Promo: Red Anemones by Paula Dáil
Today, I'm delighted to welcome author Paula Dáil to Ruins & Reading. We're sharing an interesting excerpt from her compelling novel, Red Anemones. Inspired by real events, this is a story you should check out. Read on!
Red Anemones is currently on blog tour with The Coffee Pot Book Club. Find other enticing excerpts HERE!
Red Anemones
“All I know is he is translating dairies and letters found after your mother’s recent death – may her memory be for a blessing – and that they describe a family history you know nothing about but has revealed you to be the Jew you didn’t know you were. Mazel Tov!” So far, not much of my mother’s memory is any kind of blessing, I think, resisting the urge to say this out loud.
“The diaries are mostly from my grandmother who immigrated from Germany as a young woman; the letters are from the family she left behind. There are some notebooks belonging to my mother, both in German and in English, but I don’t know a lot about those yet. The diaries strongly suggest my grandmother was very unhappy for most of the years she lived in America. I don’t know what happened to her – whether she returned to Germany and died there or remained in America and died here. I don’t know how she died – illness, accident, intentionally, or she simply gave up on life and died heartbroken. The truth is, rabbi, I know almost nothing. I’ve never even seen a picture of her.” I pause, choking down sudden, unexpected tears.
“And you say Mourner’s Kaddish for her?”
“I don’t know the Mourner’s Kaddish...”
“It is the most vital of all Jewish prayers because it honors our ancestors… keeps us connected to them. What could be more important? I will be sure you have knowledge of it before you leave today, but first, tell me what is distressing you right now.”
“After immigrating to America, it appears my grandmother was compelled to deny being German and being Jewish, and passed this fear to her two daughters, one of whom was my mother. My aunt, her sister, is having a very difficult time with the contents of the letters and diaries being revealed and has been very reluctant to discuss any of it. She believes the risks are too great and a lot of people will be hurt. Honestly, I don’t understand any of this, and Adrian believes you can help me.”
“First, understand that America’s founders only intended for this to be a great country for white, Anglo-Saxon, protestant men and no one else… not for women, the dark-skinned, the circumcised, not even for the native people who were already living here for centuries. The colonists were so arrogant they believed they were entitled to have what they wanted and getting it was all they cared about. Now we are left with the inevitable mess this misguided attitude has created. Such a travesty!” In a sudden burst of energy, the rabbi completes his sentence by sweeping his right hand through the air, attempting to move this despicable history out of his direct line of vision. I can’t help smiling at this brief, remarkably accurate interpretation of American history.
“By the time your grandmother arrived, there was much for Germans and Jews in America to fear, beginning before World War I, when immigration generally was becoming increasingly unpopular, and remained that way up until the end of World War II. Your grandmother was not wrong in her assessment of her surroundings, and she may have been very wise to do what she needed to do to protect herself and her children.
Hitler was not the only person in the world who actively persecuted the Jews; across human history there has been no shortage of political leaders eager and willing to kill us. But more important for you right now is to think about this: if a German Jew is forced to deny being German and deny being Jewish, what identity is left to them? How do they answer the simple ‘who are you?’ and ‘where do you come from?’ questions?” Looking me straight in the eye, he waits for my answer.
“It would seem there is no identity left, and it would be impossible to answer those questions,” I finally admit, looking into the space above the rabbi’s head, hoping another episode of tears I feel forming don’t start dripping down my face.
“Precisely! There is no identity… nothing to hold onto that validates someone as a living, breathing human being. Think of it as being adrift, alone in the treacherous ocean they crossed to come here. They aren’t fish, they are air-breathing, land-loving humans facing deep panic at not knowing where they belong or how to survive in all that water. Nothingness surrounds them, and living beings cannot survive for long in a state of nothingness.”
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