Friday March 4, 1944
The Sabbath is no time for political wrangling and rancor. It’s an oasis of peace in which my father can take out his album again and continue his story. He’s up to the time in 1934 when he finally got into medical school after leaving Germany. He always likes to start with the story about the Gestapo and the camera with which he has taken such great pictures. That day he photographed the Nazi rally from his balcony, he saw a Gestapo officer point to him and send two minions running. He heard them pounding up the stairs, then banging on his door. The minute he opened it, one of them snatched the camera from his hand, opened the back and ripped out the film. Smirking, the man handed both the camera and the exposed film back to my father. Then the two Nazis strolled back to the their officer boasting about how they had dealt with the Jew from America.
What they didn’t know was that in the few minutes it took them to reach my father, he had wound up and removed the exposed film, put in a new roll, and even advanced it a few frames in case they might be suspect just such a trick. But all they about was humiliating my father and they never noticed a thing. Light the Sabbath candles.