A Season of Miracles Read Online Free PDF

pine tree
in the middle of the room, festooned with candles, and the GIs standing around it singing and
drinking from their mess-tin cups. Their faces, lit from the candle glow, seemed more like the faces
of children than battle-weary veterans.
    One of them spotted him at the window, and pointed. Sammy panicked and ran. A GI ran
out, and scooped the boy up in his arms. When he was brought into the barracks, Sammy nearly
expired from terror. But they were not angry. They were happy to have him there. One of them who
spoke some Polish told him that he was their guest. Sammy was given food and an amazing drink
called Coca-Cola.
    He told them that the next day was his birthday, and that it was the only celebration he had
ever known. But it always seemed to be celebrated by people who hardly knew him. How did they
know it was his birthday?
    The Americans all laughed, and then looked sad. Sammy was confused. But they filled their
tin cups and gave him another Coke, and began singing again. Sammy eventually fell into an
exhausted sleep on someone's bunk.
    One of the GIs carried him back to his bed in the dormitory, tucked him in, and put a little
gift for him under the covers. It was not much, really, just the guy's old Boy Scout knife. But it was
all he could think of to give Sammy.
    When the boy awoke the next morning, he was filled with the sweetness of a beautiful
dream, one that seemed so real that he could still taste the Coca-Cola in his mouth.
    He squirmed in his bed, and his hand touched an unfamiliar object. It was a many-bladed
knife, tied with a red ribbon, with a curious symbol and the letters BSA on the handle. Astonished,
he turned the knife over and over in his hands, inspecting it minutely. He opened and closed the
blades, unsure what some of them were. When his parents awoke, they were as bewildered as
he.
    He described his dream of singing and Coca-Cola, and a pine tree with flickering candles,
and realized that it was not a dream, could not be. The GI who spoke Polish came into the dormitory
leading the social worker who looked after the camp, and they straightened the mystery out.
    Sammy discovered that day that he had received not only his first birthday present, but his
first Christmas present.
    The next couple of years passed slowly, the tedium alleviated by Sammy's closeness with the
GIs, who taught him to play baseball, and to read, write, and speak English--not excluding those
words that soldiers are famous for--and by the annual festival of Hanukkah/Christmas/Sammy's
birthday. Then, in January of 1948, Sammy and his family, and many others from his displaced
persons camp, emigrated to the United States.
    The boat ride over was horrible, long and uncomfortable, with many people crammed
together, and many sick from disease or the rolling of the big boat. But the sight of the tall buildings
and the Statue of Liberty excited the passengers, and spontaneous singing and dancing broke out on
deck.
    A sour-faced sailor muttered to his buddy, "These Jew greenhorns wouldn't be dancin' if
they knew what was waitin' for 'em."
    His friend looked back at him and said, "It wasn't so long ago that our parents came over just
like this. Have a heart."
    Sammy overheard, and looked the mean sailor right in the eye. He said, in perfect American,
"Listen, you stinkin' swab-jockey, mind your own business and keep your trap shut!" The sailor was
stunned into silence, but his friend laughed so hard, that Sammy was afraid the man would hurt
himself.
    Sammy was no longer a creature who hid in a hole.
    The entry at Ellis Island, the hassles with rules and forms and questions and examinations,
the pushing and shoving, the whole experience was forgotten as soon as the Itzkowitzes were free in
America. At Sammy's insistence, and with some browbeating by the social worker assigned to them,
they took an apartment on the top floor of a building. There were six flights to climb, but the
windows looked out unobstructed in four directions,