On the sixteenth of April, 1946, in a five-story building in Bytom, Germany, a group of survivors planned to celebrate Passover properly for the first time since their liberation. It would be observed in the old-fashioned way, which they remembered from way back - before the tragedy that had so recently fallen them. Most of them had lost their families in that bloody time and, still bleeding inwardly, sought to soothe their open wounds with each other's company.
At the same time, they were feverishly investigating the whereabouts of any Jewish children who had been hidden with Christian families, and attempted to get them back at any cost. Recently they had "purchased", for a good sum of American dollars, a group of young children. These children had no idea about their own identity. Accustomed to their misery, they were not at all happy at the prospect of encountering the unfamiliar. With downcast eyes they clung to each other, trembling, dressed peasant style, in clothes that were either too large or too small. They remained mute, and when approached by their new caretakers, responded with hostile glances.
Among them was a girl of about nine. In her thin arms she held a dirty white cat with dark patches. The peasant from whom she had been "purchased" (at a high price) explained that they had called her Marisha.
A young survivor named Sarah took a fancy to the girl and attempted to befriend her. But Marisha would not cooperate. She struggled with Sarah when the latter tried to take off the crucifix Marisha was wearing; although Marisha looked hungrily at the sweets Sarah offered her, she hesitated to take them. She refused to acknowledge the new name given to her - Miriam.
The girl was led into a large room among other children and was shown a nice clean bed just for herself. Marisha stared suspiciously at it. She was not accustomed to a bed, but her kitten, which she had been allowed to bring along, jumped from her arms and cuddled itself in the warm blanket. The other children, who ranged from Marisha's age to a bit older, curiously followed the incident with their eyes; secretly envious of Marisha's possessing a cat.
Marisha did not speak to anyone. With gusto she ate the food served to her at the long table, among the other children. She was given new, clean clothes, and new shoes a bit too large, but shoes just the same.
Marisha would silently spend most of her day in a dark corner with the cat in her arms. But Sarah managed to coax the child into allowing her to remove the peasant kerchief the girl wore constantly, and she trimmed Marisha's hair. She then handed the girl a mirror to show her how pretty she looked. Marisha stared, pleased at her image, and in her ignorance attempted to grab it. Sarah painfully understood that the child had never encountered a mirror before.
Marisha clung to the memory of the night her mother had first brought her to the village, to the peasant family. Placing an apple in the child's left hand, and in the other a small bundle of clothing, she told her daughter to obey these good peasant people until she came back for her. Then her mother disappeared into the darkness of the night. Marisha remembered having attempted to run, crying bitterly after her mother. But the peasant husband, whose name was Stanislaw, grabbed her and told her to shut up.
When Marisha could not stop crying, he slapped her face. Her mouth began to bleed, but he continued to slap her and tell her to be quiet.
Spitting out a mouthful of tobacco, he yelled at his wife Zosia. "Look at this child. With her dark Jewish face, she'll only bring tragedy to us all!"
His two boys, ten and eleven years old, and a daughter, aged eight, found the scene amusing and laughed heartily at the unfortunate child.
The peasant woman Zosia approached the petrified girl with a pair of scissors. Paying no attention to Marisha's struggle, she cut off most of the latter's hair, to the accompaniment of the children's laughter.
She then took Marisha by her hand and led her up the creaking steps to the attic. There she pointed in the darkness to the farthest corner, where rested a bundle of half-rotted straw and a patched-up quilt. She handed the child a hard piece of bread and a mug of milk and left Marisha to herself.
The girl, exhausted and starved, bit into the bread. But it tasted much too sour and she couldn't swallow the milk. Suddenly she heard mewing. Looking around in the darkness, she followed the sound, but saw nothing. Soon she felt the warm fur of a cat right next to her.
The child, hurting inside and out, gathered the animal in her arms and snuggled her bloodstained face into its fur. The cat responded to the child's caresses and licked her tear streaked face gratefully with its little tongue. After awhile, the cat helped itself to the milk. Then contented, it snuggled under the quilt beside Marisha. Together they fell asleep.
The rooster's crowing awakened the girl. Marisha sat up. Remembering the previous night and the helplessness of her situation, she began to cry. The awakened cat crept into her lap and resumed licking her face.
Marisha heard Zosia calling her name to come down. She kissed her kitten and obediently walked down the stairs to the kitchen. There, the whole family was gathered at the table, eating heartily. The air was filled with the smell of pork sausage, sour cheese, and freshly baked bread. Marisha sat at the edge of a chair as Zosia put before her a glass of milk, a slice of hard cheese, and a piece of the same bread she had given to her the night before.
Zosia placed a cross on a silver plated chain around Marisha's neck and a kerchief on her head. She then gave the girl oversized peasant clothes to wear, and told her to change into them and start right away on the chores that had been chosen for her.
Marisha was on her way out, but Zosia called her back. "Child, you will work in the barns. Do not go outdoors at all." It was too dangerous. And should the girl hear neighbors coming to visit, she was to crawl up into the attic and stay there until called down.
Marisha was only four years old and unaccustomed to cleaning stables, washing dishes and clothes, and gathering eggs and feeding chickens. Her little hands, always dirty, often bled from the work she was doing. She was demeaned constantly by Stanislaw who, along with his children, called her "dirty Jew" and used her as a target for their abuse and amusement.
One day, Stanislaw's daughter, Krysla, tore off Marisha's kerchief while the latter was bent over a chore and threw it into a puddle. Krysla laughed as Marisha tried to cover her cropped hair. The peasant girl's laughter brought her brothers into the stable. At the sight of Marisha's face, motionless and ambivalent, they too joined in the laughter.
Zosia was in the kitchen when she heard the commotion, and she ran, frightened, into the stable. Watching the scene, she told Krysla to pick up the kerchief from the dirty puddle and hand it to the child. Zosia screamed, "Didn't I tell you never to take off the kerchief from your head and show your Jewish hair? Isn't it enough that we're endangering our lives by saving you?"
But a few days later Zosia was plagued by guilt and flashes of memories. Vividly she recalled the gracious attitude of the Lavinski family whenever she sold them eggs and chickens. She had cleaned their house and done their laundry. Always she was treated well. Zosia reminded herself of those times when the Lavinski family - in particular Matilda, Marisha's mother - lavished their concern on Zosia after she had come to them black and blue due to a beating by her drunken husband. They had treated her like one of their own.
The memory of Marisha's tormented and tearstained face stood before Zosia's eyes. Matilda had brought over her only child with the plea that Zosia save her. At the same time she handed Zosia a bundle of fancy jewelry with the promise that when she, Matilda, returned after the bloody time, she would give the peasant more - much more. Zosia, smiling, recalled how she had managed to conceal the jewelry in the backyard. At those times when she felt sad she would remove the jewelry and try it on, admiring the beauty of the dancing stones.
Only a few weeks afterwards, the sound of gunfire sent Stanislaw's family running toward the basement. Marisha, forgotten by them, was left in the attic, holding the kitten in her arms. The two derived comfort from each other in those frightful hours. Suddenly there was silence. Then Marisha heard the sound of tanks. The Russian army had entered the village.
After awhile, life began to normalize. One by one the Jewish survivors returned to search for their families. Now Stanislaw and his wife treated Marisha more humanely. They ordered their children to leave her alone. She even received an additional piece of sausage at supper. At first Marisha did not comprehend the change. Then, gathering courage, she asked when her mother was coming for her. But she received no answer. At night, Marisha confided her suspicions to her cat. Something was definitely happening, but she couldn't figure out what. The kitten only licked her face.
A few months later, Stanislaw announced that the local Jewish committee was searching for children and paying good prices. He would go to town the first thing tomorrow and negotiate with them about Marisha. "After all," he said," we've endangered our lives enough by saving and feeding her. Why not make ourselves a nice bundle?"
"What if her mother comes to collect her? Zosia mumbled. Stanislaw dismissed her comment.
A few days later, a frightened Marisha was brought to the kitchen. There she encountered people who dressed differently and who looked at her intently. Zosia explained, "These people are Jewish. They want to take you with them."
A woman from the group approached Marisha, speaking to her softly. But the girl fled from her. She clutched Zosia's apron and cried bitterly. "Please let me stay," she said, choking on her sobs. "Mama will come for me soon - I know it!"
Brutally, Zosia pushed her away. The child struggled with all her might. Finally Zosia brought over the cat and told Marisha she could take it along.
The children had gathered at the Seder table, which was covered with a white tablecloth. They stared at the wine, matzos, and other delicacies. A man at the head of the table stood and poured a bit of wine into a goblet that stood near each child. The adults filled theirs to the rim. Then they recited a blessing and drank.
The man smiled encouragingly at the children, and told them he would explain the meaning of Passover. He began to tell them of their ancestors who, many centuries ago, had been slaves under Pharaoh in Egypt. He told them that Pharaoh had treated them poorly while they built his city. They had been abused under the hot sun and given limited drinking water.
The man told them about Pharaoh's edict that the firstborn male child in every Jewish family be slaughtered. In desperation Moses' mother put her baby into a little basket and placed it into the Nile; she told her daughter Miriam to stand by and watch over the basket. The baby Moses was saved by Pharaoh's daughter.
The children listened in awe. Suddenly Marisha rose, startling her cat, which jumped from her lap. In a breathless tone of voice she asked, "And did Moses' mother come back for her baby?"
Her outburst stunned everyone. It was the first time she had spoken since coming to live there.
Sarah, with tear-filled eyes, approached the child and gathered her into her arms. Understanding perfectly the core of the child's question, she replied, with a tremor in her voice, "Yocheved, little Moses' mother could not come back for him. It just wasn't possible for her to do that. She could only nurse him in secret. Miriam, I am so happy to hear you speak to us."
After a short pause the man sitting at the head of the table announced that he wished to continue with the story of Passover. Miriam silently cuddled up in Sarah's arms. She unlocked the crucifix she was wearing and handed it over to the woman.
