A Child Al Confino: The True Story of a Jewish Boy and His Mother in Mussolini's Italy Read Online Free PDF Page B

explained. “He's talking about the people you see from the top of the hill.”
    “ Opapa , please tell me.”
    “When you see people from so far away, they just look small. You know when you look at the stars, you just see a small dot? But the stars are very, very large.”
    For Passover the following year we again visited Lwow. Pesach was a great celebration in my grandparents' home. In Vienna my mother observed the holiday with the traditional Seder and kept our home free from bread and other forbidden items, but in Lwow the tradition had a totally different flavor. Preparations for Pesach went on for days. Cleaning every corner of the house, removing all dishes and replacing them with special Passover ones was for me an unknown experience.
    “Why are you changing all the dishes?” I asked my grandmother.
    “For Pesach one must use special kosher dishes,” she replied.
    “But I thought your dishes were kosher.”
    At that moment my mother entered the kitchen, took me by the hand, and I never heard the rest of my grandmother's answer.
    “Why is Grandma changing all the dishes?” I asked my mother.
    “Because for Pesach religious people must not use the everyday dishes.”
    “How come we don't change dishes?”
    She placed her hand on my mouth. “I'll tell you later.”
    A few days before the first Seder, Opapa asked me to recite the traditional four kasche . Although I was not surprised, for my father had alerted me, I was very excited. I knew that asking the four questions was a special honor.
    The evening of the Seder I was running a high temperature but was not about to give up the momentous privilege that had been bestowed upon me. I argued about wanting to get out of bed so I could do my part at the table. “Please, Mutti , I have studied so hard. I know the four kasche well. I'll be good and will go to bed right after dinner. Please.” I did not hear an immediate “no” and with my mother that was a good sign. “Are you sure you feel well enough?” she asked.
    “I'm fine. I'm really fine.” I was so overjoyed by her question I wanted to jump up and down.
    “But back to bed right after dinner!”
    Mutti was so good to me and how I loved her. First she placed her hand, then her lips to my forehead to check my temperature. Then, putting her arms around me, she gave me a strong hug and a kiss. “When you're ready to get dressed, I'll help you.” She always helped me get dressed.
    I adored my mother's attention but resented her constant worry that something was wrong with me. Whether I had just come home overheated from running with friends or awoken from a short nap, she always thought she saw the signs of some hidden sickness on my face. “You don't look good. Come here, let me feel your head.” Had I really been ill each time my mother thought that I was, I would not have survived childhood.
    Grandpa was a warm, loving, and incredibly tender man. Though modern in some small ways, he was a dedicated Talmudic scholar. The pocketless, floor-length black coat, the round fur hat, the long white beard, the side locks, and tsetses completed the portrait of this kind old man. Each morning before breakfast in the sitting room, he'd say his prayers while putting on the phylacteries. I liked watching my grandpa in his white shirt, the left sleeve rolled up, as he wrapped the leather straps around his bare forearm. One turn after the other, he placed one band close to the next, adjusting its distance as he went along, while his lips murmured the Hebrew prayers. He was meticulous and so absorbed in his ritual that I don't think he ever noticed my presence. My father, too, laid tfilin every morning, but Opapa 's concentration and his visible devotion conveyed a more religious image.
    Grandmother, by herself, prepared the elaborate Passover meal, while Opapa conducted the religious portion of the Seder. Dinner started with gefilte fish, which Grandmother made from scratch, just as my mother did. I would go