Read Online My Bridges of Hope by Livia Bitton-Jackson - Free Book Online

Tatras.
    Bubi comes home for the Sabbath, his face beaming once again. He turns to Mommy, for additional effect.
    â€œElli got the job as assistant counselor! They’ll train her. In about two weeks she’ll have to return to the Seminary, for a day or two, to be trained for the job.”
    â€œBubi! How did you do it?”
    â€œThe committee said they appreciated your honesty,” Bubi declares with mock solemnity. “And they felt you were
mature
enough to handle the task. And
intelligent
enough to learn. Mature! And intelligent!” My big brotheremphasizes the adjectives with a chuckle. “I listened politely and, for the sake of your health, I let wisdom prevail and withheld my views on the subject.”
    Mommy is delighted. “You’ll need a warm sweater. I found rolls of wool thread in the rubbish in the attic, a nice rich brown color. I will start knitting right away so that it is ready before you leave.” She turns to Bubi: “When does the camp begin?”
    â€œThe first week in July,” Bubi answers. “She’ll also need warm pajamas. Nights are very cold high up there. It’s a ten-hour journey by train to VyÅ¡ne Ružbachy, and from there another two hours by carriage to the villas that will serve as summer camp. One villa for the girls’ and the other for the boys’ camp.”
    I can barely contain my excitement. A ten-hour train ride, and then a long carriage ride into the mountains! The fabulous mountains I have heard so much about but never dreamed I’d see.
    Will I live up to everyone’s expectations? Am I mature enough?

I Am Going on Vacation
    On the Train to Bratislava, June 30, 1946
    Mommy accompanies me to the train station and helps me lug the canvas bag containing my wardrobe. I own a beautiful silk dress that came in a CARE package from America. When it arrived Mommy at first admired the lovely dress, but then she spotted a large cigarette burn on the skirt. “Look!” Mommy exclaimed. “What a shame! Right up front, in the most noticeable spot!”
    â€œWhat luck,” I retorted. “Without that cigarette burn the owner never would have put this dress in a CARE package. Thanks to that cigarette burn, I have a lovely silk dress.”
    Mommy laughed and immediately set about concealing the hole in a neat fold.
    My canvas bag also contains a pink outfit made from bed linen that arrived in the same CARE package. Pink sheets and pillowcases!All our neighbors were agog with amazement when it arrived. No one had ever seen bed linen other than white. What will the Americans think of next? Mommy turned the sheet into a full peasant skirt, and the pillowcase into a matching bolero jacket, the fashion rage of the time.
    I am wearing a red-and-white-print jumper and a white blouse Bubi found in an abandoned villa in Seeshaupt several weeks after our liberation in that Bavarian town. The outfit must have belonged to a large woman: Both the jumper and the blouse were enormous, but Mommy adjusted them to fit my figure. I look elegant and cheerful in the outfit; the billowing puffed sleeves of the blouse make me look grown up.
    Mommy’s creative mastery with leftover fabrics is stupefying. The
barishnas
often bring much more material than Mommy needs to make their dresses, and then refuse to take away the leftover pieces of fabric. From these Mommy has produced an entire wardrobe for me and for herself. She has even sewn trousers for Bubi from gabardine leftover from pleated skirts, a great favorite of the
barishnas.
    The conductor’s whistle blows. Mommy and I embrace, and I hop onto the lowest rung of the train. All at once, Mommy’s voice breaks: “Take good care of yourself, Elli. Be a counselor to yourself, too. Remember, you, too, are still a child. . . .”
    â€œOh, Mommy.” A quick wave of the hand, and the train jerks into motion. My throat tightens. Oh, God. The train picks up speed, and