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I was not sure what Bible Camp was all about, but I looked forward to this new adventure. From what Godfather said, we would be sleeping in tents and that sounded like fun.
The day after school officially ended, we went to the station and joined a group of other children who were also going to camp. I knew most of them from Sunday School. Once we were on the train, our counselor organized a sing-song and the trip went by very fast. In no time at all, it seemed, we had arrived at our destination in France. I was curious to see what another country looked like, and I pushed and shoved like everyone else to try and be the first to get off the train.
It was a bit disappointing to find out that we would have to wait at the station for a while, because the truck that was supposed to pick us up had not yet arrived. But this gave me a chance to look around and to see what was different about this foreign land. After observing everything that could be seen from where we were standing, I found that it looked pretty much the same as our own country, except that the houses were not all covered with soot and that the people spoke with a funny accent.
At last the truck showed up and we boarded it amidst a lot of laughter and excitement. It was a bumpy ride when we got out of the city and we had to hold on tightly to anything we could. But in spite of the bouncing around, we enjoyed the sight of the lush green fields dotted with clumps of trees. It was a welcome change from the gray rocky landscape where we lived.
We finally turned off the road and before long, after being jostled around for another hundred meters or so, we came to a stop in a large field. There were a few tents here and there, but what really caught my attention was the giant swing set at the edge of the field. After we got off the truck, we were all assigned a tent and a bed where we put down our luggage. Then we were shown where the bathrooms were and, after washing our hands, we were taken to the dining tent which was just a canvas roof with no walls. Under the canvas there were long wooden tables surrounded with benches. We took our places wondering what the food would be like. I was pretty hungry by then and I would have eaten any old potato without the slightest complaint.
After the prayer thanking God for our daily bread, we were served some soup with -- surprise! -- plenty of bread. And how beautiful it was compared to what passed for bread at home! We could hardly believe it and everyone was too busy eating to speak. There was almost complete silence. All you could hear was the slurping of the soup.
After that most satisfying meal, we were each given a notebook and a pencil and directed towards the "classroom" -- a tent with more benches -- where we listened to our first lecture. It was all about Jesus and the miracle of the loaves. No one said so, but it was clear to me that the meal we had just eaten could well have been a miracle as well. Where else could all this bread have come from?
The next two weeks passed very quickly. In the mornings, after a breakfast that consisted mostly of porridge and kippers, food unknown to me until now, we went to hear lectures about different stories from the Bible. I learned about many miracles, like Jesus walking over the sea, or changing water to wine, or the amazing one about Lazarus: he had actually risen from the dead! It all sounded like fantastic magic to me, and after hearing about the resurrection of Jesus and Eternal Life, I was sure that I wanted to become a missionary and go to Africa to save the souls of all those poor heathens. After all, was I not saved myself when I prayed hard and the planes passed over the house to drop their bombs somewhere else? It certainly paid to be a true Christian!
In the afternoons we had more lectures and we had to write down what we had learned in our notebooks. After supper, during which there was a lot of bread and jam, we could go and play wherever we wanted and it was always a mad rush to the swing set. There were quite a few swings, but not enough for everyone, so we had to wait our turn. One of the bigger boys was punished by God because he did not want to let someone else have a turn: he slipped and fell off and his head was all bloody. It was Godfather who picked him up and carried him to the infirmary where a nurse patched him up.
In the evenings we always had a camp-fire with a lot of singing and joking around before it was time to go to bed.
The water was very cold in the bathroom, and there was only one towel for our tent. That is why we did not always wash more than the tip of our fingers; and our face only when it began to look really dirty. After the first week, I started to have huge scabby pimples around my mouth, my neck, and my nose. The other boys in the tent had the same thing. It was impetigo, the nurse said, and we got it because we did not keep ourselves clean. It was horrible to look at, and it was also very painful when we had to get the scabs cleaned up. We would all line up at the infirmary, every day after supper, and wait our turn to be seen by the nurse before we could go and play.
In spite of the impetigo, I was very sorry when Bible Camp came to an end and we had to board the train to go home. We all had a good time, and we were sad to leave the friends we had made; as well as all the nice food.
When Godmother saw Jacques and I with our scabby faces, she was shocked, particularly when she realized that it was now up to her to clean up our sores every day so that they would not spread to anyone else.
We were now back to our potato diet, and we were getting short even of that. I helped Godfather plant some more so that there would be a new crop in the fall. Every Sunday, we, the children, were invited to lunch at Monsieur Duval's house, one of the richer parishioners at the Temple. It was the only time of the week when we saw a real meal, and we had to be on our best behaviour for the occasion. After lunch we would go and play in the garden with his dog until Godfather came to pick us up.
Since our Sunday clothes were pretty well worn out, Madame Duval gave Godmother a length of cotton cloth from which she made each of us a suit. I hated the colour of it, a dull orangey-brown, but we had to wear it for our weekly dinner at the Duval's.
During the week we went back to playing at the slag heap, or near the pond, where I would meet the children of our gang. My friend Pierre informed me that there was a lot of fighting going on in France, and that the Allies were coming closer day by day. He was surprised that I had not seen or heard anything while I was there. I told him that God had most likely kept the armies away from Bible Camp, and he gave me a strange look before he started to laugh. "Good joke," he said, although I had not been joking.
The month of August went by, and we started to think about school. At the beginning of September, there was suddenly a flurry of activity outside the house. Cars and motorcycles rushed back and forth, and gunshots were heard in the distance. We had to stay in the house when German trucks loaded with heavily armed soldiers raced by. Godfather said that they were in retreat and that they were particularly dangerous because they would shoot at anything that moved. All night long we could hear sporadic shooting and the rumbling of vehicles going by at great speed.
The next day, after a disquieting silence that lasted many hours, we saw a car go by that was packed with armed men, civilians this time. They were waving a Belgian flag and they wore arm bands signifying that they belonged to the Resistance. We could not believe it at first that the Germans were gone, and, just as a safety measure, we were not allowed to go outside. Until the following day, that is, when a rumour spread quickly that the first armoured vehicles of the Allies had entered Charleroi.
And then everyone started to act crazy. Flags appeared at the windows and small groups of people gathered outside of their houses, smiling and talking with animated gestures. Soon, the crowds grew larger and spread out, singing the national anthem of Belgium as they made their way towards the centre of the city. We children were not allowed to follow them, but there was plenty of excitement right where we were, so we did not mind too much.
Music, interspersed with news items, could be heard outside coming seemingly from all directions. Radios we did not know existed had suddenly sprung to life, and they were blaring away as loud as they could get, as if to make up for previous prohibition. At one street corner someone appeared with an accordion and started to play. Within minutes, people were dancing in the streets. Everyone was overjoyed, but there were also some ugly scenes of revenge. I saw some women with shaved heads being paraded as the crowds jeered them. We were told that they had been friends of the Germans. That was good enough for me, and I jeered like everyone else.
We went to bed very late that night, full of anticipation for the days to come. We were sure that there would soon be plenty of food and that everyone would be eating whatever he desired. Lucienne had come in, just as we were going to bed, with a stick of chewing gum. She had received it from an American soldier. It was soon cut into tiny pieces so that we might all try a bit of this unknown delicacy. I started chewing mine and I liked the flavour, but in no time at all it was gone: I did not know that you were not supposed to swallow it, but that you just chewed it on and on.
We woke up early the next day, expecting the world to have changed overnight. But we quickly found out that it would take longer than we thought. The food was no different from the day before. And we had to go to school.
The teachers had a hard time keeping us quiet, but after a few days the excitement subsided and we went back to the normal six-day a week schedule. Monsieur Wallot was our new teacher, and even though he was short and thin, we were all scared of him. If anyone started whispering while he had his back turned to the blackboard, he would whip around and throw his piece of chalk as if it was a bullet, unerringly hitting the blabbermouth. He rarely missed his aim, and it was quite painful if you were hit. He also punished those who did not do exactly as he said by having them write out hundreds of lines repeating the same sentence over and over. Many times I had to write out "I must not draw on my books", but there was no improvement. I just could not help myself; the Devil made me do it, I guess.
One Saturday noon, on our way back from school, we saw a jeep with Allied soldiers that had stopped at a street crossing. We could tell by the shape of their helmets that they were Americans, and we immediately rushed over to have a closer look at our liberators. I was surprised to see one of them speaking in a microphone and then, immediately, receiving a response over a radio that was in the car. How was that possible? There were no wires connecting it to whomever he was speaking to. We had made up our own telephones with old tin cans connected together with a long piece of string, and I understood that sound travelled somehow over that string, but here there was just a piece of wire sticking out from the side of the car, an antenna as it was called, and that was all. No wonder they were winning the war! I was sure that the Germans did not have such marvellous equipment, even though I had never dared to come this close to a German vehicle to find out.
I tried asking them how this radio worked, but they could not speak any French, so they just smiled at us and, to our delight, they gave us some pieces of chewing gum. This time I knew what to do with it, and I chewed it all the way home. I also devised various ways to make it last longer. I would stick it on a window sill, preferably if it was marble, and I was convinced that somehow some of the flavour returned to the gum overnight. The other children in my class had also discovered these and other secrets, and we daily exchanged our information on the subject during recess.
We were not allowed to chew in the class, so we would stick the gum under the desk-top until it was time to leave. One of the richer children was a show-off. He had managed to get five strips, and he had put all of them in his mouth to make a giant mass of gum which he was loudly masticating. The teacher spotted him, and he was ordered to spit it out in the waste-paper basket, to his dismay and to our delight.
Beside the gum, there was very little else that made its way into our daily diet. Godmother managed to obtain powdered eggs, and it was a change, although they tasted rather funny. We heard that the Americans were throwing away bread. Real good white bread! We could not believe this, but some people swore that they had seen it with their own eyes. It almost caused a riot when some of them tried to get at the garbage. After that event, the Americans started to keep their garbage out of sight, but we still wondered why, if they had so much that they could throw it away, they did not let us have a few loaves.
The war was now further away, but we were reminded brutally that it was far from over. One morning as we were entering the school yard, I saw a funny plane appear right over our heads. It flew without the familiar sound of the propeller, and I thought at first that it must be a new type of glider, with very short wings instead of the usual extended wing span. Suddenly it started to slow down until it stopped in mid-air. It just seemed to hang there. Then, after a moment of hesitation, it wobbled a bit before pointing its nose to the ground and plunging straight down, faster and faster.
"It's a V-1 !" someone screamed. "Lie down!"
We dived down to the ground, and not a moment too soon either, because there was a violent explosion as the flying rocket blew-up, shattering the school's windows, and blowing away some of the branches from the tree near where we were lying. We had heard that the Germans had constructed such flying bombs, but this was the first time we had ever seen one at close range, so to speak. After checking anxiously the sky to see if there were any more, we stood up and congratulated each other at having survived this enemy attack.
"Had we not hugged the ground," said one of the boys with a shudder, "our heads would have been blown off just like these branches."
We felt very excited at having been so close to the action and no one, of course, expressed the slightest fear at having been almost killed. School was cancelled that day, so that the broken glass could be cleaned up, and in the following days we went to look with some awe at the crater that had been formed where the rocket had fallen.
A different bomb shattered the security of my life. I came home one day to find a totally unexpected visitor from the past: my aunt Rushka, whose name was now Rachel. I did not know at first if I was glad or not to see her. She told me that Bonne-maman and Bon-papa were alright, and so were Jacques' grandparents. That was fine. But then she added that since the Germans were gone, we could now go back to live with our respective relatives.
"But I don't want to go and live with them," I shouted, completely upset at having to leave the safety and the familiarity of what I now considered my true family. "I'm happy here, I don't want to go anywhere else." I began to cry and rushed over to Godfather.
"I'm sure you are happy here," said my aunt, "but look how thin you are. Bonne-maman can give you all the food you can eat, and beside, she is your real family...."
"I don't care! I'm not going!" I cried all the more.
"Don't worry," said Godfather holding my shoulder, "you are not going anywhere. I promised your father that I would take care of you until he came back, and that is how it will be."
"But we don't know if his father is alive or dead," said my aunt, "and it may take months or even years before we know for sure."
"Well, that is how it's going to be. We have to trust in God, and all will turn out alright."
Godfather and my aunt argued for a long time, but she left eventually when she realized that nothing would be achieved by talking with such stubborn people as ourselves. I was safe for the moment.
That night, and many nights afterwards, I started to have nightmares again. In one of them, I was completely alone, lost in a field where scattered ruins pointed their spiky remnants to the sky. The ruins changed into blind cripples, legless and without hands, aiming their stumps towards leaden clouds. Black crows hovered overhead, ready to swoop down at some dead or dying animals to peck out their eyes. I tried in vain to find a place to hide....
In another one, the worst of the lot and one that I had had before and that kept reoccurring, I was on the train tracks, unable to move, as if my feet were stuck in oozing mud, while a colossal locomotive was rushing down at me, its whistle screaming away. I always woke up, just as it was about to crush me, realizing that it was me who had been screaming.
A letter arrived one day from the Red Cross. Some people claiming to be American relatives of Daniel, the youngest of the children in our household, had found out that he was alive and well, and they wanted him to go and live with them in the United States. Godfather checked the name of these relatives, and it was the same as Daniel's original name. Arrangements were made for his departure. The day before he was to leave, we had a farewell party for him and we all wished him good luck in his new home. As for me, I was perfectly happy where I was and I had no desire to go anywhere else.
I was glad that my grand-parents were safe, and I hoped that someday, in an undetermined future, my father would also show-up. But for now I wanted everything to remain as it was. I had become a Christian, and with the true religion and a safe name -- I had almost forgotten my old name and I did not want to remember it: that was dangerous -- why should I want to change?
I was beginning to think about Christmas, with all its colour and pageantry, convinced that it would be more marvellous than ever, now that we were liberated from the German occupation, when another bomb-shell came to disturb the pattern of my life. A bailiff showed up at the door to deliver a sealed envelope for Godfather. It was a court order for him to appear, with Jacques and myself, at the Palace of Justice in Brussels a week hence.
That was all my aunt's doing, said Godfather bitterly. She, in the absence of our parents, had gone to court to claim custody of Jacques and myself to our respective grandparents. We had no choice in the matter, and on the appointed day, dressed in our best clothes, we travelled to Brussels and made our way to the largest and most imposing building I had ever seen.
It was a very frightening experience to appear before a judge, and to be asked all sorts of questions about what we ate, what we did, and how we were treated. I was crying hard because I was so upset, and I had a difficult time to speak.
In the end the judge said that, even though we seemed to be very contented to be where we were, the rightful place for children to be was with their own family. And that was that.
We went back to Charleroi with the understanding that we would be picked up two weeks from then, at the end of the school term, me by my aunt and Jacques by his grandfather. During the time that we remained at Godfather's, we said good-bye to the children at Sunday School, and I received a little diary with quotations from the New Testament, and different prayers that could be recited every day. I promised every one that I would faithfully read it every day and pray to the Lord until I grew up, at which point I would come back and learn to be a missionary.
I also said goodbye to my regular schoolmates, wondering where I would go to school after Christmas.
The day before we were to leave, we packed whatever few belongings we had, and Godfather gave me as a gift the little African carving which I liked so much. We prayed hard that evening, thanking the Lord for having kept us safe until this moment. The next day, when my aunt arrived accompanied by Jacques' grandfather, we said our goodbyes, promising that we would come back for a visit regularly, and then we were off.
My aunt and I got off at Brussels, but Jacques and his grandfather stayed on the train because they were going further, to Antwerp. We agreed to both go and visit Godfather on the same day, exactly one month from today, and then we shook hands and he continued on his way.
I was now alone with my aunt, and I felt a bit shy with her. She may have been my real family, but I felt closer to Godfather, and I silently prayed for God to give me strength to meet whatever situation was ahead of me. My shyness towards my aunt was nothing though, compared to the estrangement I experienced when I met my grandparents.
For one thing, they spoke very little French. Yiddish was the language that had always been spoken at home, and I had completely forgotten it by now. This made it all the more difficult for me to start feeling at ease with them. I sensed, from some forgotten time, a closeness and an affection, but at the same time they were strangers. I shied away from the hugging that my grandmother tried to bestow on me, as I was not used to be hugged by anyone.
I was introduced to my cousin Edgard who was now a little boy rather than a baby, and I was glad that I was older than him: at least I did not have to be worried about being bossed around by an older brother.
At supper time, I bent my head before eating and, to my grandfather's horror and stupefaction, I silently gave the benediction for the meal. That first night, I prayed before going to sleep and read a passage from my little diary. I was determined to remain a good Christian, no matter what anyone said.
The first days at my new home were very trying, but I remained strong because of my faith in the Lord. We lived in an apartment on the second floor of a three-story house, and we were always in each other's way. I was put in the same room as my cousin, and I found it difficult to relax because he was always gritting his teeth in his sleep; not loudly, but it was enough to drive me crazy. The slightest noise woke me up, and so did my nightmares. I kept my daily prayer book under my pillow and I did not fail to pray to God that I should be spared the nightmares, but it did not seem to help.
My aunt went to work every morning and she did not come home until supper time. This meant that the only person with whom I could speak was my young cousin. I did not really want to speak Yiddish, and certainly not outside or anywhere where we might be overheard by some strangers. My grandfather accompanied me and Edgard to a nearby park, but if he ever spoke to me in anything else but his poor French, I would simply ignore what he said, as if I did not know him. I also looked down at his pagan morning prayer ritual which I thought was quite amusing. I made fun of him, and I got my cousin to do the same. Then I tried to convert Edgard to the true faith. My grandfather did not like that, and he tried to take my prayer book away, at which point I kicked and screamed for him to keep his hands away from me. That evening, when my aunt was told about this, I heard her mention to him that he should forget about doing anything by force. "Just give him time," she said, "he'll get over it eventually." But I promised myself that I would always remain a true Christian.
My grandmother did her best to prepare meals that I would enjoy, and she was always pushing me to eat a bit more than I wanted. She kept bemoaning the fact that I was so skinny and weak although I did not feel that way at all. I nevertheless ate with great relish most of what she cooked, but I stubbornly refused to eat any potatoes, no matter how they were prepared. I'd had my fill of them.
I was rather bored, without the slag heap and all the children with whom I used to play, and I had to find new ways to pass the time. I made up some games with my cousin, but I refused to play cards with him, as I remembered that this was supposed to be a sinful occupation. There were a lot of books around, and I started scrounging through them to find something interesting to read. I was delighted when I was allowed to buy a comic book at the corner store, and this became a weekly habit.
There was a radio in the house, and I took pleasure in listening to music and to the news, although some of the latter became suddenly very frightening. The Germans, led by a general named von Rundstedt, had started an offensive in the Ardennes and they were seriously threatening the Americans. There was even talk that they might regain some of their lost territory in Belgium. Could they come back here? What would happen if they did? Would I go back to Godfather's house? These were disquieting days and I was filled with anxiety at the uncertainty of everything. Usually at this time, I would have been preparing for a Christmas pageant, joyfully mingling with the other children of Sunday School, but here there was nothing, no tree, no decorations, no gifts to look forward to.
On Christmas morning, I felt very sad and lonely.
The new year brought some hopeful news. The radio announcer said that the von Rundstedt offensive had been stopped, and it seemed pretty certain that the Allies were now pushing the Germans back on all fronts. I felt greatly relieved.
Here, on the other hand, I had other problems. I would soon be going to a new school, and my biggest worry was my name. I now had to stop using the one which I had come to believe was my true name, and go back to something which I had tried hard to forget because it was so dangerous. Learning to spell it was not that difficult, with some practice, but to pronounce it, to say it aloud, that was something else.
On the first day of school, I was introduced to Monsieur Dumont, the man who would now be my new teacher. When he asked my name, it stuck in my throat, and all I could do was mumble it indistinctly. This meant, of course, that I was asked to repeat it, louder, so that everyone could hear it, and I was mortified, shaking in my shoes and with my stomach in turmoil. I was ashamed of that name, because it spelled out for all to hear that I was different, a Jew, even though I thought of myself as a Christian, like everyone else. I was also scared because, now that I had lost my camouflage, I was an open and vulnerable target if the Germans should make it back here.
I remained very quiet in the class, trying to blend in and not wanting to attract attention to myself in any way. I was even embarrassed about my clothes: my grandmother had made sure that I wore a spotless white shirt and pants, and that the new shoes I had received were beautifully polished. The other boys in the class were dressed in the scruffy clothes that were more what I was used to, which put another obstacle in my desire to fit in. I listened to everything the teacher said, did all my homework, and minded my own business. At recess the other boys would kick around a football, but I stayed out of all that rough stuff which, my grandmother kept repeating, was only for Gentiles. Jews should concentrate on studying and should not go in for such frivolous activities. I nevertheless would have liked to join them, but I had always been bad at throwing or kicking balls, and since I was a newcomer and unsure of my status because of my new name, I thought it best to keep well to the sidelines.
After a few weeks, I was beginning to speak Yiddish -- at home only -- and I understood pretty well whatever was being said. I still continued with my daily prayers, but with somewhat less fervour, since no one seemed to mind whether I prayed or not.
Just as had been planned, I went one Sunday to visit Godfather in Charleroi. Jacques was there also. We had both brought flowers and a cake, and it was a lovely reunion for all of us. Godfather said he almost did not recognize us, since we had put on so much weight in just one month. And with our new jacket and pants, we were a far cry from the ragamuffins he knew.
We parted that evening with promises to see each other again, and Godfather said he would pray for our well-being.
At school, I had no difficulty at all with my work. In fact, I always ended up with the highest marks of the class for our assignments. But I did not make any friends. The other boys had known each other for a long time, and I did not fit in. Somehow I was different and I knew it. And so did they.
At the beginning of April, we were all taken down to the school gym which also served as an auditorium. We sat down on the floor, wondering why the whole school had been brought together. When the director came in, there was a hush and everyone became completely silent. He informed us, in a very sad voice, that Roosevelt, the President of the United States of America, had died.
We were all sad because we liked the Americans. Not only had they been our liberators, with the British and the Canadians, but we also received from America, every week, packages of food to be taken home. I immediately wondered if this death was going to affect the war, but the director put my mind at ease when he explained that there was now a new president of the United States, Mr Truman, and that he would proceed with the war until there was complete victory against the enemy, both in Europe and in Asia. We then held a minute of silence in remembrance of President Roosevelt before returning to our classroom.
About a month later, on May 7, I heard the miraculous news that Germany had capitulated unconditionally. Church bells rang throughout the city, and newspapers carried huge headlines to announce the end of the war in Europe. It had lasted five years in Belgium, almost to the day, and it was hard to believe that it was finished. When my aunt brought home the newspapers that evening, I read them again and again. This was, at last, written proof that the nightmare was over. I put these very special documents safely away in a folder, so that I could look at them whenever I felt a need to do so, just as a reassurance that it had not been a dream. Since it had been printed in the paper, I figured that it must, of course, be the truth.
During the weeks that followed, there were a lot of changes around us. Prisoners and deportees began to trickle back to Belgium, and lists of survivors looking for relatives were posted at Red Cross centres, or at a newly-formed Jewish community centre. Every week, my aunt would go and check to see if anyone we knew had survived.
Meanwhile, the business she had started, buying and selling army surplus clothes in bulk, kept her very busy. There was a lot of demand for second-hand clothes and she was doing so well that we were able to move to a new house before the end of the school year. Our new dwelling was just across from the park where we played. It was huge in comparison to where I had ever lived before. There were three floors, and a garden in the back. Edgard and I still shared a room, but it was very large and bright, and we had plenty of space to spread ourselves out. When we found out that our house had been occupied by the Germans during the occupation, and then by the British after Liberation, we searched from attic to cellar to see if we could find some hidden documents left over by the military, but we were unsuccessful in our treasure hunt.
This turbulent school year ended at last, and I looked forward to the summer holidays, although I did not quite know what to expect. I still missed playing with my old friends on the slag heap, but with all that was happening in my new life, these memories began to fade quickly. I even started to feel slightly guilty because my prayers had now become sporadic and far in between, until one day I realized that I had completely forgotten about them.