The Survivor

A holocaust survivor goes shopping.

Doris Stein, a survivor of Birkenau, did not mind walking the extra blocks to Abram’s Market. It was a familiar place, and Abram was an obliging Pole. 

Usually, Doris would chat with Abram, but today, she went directly to the aisles, her eyes searching the shelves for the items on her hastily prepared list. There were fresh vegetables to get, and basil would be needed. 

She moved steadily along, placing items in a basket. Each purchase should be especially fresh so the joy of tomorrow evening’s reunion would not be spoiled. 

Lingering in the produce aisle, Doris listened for Gila’s voice: 

Precious little Gila who’d squeezed Doris’ hand while the sun rose over their farmhouse in the Lodz countryside. 

“Can I help you find something, Ma’am?” asked Moshe, a studious young stock clerk. 

Trusting little Gila, who, on the second day of Rosh Hashanah, was tricked into revealing the family’s location when she’d signed up for a ration card. 

“Ma’am?” 

Frightened, little Gila, who’d been injured by the crush of prisoners forced onto the platform. 

“I did not get the fish,” 

“Is it lox, ma’am?” asked Moshe. That would be aisle two.” 

“She doesn’t have the fish.” 

“Excuse me, ma’am?” 

Frail little Gila, whose shoes had been stolen on their first night in the camp, was unfit for labor the following morning.

Frowning, Moshe signaled Abram. 

“Is everything all right, Mrs. Stein?” 

“Tomorrow is Gila.” 

“It’s okay, Moshe,” Abram said, gently taking Doris’ arm. “I don’t see you anymore, Mrs. Stein. Your daughter, I see, maybe twice a month. She’s a big shot in Manhattan but doesn’t forget Brooklyn. You, I’m not so sure about.” 

“Gila will come for dinner,” Doris said.”

“Mrs. Stein, take care of the living. Please, Doris, we can’t change the past. Invite your daughter and her family. Let me help with your list.” 

“But... Gila.” 

“God bless her,” Abram said, taking Doris’ list and pausing to look at it. “This is sweet and sour brisket; I know it like the back of my hand. You make it from scratch. I have everything. The blintzes are okay from the freezer. Nobody knows. Doris, I’m worried that you’re walking here. It’s too far. Let me call your daughter. Give me permission for that. She’s a good daughter; she loves you.” 

Doris smiled at Abram, then took her list. 

Abram called for Moshe. 

“Moshe, would you please bring me the number for Sarah Brus? It’s on my Rolodex. Thank you, Moshe. And see that Mrs. Stein is okay with her list.” 

At the checkout, Doris touched each purchase as its price appeared in the register’s window. 

Abram paused between items, not wanting to get in advance of Doris’s calculations. 

“I’ll have nice veal this coming Friday.” 

“Again, with the fakakta veal,” said Doris, waving him off. 

In the next moment, the market door opened with a whoosh. 

Sarah Brus came through. She went to the checkout, nodding to Abrams and touching Doris lightly on the 

shoulder. 

Doris turned and took Sarah’s face in her hands.

“My beautiful daughter." 

“Come, Mommy, our car is waiting.”