The Diary
by Moshe David Roberts, 12, US
It was a rainy summer night, and Grandpa Boris rocked in his
old rocking chair in front of the fire, just listening to the
constant pitter-patter of the rain as it hit the roof. The wind
whipped the rain against the side of the house, and hearing
these sounds, made Grandpa Boris feel content, in front of the
fire. His hot turtleneck itched, so he reached a hand back to
stretch it. Often he would just sit down for hours and think
of what he called the old country. Now, he would nod his head,
in recognition as he took out relics of the family's past from
dusty boxes that had been brought down from the attic. The boxes
were smelly, and had mildew growing on the sides, as well as
little wet spots, where water may have leaked from other boxes.
He did not take notice of this though. Small things like this
did not matter to Grandpa Boris. To him, he was the luckiest
man in the world, to be inside a warm house, his grandchildren
cozy up in bed, sleeping through the storm. He just sat there
while the floor under his chair creaked, and the fire cast dancing
and jumping shadows on the wall.
Suddenly the stairs groaned, and he heard the creak and then
the soft thud of his two grandchildren timidly coming down the
stairs. He looked and saw four and a half-year-old David at
the last step, followed by his seven-year-old sister, Sarah
- right behind him. David dragged his old blue blanket on the
steps beside him. This blanket had been given to him at birth,
and he had never been willing to give it up, even after he accidentally
dropped it in the potty. Sarah, somewhat maturer slept with
only a pillow. She came down the stairs with her hand on the
rail, and her back strait. Why if you didn't know her you'd
think she went to military- school thought Grandpa Boris to
himself. When they reached the landing and sauntered over, David,
with a monotonous look on his face was the first to speak.
He rubbed his eyes, then let his hands drop to his sides, and
said "I'm scared of the bad hurricane; will you tell me a story?"
"A hurricane, this is nothing but a sprinkle. When I was your
age, a rainstorm was nothing. Now, it's a hurricane, too much
T.V," Grandpa Boris thought.
But he did not say this, instead Grandpa Boris answered in
a soft voice, "Of course; come sit on my lap, both of you, and
we'll look at the stuff in this box." He patted his knee and
they came and he covered them and himself with David's blanket.
The first thing that Grandpa Boris pulled out was an antique
jewelry box; it's hinges broken, and its clasp twisted. Sighing,
he laid it back in the box. Next, he picked up an old picture
of his wife. Grandma Debra had died when Sarah was only three,
and when David was just born. Grandpa Boris' eyes gazed at her
with affection, and if Sarah wasn't mistaken, a teardrop formed
in his eye. The sides of the frame were brass, and fading a
little. Ah, he sighed, and placed it on the table next to him,
after blowing it off a bit, instead of laying it back in the
box. David's eye, however, was not on the picture, but on a
book-like object at the side corner of the box. It was wedged
in between a dusty picture album, and a pile of old records.
David reached a hand out from under the blanket, pointed, and
said, "What is that?"
Grandpa Boris glanced at the object and then picked it up.
The old book had a leather strap around it, binding the brittle
pages together with a buckle. This book did not look a bit like
the picture they had just looked at. Its cover had mold, and
the pages were a dark shade of yellow. The book was covered
with a thick layer of dust.
"Well," Grandpa Boris said, "I doubt anyone's seen this for
a long, long time."
"Why, why?" said the children in unison. Carefully, he unbound
the straps, and opened the book. A cloud of dust arose, and
disappeared.
David let out a small cough before Grandpa Boris said: "Why,
it's a diary dating back to Spain - March 30, 1492! It says
on the back of the cover: 'Journal of Rafael Garcia. May the
finder of this diary cherish the secrets written inside'. Well,
this comes all the way from Spain," repeated Grandpa. "It
must have belonged to your distant grandparents when they lived
in Spain."
"Will you read it to us?" asked David.
"I'll try, but it's in Hebrew." Grandpa Boris cleared his throat
and began.
I feel that with the problems that seem to be arising. It is
possible that I may not live to leave Spain. Therefore, I wish
to be remembered. I'll start by just summarizing our life in
Spain. I am a minor physician, and an adviser to king Ferdinand
and Queen Isabella. This makes me semi-important, and if anybody
found out about my Jewish heritage, I'd be ruined. It is not
easy being a Jew when so many despise me. Not because I am mean,
or cruel, or selfish. They think of me as a Marrano or filthy
pig for the soul reason that I have Jewish heritage, and I am
proud of it. Many of us have been forced into converting to
Christians, but that does not solve anything. The converts are
just considered "New Christians" and are not trusted or respected.
Now, nobody knows that my wife Phalicita, my son, David, or
I are Jewish. I try to keep our lives easy as possible, for
David's sake. All of our Jewish possessions like our brass menorahs,
yarmulkes, prayer books, and tallit are kept in a secret closet
we have that's hidden behind a bookshelf.
The trouble has been going on for years, but it has gotten
worse. Much worse. I think that if this lasts much longer, King
Ferdinand, whom I work for, may make a decree that will change
all our lives. I was born in Spain, but my wife; Phalicita was
born in Portugal, but has lived her whole life here. The last
thing that I feel it's important for you to know is how we had
David. Phalisita's belly had been getting bigger, unusually
bigger than any other mother that I've seen. Then it was time
to have the child. She was screaming, and I did not know what
to do. It was like I was losing her then and there, and I, as
a husband, and physician was helpless. Then, the baby poked
its leg out, and I realized that it was stuck. Phalicita gave
out a frantic scream, pushed and the baby was dislodged, but
its face had been blocked to long, and I could not revive it.
It was like a dark, desolate abyss had swallowed me up, like
I had killed my own child. Nothingness began to open up around
me. Had I killed my own child? Was it all my fault? I could
feel myself falling, tumbling down. Then, I heard a scream,
and it was as if God had caught me and lifted me back up. Another
child reached his hand out. Grasping my son's hand, I pulled
him out, as he cried and cried a sign of good passages.
I handed him to Phalicita, and she softly said through her
tears "David". The tears were coming out of my eyes in torrents.
The sadness that had taken over me only seconds ago vanished.
Now, to the present day.
March 30, 1492
Today after I dovened shacharit (said the morning prayers),
I put on my black linen physician's robe, kissed my wife goodbye,
(David was still asleep) and went to see if King Ferdinand would
be needing my services today. I walked along the dirt roads
and watched the workers ride their ponies, or mules to their
shops. Most people worked in scattered shops along the market
selling food, cloth, weapons, or cattle. Many people were also
farmers or people who took care of the stables. Few had too
much money to spend on fine cloth, and perfumes, so most just
wore simple linen, leather, or possibly cotton clothing. We
have no trading route with any country with many spices, or
perfumes. Most people bathe maybe twice a week at the most.
Most of the land was highly populated and in some places quite
crowded, and that is another reason that people wish to get
rid of the Jewish People. There are few trees, and the air often
smells of manure, or burnt wood.
As I arrived at the castle gate I heard the guards talking
and was able to make out a few mumbled words. One man said to
the other: "Those Dirty Jews, we should just get rid of them,
for all the good those marranos do."
To this the other young guard answered " I know what you mean.
You know what I've been hearing? Those filthy Jews have ceremonies
where they drink the blood of Christian children."
"Yeah, then they also bake it in to their flat bread, on their
Passover holiday," the other guard put in.
I felt like screaming at the top of my lungs "That is not true,
it's a lie," I was so infuriated. I don't know how I was able
to keep quiet, but I did and just entered the palace without
showing any reaction to the harsh words. I thought, I'm glad
they don't know I'm a Jew.
When I got inside, the jolly nobleman, who served as a clerk
or butler for the king, said: "Good day, Rafael. I suppose you're
here to see the king? Right this way". Being in the palace,
he and the other advisers, and guards had fine cotton clothing.
He led me to the throne room, where the jester was entertaining
the King, Queen and other people in the court.
I bowed, and the king said: "I will not be requiring your services
today, but you must come and hear an announcement I have to
make tomorrow." I didn't worry that tomorrow was the Sabbath
because the announcement probably would be short, and I could
just go to it after services. After he said this, the jester
went back to his jokes, and I left. I chuckled as I thought:
that jester really can be funny, if you stay long enough to
listen.
It was already midday when I remembered it was Friday and thought:
"Why don't I go buy some bread and candles now, and save my
wife having to do it later. So I quickly walked to the bakery.
The smell of fresh baked breads, muffins, and rolls wafted into
the streets outside of the little bakery. I would have taken
my pony, but it was only about a mile. When I reached home,
I picked up little David, and talked to him for a while. When
I talk to him, I don't really say anything important, I just
talk in a soothing voice. I decided to take a nap before our
special Friday night dinner. We would have chicken, bread, apples,
pears, and potatoes for dinner. We would drink water or wine,
what ever we had in the pantry.
During my nap I had a nightmare. In this bad dream there was
a large stadium where the citizens of Spain sat and watched
people with yellow badges and cone-shaped hats marched around,
and then suddenly they were tossed into a small pit by the guards,
and a torch was dropped in. Red balls of flame and fire hurled
up from the pit, sending the people's ashes fluttering up towards
the heavens. Pandemonium broke out. I could just hear their
screams. (Something like this really happened. Jews were forced
to wear special clothing, including a shirt called a 'sanbenito',
and were marched around and thrown in a fire. This was called
the 'Auto da Fe'.) Then I woke up, sweat covered my face, and
my one linen blanket was twisted into a strange shape. I didn't
eat much of the special Shabat dinner.
March 31, 1492 (The Day of the Spanish Inquisition)
This morning for some reason, I had a queasy feeling in my
stomach, but didn't know what it was from. Now I know, and,
when I think about it I feel sick. I'll start from the beginning.
First, I quickly ate my porridge, a mixture of oats and sugar
with an apple, and hurried off to our small shul, which was
really just a small warehouse where Jews in our neighborhood
gathered. My wife would occasionally come, but since David could
not walk all that way, and could not sit through the whole service,
she usually stayed home. Today we started late, because we had
to wait for ten men to arrive. (It's a custom to have at least
ten men at our services.) By the time we finished, the amount
of noise on the street told me I was probably late for the announcement.
I hurried home and brought out my brown pony. She was very small,
but always got the job done. Some old man down the street had
offered me 20 cruzados for her a while back. But, I refused.
When I got there, there was a big crowd surrounding the king,
who stood on a platform. The people were talking to each other,
all wondering why they had been asked there. The king had begun
talking and there were guards asking the people to quiet down.
A hush fell over us all. Then he said: "I, King Ferdinand of
Spain, make this decree that within two months there must not
be a single Jew on Spanish soil. Jews may be baptized at a church,
but if a single marrano or filthy pig remains, he will be punished.
Also, no valuables or possessions are to be taken along. Everything
must stay. If your neighbor or someone in your neighborhood
is a Jew you may report them. If a Jew is caught after the time
is up he will either be baptized, or arrested and burnt."
These words pierced something inside of me. I don't know why,
but some how, I knew this would happen. But the shock was still
unbearable. I set off for home to tell my wife, Phalicita, of
the news. I figured if we went soon, we might get a ship and
meet the deadline. I was worried, because I had no place to
go, and had never been on any long voyages. Philicita, however,
had. She had been on a fishing trip, and the boat had gotten
lost and landed in a harbor on another part of Spain. It took
two days to come back.
As I walked home, wondering what my wife's reaction would be,
Pablo Cervantes, a fellow Jew of my congregation, came and said
in a weary, yet somewhat confident voice: "From your face, you've
heard the news. Don't worry. No one knows you're a Jew. We'll
pray in private. There are still people who wish to stay. We
are organizing a secret congregation that will meet in my basement".
I considered this. Nobody did know that I was Jewish, so I
thought it might work. That night I rode off to Pablo's house.
He lived about a half a mile away in a medium-sized wooden house,
about one story smaller than my house. I noticed my horse was
the only one, and realized I should not have ridden her. The
others did not want to attract any attention to this house.
But it was too late to go back. As I entered the house, the
aroma of boiling soup entered my nostrils. They had six children,
and I heard them playing in the kitchen. His wife greeted me
at the door, saying, "Oh I'm glad you could make it, Rafael.
Things are getting bad for us Jews. Then again, they have been
bad for a long time now. For years the hate against Jews has
been heating up. I guess it all finally got too hot and burst".
She led me over to their living room where she lifted up a
rug that led to the trap door down to the basement. Its hinges
creaked as it closed behind me. I was surprised at the number
of Jews who decided not to leave. I picked up one of the small
prayer books. They were made small so we could slip them up
our sleeves if any guards come. I heard a horse whine outside
but ignored it; it was probably mine.
Isacco, a young Jewish man, came up to me and said: "So, Rafael,
I have three extra tickets on a ship to Portugal, arriving in
only 3 days, and scheduled to leave in just a week! It's a miracle!
Would you and your wife and son like to come with me to Portugal?
We have to go by sea, because there has been some fighting along
the border, and I don't want to get stuck in that. I have family
there, and I'm sure you could find a home. If you wait, the
ships will be crowded, and you may not get one at all".
Of course I thanked him, but said "No. I won't abandon the
shul." Later, as I turned off Pablos' street, I ran into Henry,
an anti-Jew guard. I realized it was his horse I had heard.
He was spying on us. He asked me where I had been--with a smug
look on his face. He was wearing a wool cloak with thick leather
boots, astride a large chestnut horse.
I answered: "I was just going on a walk with Missy, my horse.
She was getting jumpy at my house". I'm not very good at lying.
I guess I didn't sound convincing, because he said: " No you
weren't. I'm on to you, you filthy marrano. You were going to
your service where you drink the blood of Christian children.
You're in trouble, and you know it". Then he rode off in the
opposite direction. That night my wife and I had a long talk,
about the days' events and decided just to stay and see what
happens.
April 1, 1492
Today started out some-what better than yesterday. I skipped
my breakfast, put on my black linen robe over my linen tights
and wore a woolen shirt, kissed my wife and son goodbye and
left. I figured everything would be just like usual: I'd go
to work, patch up a few soldiers, and maybe give a nobleman
some advice. The usual--but boy, was I surprised. Today was
a day I will surely never forget. When I reached the palace,
I was unhappily greeted by Henry, the man who had confronted
me the night before.
He said: "The king and queen are in a meeting with senor Christopher
Columbus, discussing terms for a voyage. Get out! Go away, you
Marrano, and while you're at it, why don't you go see that silly
shul of yours!"
As I turned away speechless, I felt a splatter on my back and
realized I had been hit by an egg. A rotten egg by the smell.
Tearing that peace of cloth off my cloak, I made an indirect
route home. First I stopped at our old shul. It was also covered
with rotten tomatoes and eggs. It smelled horrible, and I could
tell somebody had set it on fire, but most likely the wind had
put it out. Also the doors were barred and covered with black
leather. In anger and rage I tore off my robe and threw it to
the ground. Walking in, I saw that the benches were turned over,
and carved into them was, "Filthy Marrano, get out." Also, the
torah scrolls were missing from the Holy Ark.
I went to the old carpenter who had offered me the money for
my horse. We struck a deal, and I agreed to bring her the next
day. Then I went to Isacco's shop where he sold clothes of linen,
wool, and leather, as well as boots and shoes. People knew he
was Jewish, and somebody had put a rotting pumpkin in front
of his shop. Of course the shop was closed. Isacco was packing
up to move to Portugal; but the back door was open, so I went
in. He had tears in his eyes and said, "I've lived here almost
all my life. I'll be leaving soon. You haven't changed your
mind, have you?" He sounded as if he was pretty sure I'd say
no and was surprised when I told him we would meet him at the
dock on at the day the ship was scheduled to come. He seemed
happy he was going to have company. I didn't want to bother
the poor guy anymore, so I set out for home. My wife had no
idea I did any of this. That night the warm stew she had been
making was wasted because neither one of us could eat. Little
David laughed and laughed during dinner. After all, he was only
two, and he just couldn't understand what the problem was.
* * * * * *
At this moment, there was a pause and Grandpa Boris stopped
reading. They sat there for a moment, then a loud crash of thunder
shattered the stillness, and lightning lit the room. David asked:
"Why did you stop Grandpa?"
Grandpa Boris answered: " There are small smudges on the page,
and I can't read it. It looks like he was crying when he wrote
this." Taking a deep breath and letting it out, Grandpa Boris
said: "Ah, I think I can see what it says now"...
* * * * * *
April 2, 1492
Today I ate an apple before I went outside to the wooden back
shed. I opened the door and walked in. The smell of hay and
manure was strong, but I didn't mind. Missy, my horse, was waiting
in her stall for breakfast. I gave her a carrot and some oats
before I led her out. I rode her to the carpenter's house, then
I dismounted. I gave her one last kiss on her neck before I
sold her for 20 cruzados. When I got home, we spent the day
packing and deciding what must stay and what would go. We decided
to wear our biggest robes where we would hide our money and
a set of linen clothing, and that is what we would take.
As we sorted through old belongings, I came across a diary
that Phalicita had meant to throw away. As I shuffled through
page after page, I learned all sorts of things that I hadn't
known. One page that I found particularly disturbing said: "Dear
diary: April first, fourteen ninety-two. A strange man in a
suit of armor came around the neighborhood today. He went around
trying to hunt out and arrest Jews. As he came by our wooden
house, I think he heard me praying, and that's why he tried
to kick open the door. I don't get it; why does everybody hate
the Jews? I pushed a table in front of the door, and called
to him to go away. He swore he'd find out who we were, and get
us. When I began to tell Rafael, he wouldn't listen. I don't
think he even knew that I was trying to talk to him." This was
the end of the entry. Everything is going bad. Faith, hope,
love, fear, and emptiness all seem to be closing in on me. My
fear and distress are claiming me as their next victim. I do
not know how long I will last.
April 6, 1492
Everything has gone wrong that possibly could. Two nights
ago, somebody set our back shed on fire, thinking Missy was
in there. Obviously Henry told everybody that we are Jewish.
Also, the Shul has been completely burnt to the ground, and
our ship has been delayed, so it will be an extra week until
we can leave.
April 8, 1492
The people who were having the secret services were discovered,
and the whole family, along with all the people praying there
that night, were arrested. Luckily, I wasn't there. Phalicita
has a little cold, but it's nothing to worry about, I haven't
heard anything from Henry. Today, we had an artist sketch us
in front of our house, just as a memory of our first home. I
will keep it here, along with a sketching of just us, no background
of Spain, just us. This will be one of the only things we will
take.
April 10, 1492
Last night some of the villagers paraded around the Jewish
community, throwing old fruit, eggs, sticks, and rocks, while
banging pots and making noise. They shouted things like "Filthy
pigs--get out Marranos" and other things like that, which prevented
us from sleeping and made Little David cry almost all night.
But we set out for the dock at dawn anyway, because it was 3
miles, and we would have to walk. Before we left, I slipped
this diary under my leather blouse. When we reached the dock,
the noise overwhelmed me. There was a mob of Christians and
a few Jewish converts called "New Christians" who shouted "Marranos!
Pigs! Get out!" They also threw fruit. To add to my discomfort,
it was extremely crowded, and I could not see where we were
going. Little David began to cry. He wasn't used to so much
noise.
There were many men, slaving to load all the food onto the
ship. Isacco was at the ramp waiting for us. That was actually
when I wrote all this down. There were many people boarding
the ship, and I knew it would be very crowded. As my wife and
I boarded, I became aware of the crying people all around me.
A sadness welled up inside me, that I can't explain. It pierced
my heart in a way that can never be healed. I knew that even
though we are chased from land to land, our possessions taken
away, the one thing that could never be taken away or killed
was our faith. Our faith would never ever die.
* * * * * *
Grandpa Boris and his grandchildren sat there, rocking in the
low glow of the brilliant fire as it began to burn low. The
storm had begun to slow down. They considered the last few words
he had said and finally agreed. Our faith would never, could
never, die.
