A Tale of Resistance Resonating With Our Own Times - a Blog Tour and Book Excerpt for "A Most Unlikely Man"

BOOK EXCERPT

He needed to see his grandson, Nathan, immediately. It was finally time to tell the story. No, not a story, his biography. No. Too noble sounding. His life. A time in his life. His history. That’s it. And his history wasn’t a “story.” It was his reality, an indelible part of his being, his core. A part he had brushed aside and cloistered away, but yet central to his person. This would be his last Passover. It was time.

He was never able to tell his own son, who he had outlived. Why? Probably because dredging up those times brought such immense sadness, such fear. As though speaking about those times would bring them back to life, would somehow bring the past to the present, a past he had so gratefully left behind.

He had emigrated to America with his young bride. He had been determined to start anew, to raise an American family. Yes, a family committed to the Jewish faith and traditions. But a family otherwise willing to assimilate, to live the American Dream.

Through the shaded, yellowing vision of nearly one-hundred-year-old eyes, he saw Nathan and his young family enter his room. He watched the nursing assistant, Clarissa, follow close behind them.

Nathan’s grandfather lay comfortably in his recliner, covered with a light blanket. The television was on, but the sound was muted. “Hi, Saba! How have you been, today? Look, Rachel is here too with Brian and Judith!” Nathan gently squeezed his grandfather’s shoulder.

Rachel spoke loudly, because Saba was nearly deaf. “You’re looking fine, Saba! Kids, come here and say hi to Saba.” Rachel grasped Saba’s cold, liver-spotted hand. The chilliness surprised her, but she didn’t flinch and continued to hold his hand.

The children moved closer, cautiously. They said, “Hi, Saba,” in near unison. They saw him slowly raise his other, shaking hand from the blanket to wave back a greeting.

“Hello, children. Hello, Rachel and my Nathan.”

Nathan turned to the nursing assistant. He had forgotten her name again, even though he had vowed to himself last time to remember. She was, by far, the best assistant they had hired. And then he remembered. “Clarissa, how has my grandpa been today? Did they deliver his seder meal?”

“Yes, Mr. Levin. About a half hour ago.”

“Thanks, and please just call me Nate. Was he able to take off the sealed wrapper?”

“Yes. He did well and finished most of it.” She nodded in affirmation. “He’s been asking about you all day. He’s been saying, ‘Nathan, Nathan’ a whole lot. He’s also been asking about Mrs. Fogle.”

“Mrs. Fogle? You mean another resident here?”

“No. I asked around, and there aren’t any Fogles here. He’s been saying, ‘Wife ’a Fogle, wife ’a Fogle,’ all day, so I thought he meant a Mrs. Fogle … you know, Mr. Fogle’s wife? Like he maybe knew a Mr. Fogle and was asking about Mr. Fogle’s wife. But there aren’t any Fogles here.”

“Uh. Okay. Gosh, I don’t think we know any Fogles either.” He looked toward Rachel, who shrugged. “Anyway, thanks for always taking such good care of my grandpa, Clarissa. We appreciate you!”

“All good, Mr. Nate!”

Nathan saw that the kids were getting restless. He wanted them to know and love their great-grandfather, but not to be uncomfortable near him. Not to be afraid just because he was so very old. Or because he had a German accent and sometimes spoke in German. “Rach, how about you guys say bye-bye to Saba and meet me in the lounge area in just a couple minutes?”

“Okay, Naty. Kids, come see Saba and say goodbye.”

The children walked slowly toward the recliner, afraid to get too close. “Bye-bye, Saba!”

Rachel chimed in, “Sweet Pesach, Saba. We love you!” She kissed him gently on his cold forehead.

With the room cleared, Nathan brought out his worn copy of the Haggadah and sat on the bedside. He would narrate just portions of the Maggid, because Saba already had the seder meal. He needed to get his family home in time for their own Passover preparations. He held Saba’s hand and read aloud about the Egyptians’ inhumane treatment of the people of Israel and the Israelites who cried out to the God of their fathers for deliverance. And how the Lord God delivered his people from Egypt.

But Saba shook his head and rasped. “No. Nathan. I must tell you something. Something I did not tell even your father. About me. My story. And about a man. You must listen and tell your children this story. It will then be their story.” He reached for his copy of the Haggadah, which was leather-bound and worn. He pulled from it a sheaf of yellowing papers.

“I wrote this years ago but could never share it with anyone. I couldn’t bear to. But before I leave this earth, I must pass it on to my family. Will you read it with me, please?”

Nathan unfolded the papers and smoothed them, curious. He could see from the irregular letters, certain ones higher than others, that they were made from an old typewriter. Something his grandfather had shared with no one? This must be important.

“Of course, Saba. I will read this with you,” he said, settling himself in the metal chair beside Grandfather’s recliner.