listening to it, he said it was his job to make sure he knew exactly what was happening with the war, and that Hitler's speeches inspired him. I never talked about the war with my father. He never seemed to want to talk about it with me, so I never attempted to discuss it. My mother said it was because he didn't want to worry me, and that I was too young to be troubled with such matters. But as the war raged on, the less time he was home. He would go away for weeks at a time, and I realized how it was starting to affect my family as a whole. The war had been going on for six months before I attempted to broach the subject with my father. I feared that bringing it up would make it all too real. One rare day when my father was home, I decided that I needed some of my questions answered.
"Papa?" I asked, taking a seat next to him at the kitchen table.
My father looked up at me from his newspaper, "Yes?"
"Will the war continue much longer?"
My father thought for a moment, he took my hands in his and looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Are you scared, darling?"
"No." I replied, "but other people are. Things have started changing. People are getting more and more worried."
My father kissed my forehead, "You will always be safe, for as long as I'm living, no harm will ever come to my sweet Beth." He wrapped me up in his arms and held me close like he did when I was just a little girl.
"Will you also go off to war?" I asked, knowing the answer.
My father took a moment to contemplate his response, "In a way, I suppose," He replied softly, "But nothing will take me too far away from you." My father smiled in return to my obvious worry. "I have been assigned to a post only a few hours from here, and you will hardly notice my absence."
"What will you be doing?" I asked.
"Enough talk of war. Just know this: I fight for you, and the greatness of this great land we live in, yes?" My father laughed and kissed me on the cheek and then let me go. My father looked down at his wristwatch and folded his paper calmly under his arm "I have to go to a meeting soon and must prepare my uniform. I might be gone for a few days, but don't worry, I'll be back before you know it." He began to walk away but then added, "I don't want you worrying about the war, you hear me? Everything is under control, and I believe with all my heart that Germany will come out of this victorious." He smiled and went upstairs.
My father had always been a proud soldier, proud to serve his nation, proud to serve the military, and proud to fight for the glory of Germany. His confidence always made me feel safe, but it still made my mother uneasy. His pride made him reckless, and she would often comment that he was quick to act but slow to think. She both loved and hated that about him. I was much the same in that way. I acted before I considered what the outcome could be of those actions, which, unfortunately, landed both of us in many precarious situations. Despite any bit of fault, I could see, no matter what. My father was my protector, and I knew that as long as I had him, I would always be safe.
Later that afternoon, I was headed to Mr. Becker's shop when I saw a boy I knew from school who was not much older than I was. He was wearing a uniform and holding a rifle. He had light brown hair and deep blue eyes. I was surprised by how tall he had become, and he looked much older than he was.
"Henry?" I asked as I walked closer to him, "What are you doing?"
Henry looked at me. His face was stern and cold. "My duty."
"What?" I said with confusion, "Henry, why are you dressed like a soldier? And how did you get a gun?" He was wearing a dark uniform, with a metal helmet and one of Hitler's swastikas on his arm.
"I'm a soldier now Beth, I'm protecting my country." It didn't seem possible, but he straightened his posture as he spoke.
I laughed a little as though I just been told a joke "You can't be a soldier," I said playfully, tugging at his uniform "Henry, you're 16 only a year older than me."
"I'm a man now Beth, and I would like to be treated as such." Henry spat.
A group of other soldiers walked up behind him equally as young, and I even recognized a few of them as well. Some of them I had known for years and had grown up with, some I had walked to school with, I had played ball with, and yet there they stood children dressed as men. It's an image that, to this day, I will never forget.
"Are you ready, Henry?" one of the men asked, and he strode up behind him. Henry nodded, and the group walked off together. The whole thing seemed so unreal to me. I never imagined such a young man like Henry joining the military.
When I reached Mr. Becker's shop, I noticed some boys were throwing stones at the front glass windows.
"Stop!" I shouted frantically as I ran towards them "What are you doing?"
The boys looked at me with shock, "The man who owns this shop is a Jew."
"So?" I asked, not grasping their point.
"He is what is wrong with this country, now move aside." One boy pushed past me to get a better shot at the windows.
They continued to throw rocks, and finally, one of the boys managed to shatter one of the windows. The boys were all much larger than I was, but I was so mad that I charged the large boy who had thrown the rock that had broken the window, and I managed to knock him to the ground where he groaned surprised by the attack. And then I started hitting him with all of my might. The large boy tried to loosen my grip on his jacket, but I held on tightly.
"Leave the shop alone! Mr. Becker has done nothing wrong!" I screamed, hitting the boy as hard as I could until the boy's nose began to bleed.
"Get off me, bitch!" The boy yelled.
He slapped me hard across the face, which knocked me off of him and onto the ground. It took me a moment to gather my wits, but I quickly got to my feet. "Leave Mr. Becker and this shop alone." I said, trying not to let the large boy see the tears welling up into my eyes.
"What are you going to do about it, little girl?" the boy said as he shoved me back to the ground. The two other boys circled me, and I tried to prepare myself to get hit again when I heard a voice yell from the end of the street. "Don't touch her!"
All of a sudden John appeared, he approached one of the boys and grabbed him by the arm, he turned him to face him then punched the boy hard across the face. It didn't seem to faze the boy much; he just swung at John and struck him. John landed onto the hard ground. One of the other boys ran over and started kicking John in the stomach. I stood up and tried to get them to stop, but the third boy grabbed me by the arms, and held me so tightly that I couldn't squirm loose. The two other boys kicked and punched John till I thought he was dead.
Once the group of boys seemed satisfied by their work, the oldest walked over to me and said. "Be careful who you try to protect, it could get you in lots of trouble, you aren't the enemy, they are." He pointed toward the shop, "And the sooner you figure that out, the safer you will be."
The boy who was holding my arms let me go, and I fell to my knees, which slammed into the brick road, and yet I hardly noticed the shooting pain that ran up my leg when I saw John. The boys ran off, and I walked over to John, who was limply lying on the cold ground. His face was covered in blood, his eyes were black and blue, and his cheeks had already begun to swell.
"What happened?" I heard from the road behind me. Mr. Becker ran over to John's side, dropping his bag of tools on the ground. "How did this happen?"
"These boys were throwing rocks at your windows. I tried to stop them, but I couldn't, and one of the boys slapped me. John tried to stop them from hurting me, but they just turned their attention to him and started beating him up. They wouldn't let me go; I couldn't stop them." Tears started to roll down my cheeks.
"John?" Mr. Becker said firmly, "John, can you hear me?"
I took John's bruised hand, and all of a sudden, I felt his hand squeeze mine in return. John opened his eyes and seemed a little confused. He coughed painfully a few times and then started to groan.
"We need to get him inside." Mr. Becker grabbed John by the arm and pulled him off the ground and slung his arm over his shoulder, and with very little help from me, took John upstairs into the apartment above the shop and laid him onto his bed. "Stay here, Beth, I'm going to go call his mother."
I grabbed a chair from Mr. Becker's kitchen table and sat it next to the bed. I took John's hand in mine once again.
John coughed and looked over at me, "You always get me in trouble, Beth." John gasped and winced in pain.
"I never asked you to save me; I had it under control," I answered stubbornly.
John smiled, then winced again, "Sure you did. It did look like you got a few good punches in there."
"Thanks for saving me," I said, trying not to cry. It was entirely my fault John was lying on that bed, all bloodied and bruised.
"Are you okay?" John asked, reaching up to touch the bruise I had on my cheek. I flinched, I hadn't even noticed the swelling in my jaw.
"I'm fine." I said, "Don't worry about me."
"I have to worry about you. If I don't, you'll keep getting into trouble." John said with a grin.
I rolled my eyes, "It's not like I have a habit of getting into fistfights."
"Why were you fighting those boys in the first place? They were twice your size." He said, letting out another cough.
"They were trying to break Mr. Becker's windows. I told them to stop, but they wouldn't. I didn't know what else to do." I admitted.
"Why were they trying to break Mr. Becker's windows?" John asked with a confused expression on his face.
"They said it was because he is Jewish," I whispered, almost as if I were afraid Mr. Becker would hear it.
"Why does that matter?" John asked, "Mr. Becker hasn't done anything wrong."
Mr. Becker walked into the room, holding a wet washcloth, "They are young men who think they are defending their land against invisible enemies." Mr. Becker said in a calm tone.
"They said you were the enemy," I said sheepishly.
Mr. Becker wiped away some of the dried blood on John's face. "In their eyes, I am."
"But why?" John pressed for an answer.
"Because they have been told a lie that I am. They are too young to understand what they are fighting against or who. They have never been told to make up their own minds about matters such as these. I suppose they would rather listen to the man screaming into a crowd than the man they have known their whole lives." Mr. Becker's words were calm, and yet his mind seemed to travel someplace that neither John or I could go or fully understand. Our eyes had not yet been opened, and yet, for Mr. Becker, he had no choice but to realize the realities of his current situation.
"Mr. Becker, I don't understand," I said, wishing I knew why things were happening this way.
Mr. Becker sat on the bed and took one of our hands in each of his. He then took a deep breath and said. "I wish I could fully explain to you all that is happening, but even I have questions that simply won't be answered until the Lord calls me home." Again Mr. Becker's thoughts seemed to travel someplace far away. He looked at us in a way that scared me more than words could say. "I do not want to lie to you, my young friends. Some people are saying Jews are evil, I don't know why, but soon it will be too dangerous for me to live here, and I might have to leave." He squeezed our hands comfortingly and continued, "Know that wherever I am, whatever happens to me, I am proud of who I am. And I know my God will protect me from any persecution. Don't you two worry about me, and windows are easily replaced, faces, on the other hand, they are not so easily fixed." Mr. Becker smiled and kissed me on the top of my head. "All in God's plan, don't you forget that this is all in God's plan." There was a knock on the door of the shop, "That must be your mother, I'll get it." Mr. Becker walked out of the room, leaving John and I to ponder his words.
"I'm worried," John said in a hushed tone.
"So am I," I replied.
I wished someone would make sense of this overwhelming change that had swept over my life. I never thought something like this would happen to me or to any of the people I loved. The look on John's mother's face when she saw John lying on Mr. Becker's bed, bruised and broken, killed me. If only I hadn't tried to fight those boys, John wouldn't have tried to be a hero, and he would never have been hurt as bad as he had been. Mr. Becker tried to explain to me that it wasn't my fault, that I couldn't have done anything, and John would be okay with some rest. It didn't change how I felt about the whole situation. I had more questions than ever. What did that boy mean that the Jew's were our enemies? Why was he so angry with Mr. Becker? Why did he want to do such harm? I didn't understand. I couldn't wrap my mind around everything that had happened. I wondered if Mr. Becker was going to leave.
My father had been the one to come and get me from Mr. Becker's shop, and he walked into the room wearing his full uniform, and something about that set everyone on edge. It wasn't the first time I had seen him in his uniform, but something felt different. He seemed distorted somehow, and I didn't know what it could be. He didn't say much, and he avoided eye contact with Mr. Becker, which I thought was strange. My mother had known Mr. Becker since she was a young girl. He was like a father to her. Mr. Becker had given a speech at my parents' wedding. And yet in that moment all my father did was walk in, stand coldly in the corner as if he were on duty, and then walked me home. I had never feared my father before, but I did notice that others had begun too.
My father and I walked quietly for a while, my house wasn't too far, but it felt like it was taking years to get there.
"Beth?" My father said with concern in his voice. "Are you alright?"
I didn't know where to start.
"I'm okay," I replied cautiously. "Why were those boys mad at Mr. Becker? Why do they think he's bad just because he is Jewish? Why were they trying to destroy the shop? What is happening?" All my questioned fell out of my mouth before I could process what I was asking. Confusion and a surprising amount of anger poured out of me like a wave. An array of emotions took hold, and I didn't know how to express or explain any of them. I wanted to remain safe from information that could ruin what I thought I knew, but at the same time, I was afraid of looking ignorant and foolish. My father stopped walking and took me by the shoulders and wrapped me up in his arms. I buried my face into his chest and wept. My father just held me tightly and stroked my hair.
"I'm so sorry you got hurt, my dear. It's all okay now, no need for tears."
I sniffled and, in a shaky voice, asked, "But why did it happen?" I looked into my father's deep blue eyes. He didn't seem to be able to answer my question. He pulled me into his arms again, and this time he held me so tightly I thought I would choke. There was desperation in this hug, as if he were to let me go something else would happen.
"I love you more than anything in this world. You know that, right?" and I could hear the fear in my father's voice.
"I know, daddy," I answered, attempting to sound more courageous than I felt at that moment.
I will always remember that night. It was the night the war finally invaded my world. John's hand was broken, and he had a broken rib, but he recovered quickly. Mr. Becker replaced his broken window, and said he had meant to replace it anyway. Mr. Becker tried to let life feel routine, but I no longer attempted to live in blindness to what was happening around me. That fight was only the beginning.