Wagner looked at him and took control. “I know it feels wrong, not doing anything just now. But we couldn’t stop them. You know this, right?”
Jacob nodded absently.
“You need to get home and stay inside,” Wagner said. “This can’t go on forever, and you can’t protect the pharmacy on your own. Keep yourself safe.”
Jacob looked across the street, where the mother and child were wrapped in blankets.
He’s right. I’m just as much a target.
He regained his senses and looked Wagner in the eye.
“Now go home, Jacob. I’m going to do the same. Avoid the main streets, and don’t stop until you’re inside.”
Jacob shook Wagner’s hand before turning back toward the city center, the dark sky overcast in smoke.
The Berlin streets were in pandemonium. People were dragged along by mobs of young men as trucks holding bound men zipped around the streets. This was no spontaneous uprising.
Jacob’s only option was to keep moving and pray he wouldn’t run into any of the groups he’d seen earlier. If he kept his head down, his chances were pretty good. So far, the people he’d seen hauled off were trying to defend their property. He pitied them; they didn’t know what they were up against.
He suspected the Brownshirts were behind the attacks. They were the only group in Berlin that would exert themselves at these tasks with such zeal. The SS was just as despicable, but they were too organized and proud to plunder and loot.
Jacob avoided the main throughways, but he needed to cross Oranienburger Straße and pass the New Synagogue to get home. When he got there, the street was swamped, shattered glass lined the pavement.
He stepped over the large pieces of glass and hoped his boots would stop any smaller bits. Something was going on in front of the New Synagogue. He spotted a row of about twenty people who’d hooked arms and formed a human wall. Jacob was unsurprised to see Hans standing in the middle of the group.
Opposite them stood a much larger crowd, some armed with clubs and knives.
The groups were in a deadlock. Those people protecting the synagogue were content keeping the thugs at bay. Bystanders waited to see what would happen next. The sound of broken glass signaled that one of the ornate windows of the synagogue had been smashed.
A large man wearing a dark red coat stepped forward, Jacob could see a large scar on his cheek, his face blotted with rashes.
“We’re burning down your synagogue,” he said in a quiet, raspy voice.
Jacob couldn’t place his accent, but he wasn’t from Berlin.
“You can get outta the way or burn with your holy building,” he continued.
A number of the younger men in front of him shuffled their feet. They looked to Hans, who stood tall in the middle of the group.
“You have no authority—you can’t bully us,” Hans said, his face hardening. “I’ve dealt with people like you all my life, and I’ll be damned if I let you destroy our synagogue without a fight.”
The man held Hans’ gaze while he stepped toward him. “I was hopin’ you’d say that.” He leaned toward Hans, and their noses almost touched.
Hans was unfazed, and the men stood frozen for what felt like an eternity.
After everything Jacob had seen earlier today, he knew Hans wouldn’t blink first.
“You’ll have to go through me to get to the synagogue.” Hans took a step toward the man, forcing him to step back. His courage emboldened the people around him, and they moved forward, too.
The man in red recovered quickly. Behind him, the larger group became restless as they clenched their weapons tighter.
Out of nowhere, the man lashed out at Hans, but Hans ducked, and the man hit nothing but air.
“You shoulda moved,” the threatening man growled. The men behind him took this as their cue and poured forward.
The scene was horrific. The bloodthirsty crowd of thugs cut through the Jewish barrier with ease. Some of the younger men guarding the synagogue got a few punches in, but the fight was unfair. The men attacking knew what they were doing, expertly cutting and stabbing at essential spots on the defenders’ bodies. Some of them were cut down and trampled as the men moved on to their next victims. Jacob watched on helplessly—there were too many people between him and the synagogue.
It ended as quickly as it started.
The coppery scent of blood hung in the air as Jacob searched for Hans amongst the fallen people. He was aghast to see him on the pavement, a large pool of blood forming around his body. Hans’s breathing was shallow, his eyes rolled back in their sockets. Jacob instinctively began pushing through the crowd to help his friend, but hands clutched at him, and one voice came through sorrowfully: “Wait—or you’ll end up just like them.”
The thugs stepped over the bodies, ignoring the victims’ pleas for help. They carried their jerry cans toward the New Synagogue, people nearby unable or unwilling to stop them.
“Just move the jerry cans into the place,” the man with the scar said. “It’ll burn faster, and they’re not going to stop us anymore.” He pointed at the heap of people sprawled on the ground.
Just as they opened the doors to the synagogue, there was a commotion in the crowd. A uniformed policeman marched straight to the entrance.
Jacob recognized Otto Belgardt, a well-known lieutenant he knew as a friendly and dedicated officer. He was the first uniformed policeman Jacob had seen all night.
Belgardt looked in horror at the scene. He stopped one of the men carrying a jerry can to the entrance of the synagogue.
“What do you think you’re doing? Get that gasoline away from the building!” Belgardt barked. The young man stopped, a flash of uncertainty crossing his face.
Jacob felt hopeful. Is someone finally going to put a stop to this mayhem?
Belgardt went up the steps, pushing past the other men. “All of you, stop this nonsense right now!” he shouted at the group drenching the New Synagogue in gasoline. “Don’t you know this is a protected building? You’re all breaking the law!”
The men turned to their leader, who stood in front of the main door holding an unlit torch.
“Move along, cop,” said the man in red. “You got no power tonight. You know who we are, dontcha?” He struck a match and held it to the torch, which caught fire immediately, its hungry flames consuming the gasoline. That encouraged his men, who turned back to their work and ignored the police officer.
Belgardt looked unfazed. He calmly opened his jacket and unclipped his gun. Effortlessly, he cocked the hammer and aimed it at the man with the unsightly face—the scar now a deep shade of red, betraying his anxiety.
“Perhaps you’d like to reconsider my authority now?” Belgardt said. He moved closer to the door of the synagogue, keeping his pistol aimed at the leader.
Fear crossed the man’s face and quickly spread to his companions, who put down their jerry cans.
A few of the younger attackers shirked away, trying to blend into the crowd.
Good.
Belgardt reached the top of the stairs and was only a few steps away from the leader. His aim was fixed on the man’s chest. “I suggest you get out of here now. You’ve done enough damage for one night.”
The larger man looked angry, but Belgardt was the one with the gun.