Echoes Page 0,57
sudden shock that she had been drifting aimlessly since Antoine's death, and had all but lost touch with her children. Her body was there, but her spirit wasn't.
“I don't want you going to lectures like the ones Edith Stein gave, Amadea, or rallies organized by radicals, if that's what you're doing these days. And you should be careful about speaking up against Hitler's policies, except here.”
“Do you agree with him, Mama?” Amadea looked shocked.
“No, I don't.” Beata felt as though her head were clearing, finally, and it was interesting talking to Amadea. She was an extremely bright young girl. It reminded her of her own questioning at that age, and her passion for philosophy and political discussions. She had spent hours arguing with her brothers and their friends. Amadea had no one to talk to about things like that except her. “But it's dangerous to be oppositional. There's a lot of anti-Semitism in Hitler's policies. Even at your age, you could bring attention to yourself by speaking out. That could be dangerous for you.” Amadea could see that her mother was serious, and Amadea made a comment about how disgusting it was that they had burned books in May. Amadea didn't like the things she was seeing and hearing publicly, and when she paid attention to them, neither did her mother.
“Why did they burn books?” Daphne entered the conversation finally, and looked confused.
“Because they're trying to frighten people and intimidate them,” Amadea volunteered. “And they're sending people to work camps because they're Jewish. The Nazis told people not to go to Jewish shops on my birthday this year.”
“Because of you?” Daphne looked startled by what Amadea had said to her, and her older sister smiled at her.
“No, it was just a coincidence, but it was still a mean thing to do.”
“Do Jewish people look different than other people?” Daphne asked then with interest, and Amadea looked outraged.
“Of course they don't. How can you say a thing like that?”
“My teacher said that Jews have tails,” Daphne said innocently as both her mother and sister looked horrified.
“That's not true,” Beata said, wondering if she should tell them that she had been born Jewish, but she felt awkward telling them now. She had been a Catholic for so many years. And some people said they were only going after the poor Jews, the homeless and criminals, not the ones like her family. The Nazis wanted to clean up Germany and disperse the criminal element. They would never go after respectable Jews. She was sure of that. But still not sure enough to tell her children she'd been Jewish.
It was an interesting conversation at the dinner table that night, and they lingered longer than usual. Beata had never realized how politically interested Amadea was, how socially conscious and independent. Nor had she realized that she was struggling to decide if she had a religious vocation, which she found far more disturbing than her more radical inclinations. She couldn't help wondering just how influenced by Edith Stein's lectures and writings she had been. Or worse yet, by the fact that Stein had become a nun. Things like that were powerful influences on a young girl. Not to mention the older sister of her best friend. Altogether it painted a portrait of a life Beata didn't want for her. But she herself had offered little to put any weight on the other side of the scale in recent years. She had no social life, no friends, saw no one except the Daubignys, and them rarely. For eleven years while Antoine was alive, she had devoted all her time to him and her children. And since his death, she had become a recluse. She saw no way of changing that now, and had no desire to. But at least she could pay more attention to what was happening in the world. Amadea seemed far better informed than she. She worried about her opinions about the Nazis' anti-Semitism, though, and hoped she wasn't voicing them in school. She reminded her to be careful when she left for school the next day. Disagreeing with the Nazis was a dangerous thing to do, at any age.
The following week Beata went back to the synagogue. She didn't want to wait another year before she saw her mother again. This time she sat just behind her purposely, and there was no need to lift her veil. Her mother recognized her the moment she saw her, and as they left after the service,