Raz-Zunszajn - Like Birds In Black and White

This book would not have seen the light of day without the people who assisted me at each of the stages of its writing.

Thank you to Osnat, my daughter, who devoted nights and days to helping me, correcting, editing and experienced the writing of this book with me which moved us both and brought us much closer.

Thank you to the many friends that read the manuscript and encouraged me to publish it: To Zvika Dror, to Naomi Alex, to Tova Adiv, to Nechama and Mordechai Rosenzweig, to Talma and Dan Sharon, and to Dan Shavit, who read the book, was inspired, and completed the linguistic editing.

Thank you to Amira Hanani and Mario Rappaport, the people of Moreshet, whom without whose help, it would have been difficult to publish this manuscript.

Thanks to Shimon Cohen, my friend, who assisted me in solving every issue connected to the computer, which from time to time left me with no hope for salvation. And to Mordechai Hareven, a faithful over the course of many months.

Special thanks to Shaul Kenaz who took on the graphic layout of this book upon himself, and did the job with all his heart.

Friday, the first of September 1939. Ominous dark clouds cover the sky. Lightening, thunder and rain. The faces of my parents are an even deeper grey than the clouds. War! my parents say, and judging by their expression I understand that war is something very menacing, although I dont know exactly what it is. Im already six years old and today was supposed to be my first day in school, but Im not there. Evidently its all because of this war that arouses both my curiosity and my fear. My parents are very troubled and are listening for the sound of cannons amidst the bursts of thunder. Im very confused: I know what prayer to say when there is thunder from the sky, but what should I say against the thunder of cannons? What exactly are cannons? What can they do to us? Why do they worry my parents so much? Can cannons cause fires like thunder and lightening do in a storm? Mama and Papa are occupied with their problems and I feel I shouldnt bother them with my questions and my fears. My little brothers dont really understand whats happening. They go on playing their usual games and I envy them. Cuddling up in Grandmas apron doesnt provide the comfort that it usually does. Due to worries about the war even the preparation for Shabbat are being made offhandedly. Instead of the festive atmosphere that usually accompanies the welcoming of the Shabbat Queen in our house, today there is an atmosphere of tension, of sadness, anxiety and uncertainty. Polish marching songs are being played on the radio, songs of pride in our heroic soldiers who are fighting the Germans. I actually like the songs and I learn them quickly because I hear them many times during the day. Mama is very afraid that Papa will be taken to fight in the war even though he isnt really fit for combat. Mamas worries intensify my own fear of the war.

In the evening the Shabbat table is covered with a festive white tablecloth as it usually is, the Chalah (the Shabbat bread) has its own special covering, the silver candlesticks glitter as always, but the lighting of the candles is completely different. Grandma and Mama bless the candles, but the prayer is accompanied by bitter weeping and goes on and on for a long time. Im deeply affected by Mamas and Grandmas weeping and I join them with loud sobs that were stored up inside me for hours. Mama and Grandma plead with He who dwells in the Heavens to keep us from harm and to keep Papa from having to serve in the army and fight in the war.

At the end of the meal we dont sing songs as we are accustomed to and I am very disappointed. The adults are withdrawn within themselves and the Shabbat atmosphere seems to be overshadowed by the heavy clouds. To me, the singing is always the best part of the Shabbat evening meal, both because I am an active participant and because I love hearing the whole family sing around the festive table. When I look at my family as they sing the Shabbat songs they seem to me to be surrounded by a special glow from another world, as though they are being uplifted on the wings of the Divine Spirit. But tonight the Divine Spirit isnt present. I ask myself Where did it disappear to? What happened to it? Did the war hurt it in some way?

On this Shabbat day we remain hidden at home and dont take our usual walk. We detach ourselves from the outside world, but the outside world doesnt detach itself from us. The thunder of the cannons becomes louder and closer and no one knows what to expect once they reach us. Events follow one another so quickly that the world around me is like a whirlpool. Day and night, people carrying their belongings, pass our village on their way east. German airplanes flying low in the sky pass over our village with a deafening roar. Mother hides us under the beds. There are rumors that the planes shoot at everyone they see and in particular at the lines of refugees on the roads. Everything happens so quickly that the Germans conquer Poland even before Papas conscription date. I am absolutely certain that this is Gods answer to Mamas endless prayers.