Letters from Rifka

September 2, 1919
Russia
My Dear Cousin Tovah,
We made it! If it had not been for your father, though, I think my family would all be dead now: Mama, Papa, Nathan, Saul, and me. At the very best we would be in that filthy prison in Berdichev, not rolling west through Ukraine on a freight train bound for Poland.
I am sure you and Cousin Hannah were glad to see Uncle Avrum come home today. How worried his daughters must have been after the locked doors and whisperings of last night.
Soon Bubbe Ruth, my dear little grandmother, will hear of our escape. I hope she gives a big pot of Frusileh’s cream to Uncle Avrum. How better could she thank him?
When the sun rose above the trees at the train station in Berdichev this morning, I stood alone outside a boxcar, my heart knocking against my ribs.
I stood there, trying to look older than my twelve years. Wrapped in the new shawl Cousin Hannah gave to me, still I trembled.
“Wear this in health,” Hannah had whispered in my ear as she draped the shawl over my shoulders early this morning, before we slipped from your house into the dark.
“Come,” Papa said, leading us through the woods to the train station.
I looked back to the flickering lights of your house, Tovah.
“Quickly, Rifka,” Papa whispered. “The boys, and Mama, and I must hide before light.” “You can distract the guards, can’t you, little sister?” Nathan said, putting an arm around me. In the darkness, I could not see his eyes, but I felt them studying me.
“Yes,” I answered, not wanting to disappoint him.
At the train station, Papa and Mama hid behind bales of hay in boxcars to my right. My two giant brothers, Nathan and Saul, crouched in separate cars to my left. Papa said that we should hide in different cars. If the guards discovered only one of us, perhaps the others might still escape.
Behind me, in the dusty corner of a boxcar, sat my own rucksack. It waited for me, holding what little I own in this world. I had packed Mama’s candlesticks, wrapped in my two heavy dresses, at the bottom of the sack.
Your gift to me, the book of Pushkin, I did not pack. I kept it out, holding it in my hands.
I would have liked to fly away, to race back up the road, stopping at every door to say good-bye, to say that we were going to America.
But I could not. Papa said we must tell no one we were leaving, not even Bubbe Ruth. Only you and Hannah and Uncle Avrum knew. I’m so glad at least you knew, Tovah.
As Papa expected, not long after he and Mama and the boys had hidden themselves, two guards emerged from a wooden shelter. They thundered down the platform in their heavy boots, climbing in and out of the cars, making their search.
They did not notice me at first. Saul says I am too little for anyone to notice, but you know Saul. He never has a nice word to say to me. And I am small for a girl of twelve. Still, my size did not keep the guards from noticing me. I think the guards missed seeing me at first because they were so busy in their search of the train. They were searching for Nathan.
You know as well as I, Tovah, that when a Jewish boy deserts the Russian Army, the army tries hard to find him. They bring him back and kill him in front of his regiment as a warning to the others. Those who have helped him, they also die.
Late last night, when Nathan slipped away from his regiment and appeared at our door, joy filled my heart at seeing my favorite brother again. Yet a troubled look worried Nathan’s face. He hugged me only for a moment. His dimpled smile vanished as quickly as it came.
“I’ve come,” he said, “to warn Saul. The soldiers will soon follow. They will take him into the army.”
I am ashamed, Tovah, to admit that at first hearing Nathan’s news made me glad. I wanted Saul gone. He drives me crazy. From his big ears to his big feet, I cannot stand the sight of him. Good riddance, I thought.
How foolish I was not to understand what Nathan’s news really meant to our family.
“You should not have come,” Mama said to Nathan.
“They will shoot you when you return.’ Papa said, “Nathan isn’t going to return. Hurry! We must pack!”
We all stared at him.
“Quickly,” Papa said, clapping his hands. “Rifka, run and fill your rucksack with all of your belongings.” I do not know what Papa thought I owned.
Mama said, “Rifka, do you have room in your bag for my candlesticks?”
“The candlesticks, Mama?” I asked.
“We either take them, Rifka, or leave them to the greedy peasants. Soon enough they will swoop down like vultures to pick our house bare,” Mama said. Papa said, “Your brothers in America have sent for us, Rifka. It is time to leave Russia and we are not coming back. Ever.”