a BBC reporter.
You heard it? The actual singing?
Yes, yes. A recording of the actual singing. It broke my heart, really. And I wondered if my—if you were part of it, if what I was hearing contained your voice.
Oh! said Michal with a great sigh. How strange is the world. But no, my dear, no. You did not hear my voice. You see, “Hatikvah” is now the Israeli national anthem, but at the time I did not know a word of it.
A quick intake of breath: a sob from Michal?
I was surrounded by the rising chorus of this song, this beautiful song, said Michal, the first time I had ever heard it, or the first time I was aware of hearing it. One woman in particular leading, a very strong voice, a steady alto, and everyone followed. All around me such singing, so much energy coming from those who were so physically weak, and I could not join in, could not sing with them. I thought: Who are these people? What sort of people have such determination and courage, even before all the dead have found their graves? What was giving them such strength, such hope? And the tears ran down my face, this time not with joy but with regret, and heartbreak, and longing.
Why? What happened? asked her daughter.
Well, her mother replied with a catch in her voice. This was the miracle.
The patient’s silence held the question, What was the miracle?
You see, said Michal: At that moment, and for the first time in my life, I wanted to be a Jew.
96.
Neither mother nor daughter spoke for several seconds. The tape whined and hissed. Finally the patient said:
But now I am really confused.
Yes? replied Michal.
Confused by what you just told me. You suddenly found—joy, I suppose is the right word. Joy in being part of the group. In being one of them. A Jew. So why wouldn’t you want that for me?
Michal laughed softly but said nothing.
The singing of “Hatikvah,” said the patient, it happened right after Liberation, in April. And I was born in late December. By then, you didn’t want me to be a Jew. That’s why you gave me away, you said, so I would not be a Jew. So how did this change, then change back, so quickly? All within eight months, eight and a half months.
The situation changed, said Michal. Everything changes.
But so quickly.
Yes. Quickly. It was a time of extremes. Anything could change into anything in a moment.
At that, the session came to an end.
97.
Monday night found me sitting restlessly in the dark, reading by flashlight. The sessions were ticking away. The possible loss of my office loomed over me like the blinking pink neon sign of the Hotel Palace.
I had arrived at the office early, at six in the evening. Dr. Schussler had left for her dinner break. When suddenly there came a sharp rap on the door.
Saw you come in! yelled out the voice I had hoped never to hear again.
Let us in! went on the man who had represented himself to me as the manager.
Us? I wondered. Who else was with him?
The sharp rapping came again.
Hey, fella! Let us in.
I thought, What chance did I have? I opened the door.
Reading in the dark again? said the little man with the bulging eyes and wild eyebrows and twisted-down mouth.
Behind him were two men in overalls.
They need to measure the space, said the manager person. And, he said with emphasis, they will need to turn on the lights.
At that, his hand flew to the wall plate.
The overhead fluorescent bulbs winked to life—let Dr. Schussler not be in the street now! I prayed; let her not look up!—and the two workmen shunted me to one side of the room then another as they stretched out their metal tapes and called out the numbers to the manager, who recorded them in a spiral-bound notebook no larger than his hammy palm.
Now move over there, said one workman as he pushed me to the wall behind the door, which was fortunate—provident! I might say—for not two seconds later came the limping tread of Dr. Schussler.
She stopped at the opened door.
Is that office to be leased? she asked, looking into the room.
I pressed myself against the wall. Could I hide in this narrow V behind the door? Please do not see me! I cried out in my mind.
Then a second fear rose up behind the first: Mr. Manager! Please do not say that the room is already leased!
It seemed