ATOP Chapter Sixty-Eight

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America..."

Rebekah fidgeted in her seat, eyes darting warily to the door as if seeking a way of escape. She felt half-suffocated, hemmed in by strangers. Boys and girls all her own age, but without accents, who spoke and read perfect English, and who knew nothing of the horror the war had been. She desperately didn't want to be here. Only fifteen minutes at school and it was already a nightmare.

"And to the Republic for which it stands..."

The voices in unison stopped abruptly as the teacher's voice, sharp and critical, cut through.

"Rebekah Adler!"

Rebekah started, turning wide eyes to the middle-aged women in the front of the room.

"Jah... m... ma'am..." she stammered, searching her mind wildly for the English word for "jah". 

"I understand if you do not know our Pledge of Allegiance, but you are expected to stand and salute the flag with the rest of the class," the teacher went on sternly. "On your feet, if you please, Miss Adler. Right hand over your heart."

"Please..." Rebekah stood quickly, but kept her arms at her side. "I'm not... I mean I..." she cleared her throat and jutted her chin out boldly. "That is to say, ma'am, I am not comfortable with pledging allegiance to the American flag."

"And whyever not?" the teacher raised a suspicious eyebrow. "You have taken refuge in this country, are you not grateful?"

"Well... yes, ma'am..." Rebekah swallowed hard. "But I... I am a Jew. And a Zionist. My allegiance is with Israel... the Promised Land. I can pledge my loyalty to no other."

"Oh, Rebekah," the teacher sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Very well then. For today. Please, class, continue."

"One nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all...."

Rebekah's mind wandered as the students resumed their seats and pulled heavy algebra textbooks from their desks. For the past several weeks, she had done everything in her power to keep both her and Shonie out of school. It made no sense to go. Shonie could not even speak. The other children would mock her and she would not be able to keep up with her peers. She never voiced her own fears, that she could not read a word of English and she knew nothing of what she ought to have learned by that age. Her childhood had been swallowed up in pain and hunger and hard, hard labor. Fear and sorrow had been both her teachers and constant companions. She found excuses, but she never told her older sister the truth.

"I have not been in a classroom since I was six years old," she had told Rachel. "Since then, I have weathered a storm that killed many a stronger soul than I. Does this not prove that I have earned the right to move past school and live my life as I choose?"

But no amount of arguing could keep her from the inevitable. To school she must go. Rachel wanted to keep Shonie at home, since she could not speak, but Shonie appeared to have different ideas than both her sisters. Whenever school was mentioned, her eyes would light up and she would tug on Rachel's arm, her face all aglow with an earnest light. She wanted to go to school. Longed to go. When asked, she nodded so eagerly that her hair nearly tumbled out of its ribbon. 

She had bounced along so happily at Rebekah's side that first morning, brand new books clutched in one arm, the other little hand thrust into her sister's. She was wearing a shiny pair of Mary Jane shoes, a pink dress covered in little flowers, made from fabric she had chosen herself, and a lovely soft sweater in a deep foresty green, all saved up and treasured for her first day of school. 

"Pretty as a picture," Ronnie had declared that morning when he came in from the barn for breakfast, scooping her up in a bear hug. "You'll be the smartest one in school, won't you, princess? I'm so proud of my little girl." Shonie had beamed at his words, and her lips moved. And as always, Rachel held her breath in anticipation. But no sound came out.

"Y'know," Mickey had tried to reassure Rebekah in the school hall, moments before the morning bell rang to summon them to class. "I can't say I'm really a fan of school, but..." he glanced at her, earnestly. "It is kinda important, Bekah. Maybe it'll help. You'll make some friends, have some fun... it really isn't all that bad." 

Isn't all that bad. Ha. Rebekah laughed bitterly. Out loud, right in the middle of math class. A few of the students glanced curiously at her and she glared scornfully right back at them. She resented them. Almost despised them, these pampered teenagers with their perfect lives... a mother and father both still alive, and comfortable houses that they never were torn from, and siblings who could speak perfectly well. What did they know of what she had suffered? And how could they ever understand what she longed for? 

She would never let herself become friends with them. She would keep them at arm's length, push them away any time they started to get too close. They would never be permitted to know what went on inside of her. She would be different, painfully so, and she would be glad of it. She was born to be different, to be apart from everyone else. She tossed her head, smiling sardonically at the thought of it. She would enjoy her solitude. 

oOo

Dearest Mama,

At last it is starting to get chilly outside. The summer simply seemed to fly by and here we are, being forced to start school. And I'm afraid, Mama Which is silly, because I have braved much more terrifying situations, time and time again. But suddenly the little things seem so insurmountable, and I do not know how to climb these mountains. I can speak English, but I cannot read or write it, and I will never survive in class. This is the end of the first week, and I managed to get by, but I cannot go on like this forever. Sooner or later they will know that I cannot read or write and then what will happen? I'm in my age group now, but will they send me to a lower class? Will they laugh at me? Mama, I cannot even read or write German... it is only Hebrew. I have been writing letters to Jakob, and I am so glad to have him to write to... he is the only person I know who understands Hebrew, besides my sisters. And Shonie does not talk back to me, no matter what I say... and I do not want to burden her with my problems.

I worry about her too. It is not good for her to be with the other children. She has not had a childhood and they will not understand her. She cannot speak, cannot stand up for herself, and who will protect her when I am stuck in my own classes all day? I want to beg Rachel to let us both stay home, but she seemed so set on us getting a proper education. She seemed so happy, so excited, that we have this chance. I somehow have to see this through... at least as long as I can. I'm holding on, and wishing I didn't have to. Sometimes I get so tired of needing to be strong. 

oOo

"Mickey, can I talk to you for a moment?" 

Mickey stopped in the hallway, shifting his heavy backpack on his shoulder as the English teacher beckoned from her classroom. 

"Sure, Mrs. Carr. But if it's about that book report, I promise I'll bring it tomorrow. I wrote it, honest, I just forgot to bring it."

"You're not in trouble," she laughed. "I just wanted to ask you something," she retreated to sit at her desk as he plopped his backpack on the floor and shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's about Rebekah. I assume you know her fairly well, seeing as she lives with your brother and his wife."

"What about her?" Mickey hesitated. He couldn't give away Rebekah's secret... he would rather have died than betray her.

"She's a brilliant girl, Mickey. A genius, really. The things she says in class discussions, it's truly remarkable. She has the mind of a born philosopher, a deep thinker. And she can answer any question she is asked. I've spoken to her other teachers and she is this way in every subject... math, science, history... she can't be stumped."

"I know," Mickey grinned. "She's pretty good at stumping me, though."

"But..." Mrs. Carr sighed. "She's not... I mean... she hasn't turned in any assignments yet. And we're quite a few weeks into the semester. I asked her about it and she didn't really answer me. I was just wondering how she seems to be doing."

"She's probably just busy," Mickey shrugged. "There's a lot to do at home." 

"I have to admit, I'm a bit concerned for her," Mrs. Carr went on, faltering as she shuffled through some papers on her desk. "I don't usually discuss students with other students, but I'm talking to you about this because I believe you can help her. You see, Mickey, it's not just the homework that's the issue... she doesn't write anything in class. Now I know you're a good friend to her... I've seen you sitting with her every day at lunch, when so many of the other students ignore her. Maybe you can talk to her... study together..."

"I'd do anything to help Bekah," Mickey spoke firmly, his eyes flashing. Mrs. Carr smiled. 

"Encourage her, Mickey. Let her know that she can talk to me if she needs to. She doesn't need to be afraid here."

"I'll do my best."

But the teachers weren't the only ones Rebekah refused to speak to. She had never mentioned school even once, to anybody. When Mickey tried to ask her about it, she simply brushed him off and disappeared. It was constant trial and error to spend time with her... he would be getting along just fine and then suddenly he would say the wrong thing and she would simply walk away and he wouldn't see her again for ages. When he did see her again, he would try to talk in another way and would last for quite a while until inevitably he struck the wrong chord and she was gone again. It was like a never-ending uphill climb.

And then she began completely ignoring him when they were at school, walking past him in a rush with her head held high, eyes straight ahead unseeingly whenever he met her in the halls. She always seemed to be in such a hurry, walking with purpose from one class to the next and never stopping in between. Girls would cluster in groups round the halls, laughing and talking, and she would move on through as if no one else in the entire world existed.

He was worried about her. He had not seen her take out her diary in weeks now. Although he had noticed on more than one occasion that she would stop on the way to school to slip a letter into the mailbox... letters addressed to Jakob. And often letters came for her, with the familiar and dreaded New York postscript.

"How is it going?" he managed tentatively. "School, I mean."

"It is going," she answered curtly, her eyes following Shonie, who danced up ahead, her hands overflowing with colorful leaves. 

"How about the... the reading?"

"None of your business."

"Bekah... I can help."

"I do not need help." Rebekah lifted her chin higher and swept ahead. She was failing, utterly and completely. She hadn't turned in a single writing assignment yet. The teachers were baffled. They could see that she was brilliant. During class, she could answer every single question that was asked her, and when math consisted of numbers alone, she worked problems with amazing speed and efficiency. She copied famous paintings in art class and played the violin beautifully in music. But they had yet to see her write a single word. When questioned, she simply refused to answer. Things couldn't go on as they were for long... a few more days, perhaps, and she would be in serious trouble. She knew this, and she was afraid. She would hold on a little while longer, and then she would let go. She would have to inform Rachel that she would not be going back to school. 

But Shonie... Shonie could stay. In spite of all Rebekah's fears and skepticism, the little girl was blossoming. Not a word had she spoken, and her teacher, having discussed the situation with both Rachel and Rebekah, understood. Shonie was never pressured into a class discussion, asked to answer a question, or to read aloud. And she was learning wonderfully. Already she was reading and writing English. And little by little, on paper, her voice was beginning to come out. She didn't write about her feelings, her emotions, her experiences. She focused on simple things. But they were words, and to her sisters, those words meant the world. Eagerly they devoured the little sentences Shonie wrote... things about flowers and puppies and favorite foods.

"She is going to be alright," Rachel had whispered with tears in her eyes when Shonie handed her a notepad with words scribbled onto it. "Ach, Ronnie... she is going to be alright, thank the Lord!"

"I love you, Rachel," the note had read. It was framed now, and sitting on the table by Rachel's bed, where she could see it every morning.