Please Stay With Me

Lavi's Story: It Echoes In Their Eyes

I stare into the broken glass; the bright, yellow star is painted in streaking lines across the bricks. I see a small piece of stained glass, synagogue windows, lying at my feet. I tuck it into my pocket as its bright colors remind me of the better days, of home. The windows are shattered; the memories come flooding back to me. “Kristallnacht.” I hear the word echo in my thoughts. It echoes on the tongues of city people. The private matters that everyone was scared of talking about. The unspeakable. It is an exception that this shop is still in ruins. Because it was nearly three years ago that the glass shards littered the floors. My reflection shines through the mirroring surfaces.

Dangerous. It confronts me. Empty, brown eyes. Wild, curly black hair. Pale skin that is sickly and lackluster. An emaciated figure that is barely hidden under stolen clothes, much too big. A grey skirt that grazes the tops of my feet, a large sweater, and a long black shawl that I use to protect my face from the cold. Thin boots that have been sewn back together so many times that they are now mainly thread.

My eyes focus on a crucial detail that is hidden within the store. A loaf of bread. I do not know how, or why. But it is there. Then I hear their voices, their footsteps. Nazis. Their dyno-torches shine this way and the light bounces through the thin alley. I quickly run inside, grab the loaf of bread, and hide behind the large wooden splinters that were once a table. Their shouting voices echo through the broken room, as if they are whispering into my ear, so close by. Their shoes crunch through the stones and gravel of the streets. I am safe… for now. I shiver in the harsh cold; the snow has not even begun to fall yet.

The glows of their dyno-torches slowly fade away with their yells. Once again, it is silent with only the raindrops compensating for the stifle of it. I stand up, firmly clutching the bread. I am looting and liable for arrest. There is a lot scattered across the ruined floor. Not much of it is useful. I see a dyno-torch that has been left behind, probably during the arrest of the shopkeeper several years ago. I hastily pick it up and tuck it into my oversized coat. I look behind the demolished counter, hoping for a gun or a weapon of some sort. A small dagger, it glistens in the stygian moonlight. A tiny treasure.

A smile slowly creeps across my face as I tuck the dagger into my boot. I cannot find any more in the shop and quickly flee the scene before anyone else can see me. Once I am outside, I think about the past of this tiny little shop. My cursed imagination takes over my thoughts.

I knew him; his kind face was scrawled with pain and tribulation. He was old and wouldn’t hurt a fly. The wretched Nazis were pushing him outside. His feet dragged across the ground. His expression was heartbreaking. Two of them held the man outside, while several others took their guns and sticks and smashed the windows. None of them seemed older than seventeen. The glass scattered across the floor. Gentle tears crawled down the old man’s wrinkled face. Once all his property was damaged, they grabbed him and pulled him out of the street. Their wicked laughs were scalding. To the trains.