It was a typical spring morning of April 1933, with my brother and I riding our bikes through the small streets of our rural town, just outside of Germany. We were heading to our uncle’s grocery store to pick up some dry goods for our mother, who wanted to bake fresh bread for our arriving dad from work. My brother, who was older and the better biker, rode up ahead. As for myself, being a few years younger, I always followed. That morning, which seemed typical, became confusing as I had to jam on the brakes on my bike to keep from riding into my brother. I asked, “What are you doing?” and he, who usually was over spoken; said nothing while his stare of disbelief said it all. Outside our uncle’s grocery store were four German men holding signs which said, “Germans, defend yourselves, don’t buy food from Jews”. My brother and I began our approach to the store and parked our bikes off to the side. My brother said to me, “don’t look at them and don’t stop” as we walked into the store, I was very scared of what possible outcome of going into the store that may be waiting for us later. As three of the four men was shouting remarks at the local people of the town, who too wanted into the grocery store, the fourth man only glanced at us from afar. My brother and I bought the dry goods and quickly made haste back to our bikes and rode home quickly. Although my brother, who said nothing more of the happenings at the grocery store, I maintained a mind filled with curiosities.
Seven years later, a radical German group called the Nazi’s came to power. Their leader, Adolf Hitler seemed very dominate and aggressive towards Jews in Germany and European Countries. I remember listening to radio broadcast at the supper table, with this dictator expressing his hatred towards Jews and almost in an ironic way giving warning to Jewish people, as well as other minority groups across Germany and Europe to leave. My brother asked our dad, “What do you make of this man?” our dad responded by saying, “it is not your worry”. With a full belly, my brother and I started cleaning the kitchen, in aid of our mother, who was feeling under the weather. Being January, it was very cold outside so my brother and I always rather helped inside before starting outside chores. That evening in bed, the broadcast of the Nazi dictator was still sending shivers up my back. I could feel every hair on the back of my neck standing up. Tossing and turning, I decided to get a drink of milk from the kitchen. I tiptoed through the shared bedroom, because I didn’t want to wake up my brother. I walked ever so quietly down the stairway to only hear faint whispers from a walk-in pantry in the kitchen. Wondering what the whispers were saying, my evening of unrest was changed due to my curiosity. I walked up to the pantry and saw the pantry door was shut with a glimpse of light shining through the bottom of the doorway. Although the whispers were apparent, I could not make out what was said. The only sound that was made was a slight sobbing from my mother. With my mind now full of the unknown, I decided to go back to bed and perhaps tomorrow, being a new day, will shed some light.
Throughout the coming years, it became apparent to me and my brother, that the story of the day we saw the four German men outside our uncle’s grocery store was unravelling. Over the past five years, through this Nazi dictator, Hitler, all life as my brother and I knew it was disappearing. Legal, economic, and social rights were being restricted for the Jewish people. My brother and I no longer went to school, as we were not welcome. My brother, who had got accepted into the University in the City, was immediately revoked. My uncle’s once prominent grocery store was vandalized spelling out hatred towards my uncle and his Jewish family. My father, being and honest and loyal man, especially to his family; questioned a group of people residing in the town. He was immediately tossed out into the neighbouring alleyway where he was attacked and beaten down by the group of men. How cowardly I though. My brother, who seemed old enough to handle himself, was desperately trying to get back at the group of men, but he met opposition from our sickly mother. I can count the number of times our mother actually raised her soft voice on one hand. This time both my brother and I were in disbelief. Perhaps it was because she was sick that she made it a point for her soft voice to be heard over the commotion my brother was making. Our mother soon erupted into an uncontrollable coughing spree. Both my brother and I were upset and at the same time saddened by our once strong mothers dwindling health.
