Part I
BERLIN, GERMANY
NOVEMBER 1938
1
The blood-red swastika banners dominated Berlin. Draped across storefronts, houses, or taking over entire buildings, they demanded attention. Oranienburger Straße was as busy as ever this frosty afternoon, and Jacob Kagan deftly maneuvered through the stream of people on their way to the U-Bahn. He approached the New Synagogue, its gold-domed roof a proud symbol of defiance amidst the sea of Nazi symbolism.
Jacob nodded at one of the men standing guard in front of the building. “Everything okay today, Hans?”
“No trouble,” Hans replied, shaking Jacob’s hand, “if you don’t count the Hitler Youth over there. But we can handle them.” Just like you always handled us in class, Jacob thought wryly. He felt sorry for Hans, who had recently lost his job having taught at the same school for almost ten years until the new government decided Jewish teachers were no longer welcome. Now he spent most of his time keeping away trouble from the largest synagogue in the city.
Across the street, five teenagers in dark green uniforms handed out flyers. A common sight these days, they were generally harmless unless drink was involved – which often ended in pub brawls.
Jacob shook his head. “I’m sure they’ll get bored soon enough and move on.”
“I’m not so sure.” Hans scratched his beard and puffed vapor into the air. “They’ve been here all day.” One of the youngsters, who must be no older than twelve, stopped an elderly lady walking past. His face was flushed, and he gesticulated wildly. She responded calmly, took one of his flyers, and gently pushed the boy out of the way.
“They give everybody a flyer,” Hans said, while Jacob frowned. “Everybody but us.”
“I’m sure you fellows are not the most popular people on this street,” Jacob said as he gestured to the other members of the synagogue standing watch.
“I’ve never cared about being popular, Jacob. Most people hurry by, their gazes firmly on the pavement in front of them—occasionally, the odd man will give us a dirty look,” Hans said with a shrug and a wry smile. “It’s business as usual. Speaking of which, how’s the pharmacy doing?”
“Business is surprisingly good!” Jacob answered. “I’ve been out delivering all day. People will always need medicine, even if they won’t be seen in our store anymore.”
“Some of the lucky ones,” Hans said. “Glad to hear it—your father has always been good to the community.”
“Papa does his best navigating the restrictions. Some of our suppliers are wary, so we need to be creative.” He looked up at the clock across the street. “I’ll see you later, Hans. I have a few more packages to deliver before dark.”
Jacob merged into the growing stream of people heading south toward Kreuzberg – all the while his fists were clenched.
It was dark by the time Jacob made his last delivery to a long-term customer, Herr Müller. He had been especially happy with Jacob for delivering his medication and saving him a trip to the pharmacy. Jacob turned from Spittelmarkt back onto the main thoroughfare of Leipziger Strasse—the street was alive with activity. Streetcars occupied the middle, their bells clanging to shoo careless pedestrians out of the way, while commuters paused to shop before making their way home.
Jacob hurried through the street and turned a few corners. He was late for his meeting with Ethan, his lifelong best friend. It didn’t take him long to open the door to the Augustiner, a tavern just a few streets from his home.
He looked around for Ethan as the door closed behind him. The Augustiner was one of the few places in Berlin where Jews were still welcome, and as a result, it was packed every night. Tonight the warm, smoky air enveloped Jacob like a comfortable blanket.
Jacob spotted Ethan at a small table in the corner. Jacob pushed his way through the packed room, and Ethan stood up to hug him. Jacob was usually the tallest person in the room, except when Ethan was around.
“You’re a bit late—nothing like you,” Ethan said, flashing a broad smile.
Jacob took off his coat with a grin. “Are you trying to grow a beard?”
Ethan proudly scratched at his two-day stubble. “I think I’ll look very respectable in a few weeks.”
“Not until you take care of that mess on top of your head,” Jacob said. Ethan’s hair was especially wild today.
“These curls? Never!”
A waitress set down two large mugs of beer, catching Ethan’s eye, the pair smiled at one another before she headed back to the bar.
They lifted their mugs, took their first sips, and set them down at the table. Ethan looked around the tavern – taking in a group of middle-aged men who were laughing loudly.
Ethan’s face turned serious. “Do you remember when we would go out on Saturday nights, and walk into any bar we liked?”
Jacob nodded. “Nowadays, this is as good as it gets.”
“I miss those days, Jaco.”
Jacob looked around and thought nothing of the elderly couple at the table next to them, sharing a plate of pickled sausage and a small carafe of red wine in silence.
“What will be next?” Jacob asked. “Changes are taking place all around the city. Did you hear about that young boy who was attacked by the Brownshirts last week? They beat him almost to death in front of a crowd. Nobody did anything.”
Ethan nodded. “And people losing their jobs. How long has it been since your mother left the school?”
“She hasn’t set foot in there for over five years now. She used to go to school happy every day, and now she just sits at home.”
They were silent for a moment.
Ethan stood and picked up their empty mugs. “I think we should have another one. There’s not much we can do about it all tonight.”
Jacob watched his best friend navigate his way to the small bar. Ethan was right—there was nothing they could do. The Augustiner was one of the few places where people could pretend everything was still normal.
Ethan returned with two foaming pints he placed on the table. “Right, Jaco. Here’s to not speaking about politics, Nazis, or other shitty things for the rest of the evening.” He raised his mug.
Jacob clinked Ethan’s mug and took a sip of his own. Ethan met Jacob on the first day of school when they were just six years old. An older boy pushed Jacob in the playground, and Ethan had come to his rescue. Ethan suffered a black eye in the scuffle, but the boys had been inseparable from that day onward. Now both twenty-one, they were as close as ever.
“Oh, great.” Ethan’s expression darkened. “Not these guys.”
Three men walked into the bar, wearing the characteristic brown shirts of the Sturmabteilung. One of the men pushed aside customers at the bar, causing an elderly gentleman to lose his balance, though someone caught him just in time.
The other people at the bar quickly made way for the heavily-built men. Jacob shook his head and looked down at his beer. “That’s the first time I’ve seen Brownshirts in the Augustiner!” He took another sip to suppress the anger building up inside.
“You think we can take them?” Ethan asked with a twinkle in his eye.