MUSIC OF THE SOUL

MUSIC OF THE SOUL

        The train seemed to gather speed as the bor­der drew nearer, almost as if it felt a certain  re­lief to be approaching new territory. Sara, the single occupant of one of the train's compartments, re­moved a brush from her overnight bag and, turning to the mirror, started to tidy her long chestnut curls. She added touches to her makeup and looked at her reflec­tion with satisfaction. She would soon be there, and perhaps the scheduled meeting would help her solve some of the mystery.

Sara shivered as she turned toward the window and peered out through the shutters. The snow was falling heavily outside. She would have to dress warmly. She had never been able to get used to this kind of cold. In South Af­rica it was very different. Even in midwinter, it was only oc­casionally necessary to wear a thick jacket at night. When she had first stepped off the plane into Europe's winter, she had hardly believed such intense cold could exist. But now she was beginning to find it more tolerable.

      She closed the shutter and pulled her concentration back to her heated compartment. She was looking for­ward to this meeting. It had been totally unexpected. She wondered why there had been such an insistence on se­crecy. The man had taken all kinds of precautions to make sure they would not be seen together. Why the mystery?

She would know soon.

 She was to meet him in a small town, ten minutes across the border. Sara hoped the end of her search had finally come. He certainly had led her to believe she was close to it.

Sara started to feel sleepy, but she jerked herself awake. She was nearly there and had to start arming her­self against the snow. She retrieved her ski jacket, put it on, and zipped it to the top. Immediately she was flooded with warmth. She stood up and reached for her suitcase, which was on the luggage rack above her.

As she set her suitcase on the floor beside her, Sara heard a soft knock at the door, and a woman came into the compartment carrying two bags.

"This is it," the woman said to herself in German. She put the bags down heavily on the seat opposite Sara and sat down with a loud sigh.

Sara frowned. It was strange for someone to enter a compartment when the train was not at a station. The last stop had been quite far back. This was a semi-express train, and they did not stop at every town.

The woman looked at her carefully for a few minutes and then smiled.

"English?" she asked in a heavy German accent.

"Yes," said Sara, sitting back down with her suitcase at her side. She did not feel like explaining that she was South African.

"The border is twenty minutes away," the woman said, still with a smile. But why didn't her smile reach her light blue eyes? They remained cold, almost watchful.

Sara just nodded. She didn't really feel like talking. She wanted to return to her thoughts and plans.

"You are meeting someone?" the woman asked, when Sara didn't respond.

"Yes," replied Sara curtly. She cringed inwardly at her slip. She remembered that she was supposed to keep the meeting a secret.

"Someone special?" asked the woman, ignoring Sara's obvious reluctance to speak.

"No, no," said Sara, "nothing like that. Just busi­ness."

"So you are going to the city."

"No, I am getting off very soon," said Sara, annoyance creeping into her voice. She wanted to tell the woman to mind her own business, but she stopped herself before the words were out of her mouth. She didn't like to be rude. And the woman was probably just trying to make conversation to make the journey seem shorter.

"I am getting off at the first town beyond the bor­der," Sara said, trying to act a little more friendly.

"That is soon," said the woman. "You haven't much time left."

"I know," said Sara, looking at her watch. "I've got to finish putting my things together."

 She stood up and shivered. "It's cold out there."

An odd expression crossed the woman's face, making Sara uneasy, but within seconds it was gone. Perhaps she'd imagined it. "In the summer, it is very beautiful and green here. Quite warm. Will you be here then?"

"I don't think so," said Sara. "I plan to go back soon."

"Maybe you will be here longer than you think," said the woman. Was it her imagination playing tricks, or did this smiling woman suddenly seem harder, more sin­ister? The woman looked pleasant enough. But it was her eyes that worried Sara.

Finally, there was blessed silence; silence, except for the sound of the train's wheels speeding along the tracks. Even this noise sounded a little sinister. Was she losing her mind? Why was she afraid? Perhaps it was this upcoming meeting.

Strange that the man had made her travel across It­aly to meet him. But he had promised to help her, and for some reason he could not come to Milan. So she had agreed.

The silence did not last long. Once again, the woman broke into her reverie. "Sara Rosenberg," she read the name on Sara's suitcase. "You are Jewish?"

"Yes," said Sara.

"We didn't know," said the woman. "It happened right beside us and we didn't know. We knew nothing about it." Her voice suddenly became thick with emo­tion. "Will you believe me that we didn't know?"

Sara hesitated, embarrassed. What was she to say?

The woman opened her handbag and took out a box of chocolates. She opened the box and held it out to Sara. "You would like one? Special dark chocolates?"

     "No," said Sara. "I have to watch my weight."

"You, watch your weight?" the woman exclaimed. "But you are lovely, just right.” She pointed to one of the molded chocolates. "This is a star," she said, "for success in everything you do."

Sara began to refuse again, but the commanding expression in the woman's face and the box outstretched determinedly before her weakened her resistance. And she did love chocolate.

She popped the star into her mouth and sucked it slowly. It was delicious. It made her feel warm and relaxed. But wait: it tasted peculiar. Maybe she should spit it out? But the woman was watching her; she couldn't be so rude.

Sara began to cough. She controlled it with diffi­culty. All the while the woman was watching her with those cold, hawk-like eyes.

Suddenly she felt heavy, as if her limbs were not her own. Wide awake a moment ago, now she wanted to sleep. The clickity-clack of the train mesmerized her, and, slowly, her eyes closed until she fell into a drugged sleep.

The woman acted with speed.

She opened the door of the compartment and called out to a tall, fair young man standing a few meters away in the corridor.

"We are nearly there," he hissed. "What took you so long?"

"It took time," said the woman. "I had to persuade her to eat the chocolate, and then it took time to work."

"There was enough in there to stupefy an ox," the young man grumbled.

While he was speaking, the woman opened the win­dow, letting in an icy blast of air. The train was ascending a mountainside. There was a deep gorge below it.

"Here comes Tirs," the man noted. "Just beyond it is the best place."

Together they picked up the sleeping young woman. They slipped her quickly and quietly out the window and over the embankment. Without a backward glance at the way her body fell into the snow and rolled down the mountainside, they set about searching through her belongings, putting them in disarray.

"Her passport is not here," the young man fretted. "You have found it?"

"No, but we haven't got time to look for it."

The woman put her hand into her pocket and pulled out a packet of pills, quickly checking the label.

She tucked it into Sara's suitcase. "The chocolate had a lot of this stuff in it. Probably dead before she hit the ground."

They were the wonder couple: Sara, a gifted artist and musician, and her fiancé , Lionel, a professional violinist with an endearing smile and a thoughtful personality. The fact that Sara was a South African Jew, and Lionel a gentile of German extraction, meant little to either of them. 

But a chance encounter with a Holocaust survivor and a harrowing trip to Germany to meet Lionel’ family leaves Sara changed forever. And so begins a dramatic, action packed story which takes the reader on a breathtaking adventure through three continents, through secrets of the past and hopes for the future. 
Originally published in 2000 by Targum Press, this Jewish novel has become out of print. It is now republished by the author.

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"You can't light Shabbos candles late," warned Yitzy. "It has to be on time."

"She'll be there," said Malka. "Don't pester her, Yitzy. "

Sara obediently bathed, changed into a clean blouse and skirt, and carefully lit two candles - on time - ush­ering in a Shabbos that was to completely change her life, though she didn't know it then.

At the Shabbos table, Malka's husband, Fishel, was very different from his usual self.

 Since Sara had been at his house, he had seemed to be perpetually in a rush. A gracious host, yes, but not one you could spend any time with. Now he was relaxed and open to discussion, and Sara found she could ask him any question and he would always have an answer. She found herself firing question after question at him.

Towards the end of the meal, Sara asked directly what it would mean for her, a Jew, to be marrying a Ger­man.

Fishel was startled by her openness, but he quickly recovered his composure. "His nationality aside, I am concerned about you marrying a non-Jew. Whether he's German or Chinese, marrying a non-Jew has serious ramifications that could affect the rest of your life."

"Ramifications? I can understand if you would say you didn't approve, but why does it make such a difference to me?" Sara fiddled with the lacy edge of the table­cloth, unsure if she really wanted to hear his answer.

"Well," he said, "because doing something like that can entrap your Jewish soul."

"What do you mean? I'll still be Jewish. That won't change, will it?"

"Yes, you'll be Jewish, but you won't be a complete Jew. You were created as a Jew with a very special pur­pose. You can't fulfill that purpose married to a non-Jew.

“You can't be a complete Jew with a non-Jewish partner. You can't join your neshamah, your Jewish soul, to the soul of a gentile. It doesn't work."

To Sara, who had lived without the focus Judaism could have given her all her life, Fishel's words had little meaning.

 "You know, I don't have much to do with Juda­ism, and it hasn't had too much influence on my life. I know you have all made it a strong part of your lives. But for me...."

Sara let her words trail off. Fishel did not look con­vinced. Maybe she wasn't expressing her thoughts right.

      They would never dream o f marrying a non-Jew. It's just not part o f their reality. In my circles, though, it isn't so unusual.

It had surprised her that they were concerned about her engagement, not so much because Lionel was Ger­man, though that might be distasteful to them on an­other level, but because he wasn't Jewish. A wave of an­ger and hurt arose within Sara. What was so wrong with gentiles anyway? Were they inferior beings?

     As if reading her thoughts, Fishel explained, "It isn't that Jews are superior and everyone else is inferior. But Jews are different. We have a different purpose, a differ­ent mission."

"Mission?" she repeated. "What mission?"

 But she closed her ears - and her heart - to Fishel's answer.

This was not something she wanted to think about. She could not afford to be influenced. Her path was set, and she was going to tread it with Lionel.