Excavation

So much of writing is like excavation. Digging deeper, deeper and deeper. I don’t get past the surface of things until my 4th or 5th revision–and that’s if I’m lucky. Before that everything is sketchy, skeletal. Likean archaeologist, I spend far too many hours sweltering in the heat and digging up nothing. Like an archaeologist, I’ve had to learn patience, and faith that eventually the story and the characters will emerge. As a New Yorker, patience has never been a virtue I cultivated as part of growing up. Reminding myself not to be satisfied, to look for ways to write something even better is a constant process.

Writers or Puppeteers?

I celebrated my 50th birthday this week, by going alone to the “Peace Pagoda” in Leverett, Massachusetts, a quiet monument on top of a mountain. I knew that what I needed to do most was to spend the day being quiet, away from the demands of my family, my job, and the demands of the novel in progress that I am trying to revise for the umpteenth time.

As I walked up the pathway, I tried to be the Buddhist I’m not and put aside my secret expectations that I’d stumble on the key changes that would make my novel perfect. Instead I tried to listen, really listen. No secret messages other than choruses of birds or rubber-band pinging of frogs. But it did lead me to reaffirm one of the hardest things about writing–that as a writer, I need to be of service to my work, rather than trying to control it

This is why I sometimes find myself prickling when I hear writers saying that they want a certain thing to happen while at the same time admitting that they know such an action is out of character or out of place. Are we writers or puppeteers? I can’t manipulate situations or people to determine how things will unfold. The only thing I can do is listen, and try to understand my characters, their stories, and the situations I’m trying to create on a very deep level.

Performance Piece by Victoria Ritter–Part III

Here is the final part of Victoria’s prize-winning Holocaust performance piece. People who have not read the previous sections, should start with part one, two posts behind this one. Comments are welcomed.

After The War

(Play 2 lines of “Polish Dance”) This violin helps me to put a voice to the memories, songs, and stories to all of the children who died. As you can see, I made it out of hiding. The Nazis robbed me of my childhood as I always had to be on my guard and never relax, but I am alive.

I remember the thrill of liberation. I watched the American convoys pass. The soldiers gave us chocolate bars and candy. It was heaven and they were so nice and handsome. I have many more stories to tell, but that is for another time. I live in America now and teach violin in a High School.

My Mother was never buried but I did plant a tree in her remembrance. Whenever I see it I think of her knowledge of trees and how she died trying to achieve the freedom that they represent. Father has a tree too, right next to Mother’s so I know they are close together right now, wherever they are.

Epilogue

All Jews were targeted for death, but the children’s death rate was very high. “Of the estimated 216,000 Jewish youngsters deported to Auschwitz, only 6,700 teenagers were selected for forced labor; nearly all the others were sent directly to the gas chambers. When the camp was liberated on January 27, 1945, Soviet troops found just 451 Jewish children among the 9,000 surviving prisoners.”[1]

The Bielski Brothers saved more than 1,200 Jewish men, women and children from perishing in the Holocaust. They were called “The Forest Jews,” They built an elaborate village in the woods and rescued Jews and used guerilla attacks against the Nazis. They stockpiled weapons and supplies to kill the enemies. No Jew was turned away from their “Jerusalem in the Woods.”

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[1] Holocaust Encyclopedia

Performance Piece by Victoria Ritter–Part II

Here’s the second part of Victoria’s engaging performance piece:

Sneaking Around With The Partisans

 

Mother and I knocked on the door of a man that we had heard might help us.  “Yes?” he asked.  He could tell at once that we were Jewish.  We asked if he could help us hide.  He smiled “come in. What are your names?” he asked.  “I am Janine, and this is Hanne,” replied Mother.  “Not anymore” he said.  “You will now need new names.  We will figure that out later, but you need a story and it is best if you stick with your story even when no German is around so as you don’t get confused.”  Then we talked a while about what we were going through.  Then he said “If you want to join the partisans then you are going to need to get your things and get ready for a move.”

We were moved into the woods a little ways outside the ghetto.  We lived in camouflaged homes built into the ground.  We were still hungry but could sneak out at night and raid leftovers from the farms like cabbage, onions, carrots, beets and potatoes.  Mother had grown up knowing so much about the outdoors.  She could tell us everything, which berries were poisonous, what tree would provide the most shade even in winter when most of the leaves had fallen off.  And when the adults went on missions, I would watch the children.  Everyone pooled their talents and the little that we had.  One lady had been a teacher so she gave us lessons.  There was a Rabi who made sure we had our religious teachings.  One of the new families had smuggled in a violin and we were able to share it and play.  I even enjoyed practice!  Although we moved a lot the Germans once found us.  They discovered a couple of underground homes in which there were a few people. They shot and killed them all.  One was a six year old girl, four were men, and the last one was my mother.  I knew she was dead without even having to see the body, it was one of those things where I could feel myself ripping apart just thinking why couldn’t that be Hitler?  Why, Why, Why?!! I wanted to scream but someone pulled me along.  I thought of going back and saying here I am kill me let me be with her and daddy!  But that would be stupid and I needed to help people so all I could do was make my heart cold, and stay like that until the end of the war.

Writing About the Holocaust–Performance Piece by Victoria Ritter–Part I

Congratulations to La Plata High School freshman, Victoria Ritter, who won first place at the county level for National History Day in Maryland. Inspired in part, by Escaping Into the Night, Victoria wrote a performance piece on Children Hiding in the Holocaust. Victoria writes, “I did not realize that children were hiding during the Holocaust until I read your book then I started to read more and was so fascinated. ” Her character, Hanne, like my character, Halina, is made up, but her experiences are based on historical research.

Following is the first part of Victoria’s piece. The rest will follow in another post.

Hanne: A Young Jewish Girl’s Story

Mother loved that wretched thing; well she didn’t have to practice it every single day. It hurt my arm, holding it up. Sometimes I just wanted to throw the piece of wood away. My chance came. German Officers were coming around asking for all musical instruments, my mother wanted to hide it, but I said “no you can’t defy law!” So she came down with my violin and with sad eyes gave it to the officer. A little bit later Germany said I couldn’t play with my non-Jewish friends, not even go to school with them!! We were no longer allowed at the pool or the ice skating rink. Girls had to add Sarah to their name and boys had to add Israel. I was now Hanne Sarah. We also had to carry an identification card. Mother handed me a Star of David and said I had to wear it, all day, everyday.

We were ordered to pack our things once. “Moving, that’s what we were doing” said father. “Just imagine it as an adventure”. The Ghetto Rules were horrible. We couldn’t stop near the fence, we had to be quiet and work hard, we had a curfew and could not go through the streets after dark, we had to salute German officials and we could not have jewelry. We could only send letters from the ghetto to friends back home on certain days. Of course we didn’t always follow the rules. During work we whispered to each other when the Germans weren’t looking, and mother and I had a tiny set of jewelry we hid under a floorboard of our ghetto house. When we arrived at our new home, we were appalled. It was disgusting.

We didn’t have much to unpack since we had become poor just before we moved. Mother and Father could no longer work their jobs because of the laws. Mother got a factory job, just as I did in a different factory. Father got a job digging ditches. Mother and I both tried to clean the house a little with a piece of cloth I had found off the streets. Everyone had to work in the ghetto. When another family moved in with us things became even harder. I slept on the floor. There was hardly room to stand. The new family was bothersome. I felt cold-hearted like Hitler and the Nazi’s when I thought it for I knew they all had to go through the same trouble, but the other family was the type to snitch on any Jews breaking the rules just because they wanted to try to stay in favor with the Nazis and live. We were always hungry. We were given one loaf of bread per week and it tasted like cardboard. Our soup was a pot of water with an old turnip in it.

Then one day when I heard the news I didn’t know what to do. The other family had apparently told German soldiers that we had been doing something illegal and so the Nazis went to find father, then took him to a ditch and shot him along with others. Mother cried all day.

At one point Mother said to me “Hanne, I would like you go on the Kindertransport, any children in this camp are allowed to go. It will take you to England where you can live with a foster family.” But I told her that I could be anywhere, even away from the Nazis, and still be unhappy because I was not with her. So, I stayed. We knew that whatever happened though, we could NOT go to a concentration camp. Not one single person had we ever known to come back from one. Mother looked into ways of getting out of the Ghetto. And one day Mother heard that a group called the Partisans was helping many Jews go into hiding in the forest.