Editor’s Note: The Vanishing, originally published in 2022 by Library Tales Publishing, will be re-released in collaboration with Simon & Schuster in June 2025. The book has been optioned for film by Chris Columbus’ 26th Street Pictures. A new cover is in the works! I’m eternally grateful to be on board with Judith Magazine and for the opportunity to share some of my work with our growing audience. — David Michael Slater
From Part I: THE TOWN
Sophie Siegel — December, 1941
Forgetting she had slippers within easy reach, Sophie flung her covers off and climbed barefoot out of bed. She was wide awake and ready for her banner day. Having aced yesterday’s mathematics exam, as of today, she was officially Top Student in her class— or at least she would be when Frau Volker chalked her name on the board, right on the top line inside the Triangle of Superior Students.
Sophie sat down at the vanity her Papa had built for her in his shop behind the house. He was a woodworker whose talents were much in demand, but he always had time to make her anything she needed, large or small. Everyone called him Big Benno because he was enormous. Sophie reckoned he might be the strongest man in the world.
Taming her unruly curls with the brush Papa had also made her, Sophie imagined what Frau Volker would say to her about being Top Student. It was hard to believe this was really happening. Sophie had never thought of herself as smart because she’d always done poorly in school, not that she’d ever put much effort into it. She’d been a social creature, far more interested in friends than academics. But gradually, that began to change when the Siegels moved from the City, where Sophie was born, to the nearby town of Weiler in August of 1938, only a few months before the pogroms erupted all over Germany — the violent riots that destroyed synagogues, Jewish businesses, homes, and schools. Some people were even killed. But there had been no pogrom in Weiler, which only proved how smart her Papa was for knowing it was hospitable to Jews.
Sophie was, of course, tremendously relieved to be safe in Weiler, but also terribly sad to have moved away from her friends. Even worse, it would be harder to see her two sets of grandparents, both of whom said they were too old to uproot themselves. Sophie was further distressed to learn that she was not good at making friends with kids she didn’t know, especially since she was no longer attending a Jewish school. And so, with nothing else to do in class but pay attention — miracle of miracles — her lessons suddenly began to make sense.
However, Papa, who always had his ear to the ground when it came to politics, didn’t like what he was hearing around their new home about the “Jewish Problem.” So in August of 1939, he moved the family to Gemeinde, an even smaller town with about half as many Jews. There, Sophie became even more shy and more studious, and lo and behold, her lessons not only made sense, they struck her as interesting. She began to earn good enough marks to make her think she might be pretty smart after all.
But just when Sophie was getting comfortable, the Siegels moved again, in August of 1940, after a Jewish man was murdered in the street and no one bothered to find his killer. Papa took them to Ortschaft, a town of merely ten thousand, because he’d learned that it was known for leaving its Jews — all two hundred of them — to themselves.
Even so, when they arrived on Judenstrasse — the single long and dank alley of a street where all of Ortschaft’s Jews lived — Sophie’s parents informed her that while she could play with her Jewish neighbors all she wanted, at school she was to keep to herself. These were not instructions she’d been given in either Weiler or Gemeinde. But it was fine with Sophie, who had, by then, given up on the idea of making friends at school.
Sophie’s parents also told her that she was not to be off-putting or standoffish, and that she was expected to be mannerly and well-scrubbed. Her Mama and Papa stressed that she wasn’t to give anyone a single, solitary reason to think she wasn’t an up-standing individual who could be counted on to do the right thing. This suited Sophie fine; she took pride in being an upstanding individual. From her first day of school in Ortschaft, all the way up to yesterday, her lessons were not only a cinch to understand and interesting, they were easy to remember. And now, at the wise old age of eleven, Sophie had transformed herself from an unremarkable student into a remarkable one. A Top one!
Sophie set down her brush and went over to her Papa-made wardrobe to swap out her yellow nightgown for her favorite yellow dress. But all the hangers inside were empty. Perplexed, she padded over to her bedroom door to peer into the main room, a combination kitchen and living room. She was expecting to see her mother, Bianca — or Bitty Bee, as everyone called her because she was so petite — standing at the counter, smearing jam on a slice of bread for her to scarf down on her way to school. Instead, her mother was sitting at Papa’s blue table, bent over an enormous heap of clothes. This wasn’t totally unusual, given that Bianca was a seamstress, but she never worked this early in the morning. And all of Sophie’s dresses were in the pile.
Bianca was so focused on her needle and thimble that she didn’t notice her daughter walk right up and stand next to her. She was finishing sewing a yellow star onto the breast of Sophie’s wool jacket.
Sophie watched, enchanted by the welter of bright points in the tangle of mostly dark materials: cotton and wool dresses, skirts, button-down shirts, and sweaters. Upon looking closer, she saw that all the stars had the word ‘Jude’ on them — Jew. “Mama?” she said, now feeling the cold of the floor chill the soles of her feet. It shot up her legs and through her torso, into her arms, and right to the tips of her fingers. Sophie always got cold when she was nervous or afraid.
“Sophie!” Bianca yelped. She flashed her famous wide smile. But it wasn’t so wide this time, and her normally soft lips appeared chapped. Her typically shiny black hair was tied up on her head in a dry, brittle mound.
“What is all this, Mama?” Sophie asked. “Have you been sewing all night?”
Bianca sighed and set Sophie’s jacket on her lap. “It’s the law now, Angel,” she said, trying to sound cheerful, or at least not upset. “We heard last night. All Jews must wear a star on their outer garments when outside their homes.” She fished one of Sophie’s dresses from the mess on the table and held it out, the yellow one she’d lovingly embroidered with tiny flowers — she always seemed to know Sophie’s mind. “Here,” she said. “You’ll have to get your own breakfast. I need to take the rest of these clothes back to the neighbors — before they have to go around naked all day.” It was a joke, sort of, but Bianca didn’t produce even a semblance of her infectious laugh.
“But — why must we wear them?” Sophie cried, refusing to take the dress and starting to shiver. “Will there be a pogrom here now too?” she asked. “Is this so they know who to hurt?”
Bianca’s face fell. She took her daughter into her arms and began rubbing her back and shoulders to warm her up. “The Night of Broken Glass is over,” she promised. “And this too shall pass.”
“I won’t wear one, Mama,” Sophie said, trying to stop the tears in her eyes from spilling over. “They can’t make me.”
“Angel,” said Bianca, softly, “they won’t let you inside the school without it.”
“But Mama!” Sophie cried, pulling out of her mother’s arms. “I’m Top Student today!”
“You’re… what?” Bianca asked. She blinked, trying to process this news.
“I wanted to tell you and Papa after school, when it was official. I’m the Top Student in Frau Volker’s class! I’ve been working so hard since we moved here, Mama. Every day… You mean you haven’t noticed?”
“I — I —”
“Mama! What do you think I’ve been doing every day after school in my room?!”
“Sophie,” said Bianca, “I’m so sorry. Your Papa and I — we’ve been distracted. I should have been looking in on you more. You’re just… you’re never any trouble. But this… this is wonderful news.” She smiled again, but once again, it wasn’t a real one.
“Then why don’t you look happy, Mama?”
Bianca, already weary, now looked pained. Sophie could see it in her mother’s usually bright, saucer eyes. Her Mama seemed like she was about to say one thing but then decided to say another. “I’m very happy,” she said. “Top Student is a tremendous achievement, something to be very proud of. Rabbi Hasendahl will want to know. We’ll have a celebration when you get home this afternoon. I know your Papa will be very impressed... But Sophie, you must wear the star on your jacket and dress.”
Sophie frowned while she tried to understand what was happening and what she thought about it. Why should I be afraid to show the world I’m Jewish? she wondered. She loved being Jewish: Shabbat, the holidays, the special foods — all of it. And yet, at the same time, she was sure that a star on her chest would feel like a dunce cap on her head. She didn’t know what to do or how to feel, although she knew one thing for certain: nothing in the world was going to make her miss the day her name — Sophie Siegel — got chalked.
“Does Frau Volker know I’m Jewish?” Sophie asked, although she wasn’t exactly sure why. She didn’t know whether her peers knew because she rarely interacted with them.
Bianca nodded.
Sophie snatched the dress from her mother’s hand and said, “Good. Then the class should know her Top Student is a Jew.”
“I’m proud of you, Angel,” Bianca told her. “Like Rabbi Hasendahl always says: Live in such a way that brings honor to our people.”
Sophie poked her head out of the front door. The wind bit into her cheeks as she watched some of the neighborhood kids heading down the street with their stars on their coats. She hurried out onto the cobblestones, shouting, “Arno!” to the back of one of the bundled figures. But Arno, a boy a grade ahead of her, did not stop. Sophie turned to see a tall, pink bundle coming her way. Even without the eye-catching coat, she knew it was Lea Malka Mankewitz, a gorgeous high school girl with an almost regal bearing about her. She was the most beautiful person Sophie had ever seen. Her face was strikingly pale and her hair strikingly black. All the Judenstrase kids resented Lea Malka for the attention she got at school from everyone: teachers and students, Jews and gentiles alike. But at the same time, they craved her attention. Sophie, herself, was afraid even to talk to her.
Despite her anxiety, Sophie plucked up her courage and chirped, as brightly as she could, “Lea Malka!”
Lea Malka stopped short in front of Sophie, apparently startled out of her thoughts. She looked surprised to find herself where she was.
“But —” Sophie said, shocked to see that on Lea Malka’s long pink jacket, there was no star. “But — they won’t let you into school!”
Lea Malka gave Sophie a hard, almost imperious look, said nothing, and walked away.
Flummoxed, Sophie turned around and saw another girl who was a few years younger and who had a mole on her cheek. “Gisela!” she called. But Gisela was walking with her head down and refused to look up as she passed. Unlike Lea Malka, she did have a star on her coat. Disconcerted, Sophie stared at Gisela’s back as the younger girl hurried along and then at the other kids further down the street. Normally, kids walked to school in wisecracking clusters, but today every single one of them was walking alone, silent. The crunching of snow under their boots echoed eerily on the street.
Sophie, starting to sweat despite the cold, was relieved to see Giddy Goldfarb coming out of the house attached to hers. Giddy was just eight years old, but he was Sophie’s only real friend in Ortschaft. Every time his mother had to leave him alone to deliver washing to a customer, she sent him to Sophie’s house. He was immature, but in an amusing way, and if she put a book into his hands, he wouldn’t disturb her for hours at a time. Besides, he was adorably tiny and had an adorably round doll’s face with ears that stuck out like the handles on a pitcher.
Giddy was walking with his head down, and he had his arms wrapped around himself even though his coat was a heavy one. “Giddy!” Sophie cried before he barreled right into her. “Watch out!”
Giddy stopped just short of colliding with Sophie. He looked up with his big, long-lashed eyes just under the edge of his wool cap. Sophie expected to see his crooked, goofy grin, but his mouth was a pinched-up line. Without so much as a nod of recognition, Giddy veered around Sophie and walked on, still hugging himself.
This was too much. Sophie chased after him, grabbed his shoulder, and turned him around. “Giddy!” she said. “Why won’t you say hello?”
“Leave me alone,” he grumbled, mostly to the ground.
Sophie saw now that Giddy wasn’t exactly hugging himself, and in any case, it certainly wasn’t to keep warm. One of his hands was scrunching up part of his coat, the part with a yellow star on it. Giddy saw Sophie seeing this — and ran. He looked like a fool, slipping and sliding over the cobblestones without his arms for balance. And sure enough, after maybe ten comically awkward strides, his boots went out from under him and up into the air. He landed hard on his back.
Sophie hustled over to help Giddy up, but it was difficult because he still wouldn’t unwrap his arms. It was like trying to tilt up a miniature, rosy-cheeked mummy. But once he was on his feet, Sophie took his wrists and lowered his arms. Giddy wasn’t hurt, but he was crying.
“It’s okay,” Sophie said, putting her hand over the star on his chest. “This too shall pass. And in the meantime, maybe these will actually help. In Germany, I mean. Think about it, everyone should know that Jews are good students and good people who never cause any trouble.”
Giddy wiped snot from his nose with the back of his reddened hand and said, “Do you really think so?”
“I really do,” Sophie promised. “So let’s walk to school and behave in such a way that brings honor to our people.”
Giddy wiped his nose again and nodded, obviously comforted by Sophie’s words. Seeing this, Sophie felt something new in her life, something she thought that parents must feel: a responsibility to say whatever was necessary to reassure their children. And somehow, she felt certain that saying such things made them more likely to be true.
Giddy held his snotty hand out to Sophie, who took it, after only a moment’s hesitation. Hand-in-hand, they trudged off down the street.
On normal days, there was an unspoken agreement between all the Jewish kids: they’d walk together down Judenstrasse, but only until they neared Schulstrasse, the main road that led to the schoolhouse. Several side streets branched off of Judenstrasse before that intersection, and the kids, without comment, would stagger their entry into them so as not to emerge among all the gentiles in a pack.
But today, Sophie and Giddy ignored that practice and walked together all the way to the corner at Schulstrasse. They turned at the intersection to find the street, as usual, hosting a parade of satchel-carrying kids. Except today the parade was, rather than a raucous flow, a frozen line. The gentile kids, two or three hundred of them, were lining the sidewalk, watching as the few dozen Jewish kids went past them. Fat flakes of snow wafted softly down upon them all.
Sophie wanted to run straight home, but Giddy was looking up at her, wordlessly imploring her to make this alright. He had his free hand clasped over his star again. “Let’s go,” she said, squeezing his other hand. “We don’t want to be late.”
So they walked.
Sophie’s heart was beating wildly when they neared the closest bunch of gentile kids standing in front of the first in a long line of shops — five kids dressed just like she and Giddy were, but at the same time nothing like they were because they weren’t wearing stars like targets on their chests. Sophie’s ears burned under her hat. She’d never felt so conspicuous.
When she and Giddy got closer to the crowd, Sophie was relieved to recognize one of the students, a chatty, strawberry-blond girl from her class who was friendly to everyone.
“Good morning, Ilsa,” Sophie said when they reached her.
Now Sophie felt like a statue, but Giddy squeezed her hand and pulled, and then they were walking again.
Along the half-mile walk to school, Sophie said hello to every statue on the street and raised a hand to every statue in every shop window: Herr Schafer, the baker; Herr Hoffman, the grocer; Herr Becker, the liquor store man; Herr Krause, the newsagent; Herr Berger, the tobacconist…
Not one acknowledged her.
At the steps of the schoolhouse, there was a disturbance of some sort. When Sophie and Giddy got closer, they saw a ring of boys and girls in a circle; there was a fight happening in the middle. Sophie tried to pull Giddy around the crowd and up the edge of the steps.
Just then, the Recktorin, Frau Schneider, a fearsome, heavy-set woman in her sixties who wore her hair in two long, incongruously youthful braids, barged into the ring of cheering spectators. “What is going on here?” she demanded.
Now Sophie could see that a big boy had a smaller one in a headlock, choking him. The smaller boy already had a black eye and was bleeding from his nose.
“Let him go at once!” Frau Schneider ordered the bigger boy, who obeyed.
“Frau Schneider,” said the boy, out of breath from his exertions, “he’s a Jew. He came to school with no star.”
Frau Schneider turned her withering attention to the smaller boy, whom Sophie now recognized as Simon Horn, a spindly teenager, three years her senior.
“I’ll never wear it!” Simon swore.
“Simon Horn!” commanded Frau Schneider. “You will go home this very instant, and you will not return until you are ready to obey the law. Do I make myself clear?”
Simon, who’d been ready to fight the law and a school bully, was not ready to fight Frau Schneider. He girded himself up the best he could, then walked down the steps through the parted crowd and back into the street.
“You,” said Frau Schneider, pointing a plump finger at the bully. “Get moving!” Then to everyone, “All of you, get moving! Do not be late!”
Sophie dashed inside with Giddy and got him to his class. She was almost late to her own, for on her way, while passing a high school room, she saw a flash of pink and stopped to peek inside. There was Lea Malka, sitting erect at her desk in the very front row, still wearing her starless jacket.
Frau Volker was a short, stout woman in her fifties with un-styled hair and a penchant for wearing brown, shapeless dresses. She had a stern demeanor and was generally strict with her students, but she wasn’t altogether humorless. And while she was quick to correct and criticize if she thought it necessary, she wasn’t stingy about doling out a compliment when it was warranted.
Today, for Sophie, it was warranted.
The incident outside was forgotten. The stars were forgotten. Even Giddy was forgotten. To Sophie, sitting in her hard seat, the only thing that existed in the world right now was the chalkboard waiting for her name.
Frau Volker swiped her hands down her ruddy cheeks the way she always did. It was an odd but harmless habit her pupils enjoyed. “Good morning, class,” she said.
“Good morning!” the entire class said back, swiping their hands
“Please stand to practice saluting our Führer,” said Frau Volker.
The chairs slid back, Sophie’s a second or two later. But she stood up with everyone else, and with everyone else, shot out her right arm, straight from her neck, with her hand flat and fingers extended, then called out, “Heil Hitler!” Only, she didn’t say it. Her lips had formed the words, but her voice would not pronounce them the way they had every single morning since she’d come to Ortschaft.
“Again,” said Frau Volker, who was a stickler. “With more oomph, please.”
“Heil Hitler!” the kids yelled, trying to outdo one another.
Sophie tried again, but again, made no sound. Panicking, she looked to see if Frau Volker saw. Her teacher’s daunting blue eyes were aimed right at her, but her normally severe face was a blank slate.
“Again,” said Frau Volker. “With pride!”
“HEIL HITLER!”
Sophie tried so hard this time that she felt her face turn hot red. Her eyes watered but no sound emerged. She tried to sneak a look to her right to see if Bruna Muller, the flaxen-haired girl she shared her long wooden desk with, had noticed her difficulty. Bruna was looking straight ahead, at the Nazi banner above the board at the front of the class.
“Please take your seats,” said Frau Volker, sitting down at her desk.
The thirty students all sat down in their wooden chairs and slid them forward. The scraping, like the crunching of the snow on Judenstrasse, sounded too loud in Sophie’s ears.
Sophie took a deep breath. It was time for the Top Students to be updated. Frau Volker would do it before saying another word. Even if there was no change to the names or their arrangement, she would go to the pyramid, erase them anyway, and put them back up. Everyone had to earn their recognition every day.
But Frau Volker didn’t get up. She swiped her hands down her cheeks. Stifling their snickers, the class did the same. When Frau Volker swiped her hands down her cheeks again, the class, out-right giggling now, did the same.
Frau Volker normally reacted to the mimicry with a good-natured shrug, but she didn’t even seem aware of it now. She seemed distracted. Sophie’s heart began to pound when she reached out and picked up a piece of chalk from the little wooden box on her desk. She tapped it on the desktop.
Sophie could hardly breathe.
Just then, someone knocked on the classroom door, which opened without invitation. Fraulein Werner, the school secretary, came into the room pushing a projector on a rolling cart. Excite- ment spread through the class. It was very rare that they got to see any sort of film.
“Children!” said Frau Volker, brightening up, “I almost forgot. We have a treat this morning.” She got to her feet, then pulled down a screen that was attached to the wall behind her desk.
“What is it, Frau Volker?” a girl asked. It was Ilsa. “What will we see?”
“Children,” said Frau Volker, making her way to the back of the classroom, “this morning we are blessed to see and hear from the greatest man in the world, our Führer, Adolf Hitler.”
When Fraulein Werner left the room, Frau Volker explained to the delighted class that they’d be watching the Führer’s most famous speech and that it would inspire within them everlasting devotion to him and to the Fatherland. Sophie scarcely heard any of this. She was too upset that the chalking had been interrupted before it had even started. What if they skipped it today and her grades fell before tomorrow?
Frau Volker turned the classroom lights off and switched the projector on.
A black-and-white image of Adolf Hitler appeared. He was approaching a podium standing between two others. Three larger ones were on a higher level behind him, all with uniformed men standing at them. There were even more men standing to both sides of the platforms.
For a moment, the film showed an auditorium packed with men in uniform, then it returned to the podiums. On the wall behind them hung a hulking eagle clutching a swastika in a circle that seemed to be emanating beams of light in all directions. Adolf Hitler, wearing a tie under a long, side-buttoned coat, began to speak.
Sophie turned her attention back to the Triangle on the chalkboard, which she could still see unchanged in the projector’s flickering light.
Abruptly, her attention was recaptured when she heard the word Jew, spat out like something foul. She saw Hitler actually spitting as he ranted and raved, “The peoples of the earth will soon realize that Germany under National Socialism does not desire the enmity of other peoples. I want once again to be a prophet. If the international finance Jewry inside and outside of Europe should succeed in plunging the peoples of the earth once again into a world war, the result will not be a Bolshevization of the earth and thus a Jewish victory —” Sophie didn’t much understand any of this, but then Hitler, pointing repeatedly at his podium, proclaimed, “but the annihilation of the Jewish race in Europe!”
With that, the projector was switched off and the lights switched on. Sophie looked around at her classmates, all of whom were in awe as they clapped and clapped and clapped. Someone began cheering, and then everyone joined in.
But Sophie’s eyes were fixed on Frau Volker making her way back to her desk.
The students began to settle down. It was finally time for the chalking.
Frau Volker stopped at her desk and turned to face the class. She ran her hands down her cheeks. The class did the same. She sighed. Then she turned and approached the portion of the board where the Pyramid of Top Students was chalked, at the far-right side of the room. She stood, her broad back to the class, and sighed again. Sophie, once more, could hardly breathe.
Frau Volker took up an eraser from the board ledge and carefully wiped away the names in the pyramid. First, she erased the third Top Student: Gunter Schulte. Sophie, feeling a tingling run- ning up and down her spine, assumed his name would not go back up. Next, Frau Volker erased the second Top Student: Bruna Muller, Sophie’s deskmate. And then the former Top Student’s name turned to dust: Otto Huber.
The class was hushed now, waiting to see if there were any changes today. Frau Volker wrote Otto Huber on the third line.
Wow, Sophie thought, he must have really slipped up.
On the second line, Frau Volker wrote, Gunter Schulte. Sophie peeked at Bruna, who didn’t seem to realize she had fallen off the board and was trying to suppress a triumphant smile. Sophie held her breath as Frau Volker held the chalk up to list the Top Student. When she traced out an S, Bruna gasped and looked at Sophie with narrowed and now icy blue eyes.
But at that very moment, there was another knock on the class- room door.
Frau Volker turned around as the door opened to reveal Frau Schneider and a Nazi wearing a swastika armband. The sight of the Nazi caused the class to titter with excitement again. He was tall, broad-shouldered, fair-haired, and had eyes like azure diamonds. He was as handsome as a man could be. Behind Frau Schneider and the Nazi stood a group of Jewish students. Giddy was one of them. He looked right at Sophie with wide eyes.
This should have worried Sophie, but her only concern was the chalkboard.
“Please excuse the interruption to your class, Frau Volker,” said Frau Schneider. “I hope your students enjoyed the film. But I need to speak with Sophie Siegel, if I may.”
All as one, the entire class looked to Sophie, whose face went white.
“Sophie,” said Frau Schneider, “please step into the hall.”
“Sophie,” Frau Volker said, running her hands down her cheeks. “Did you not hear? Frau Schneider is asking to see you.”
“You must chalk Top Student, Frau Volker,” Sophie said.
“She only pretended to Heil Hitler!” Bruna mewled into Sophie’s ear. “And she didn’t clap for his speech!”
“Silence!” Frau Schneider demanded.
“Top Student, please, Frau Volker,” said Sophie. “Please finish writing my name.”
Frau Volker looked at Sophie, then at Frau Schneider and her guest.
“And she has been cheating from my papers!” Bruna cried.
Frau Volker now looked pointedly at Sophie and asked, “Is this true?”
“What is this about?” asked the Nazi.
“She thinks she is Top Student!” Bruna told him. “But she is a cheater, and she is a Jew!”
“That is preposterous,” the Nazi scoffed, making his way through the class. “You, girl, stand up,” he said as his shadow fell across Sophie’s desk.
Sophie leapt to her feet. “Frau Volker!” she shouted. “You must chalk the Top Student’s name! My name! You must do it now!”
“This is positively ridiculous,” said the Nazi. “Come with me.”
A hand grasped Sophie’s wrist and pulled her to the front of the class. Frau Volker, looking pale, stepped to the side.
“Now, Frau Volker!” Sophie insisted. “Now! Now! Now —!”
The Nazi slapped Sophie across the face, stunning her into silence. “Children,” he said to the class, “look here.” He grasped Sophie’s hair and pulled it up above her head like she was a bunch of carrots. “Look at the tall forehead,” he said. “We know from science that this indicates laziness.” He let the hair fall. The class nodded in full agreement.
The Nazi pinched Sophie’s ear and pulled it out, painfully. “See this wide ear that has a point along the top?” he asked. “This in- dicates selfishness.” He let the ear go and added, “The hooked nose reveals deceitfulness.” More nods. But Sophie’s nose was not hooked. It looked like most everyone else’s in the room.
“This bulge below the lower lip,” the Nazi continued, poking Sophie in the chin, “shows a jealous disposition.” Then he looked back at the class — he had their rapt attention — and said, “Tak- en together, these traits indicate irremediable stupidity. Children,” he concluded, “it should be obvious why the mere idea that a Jew could be Top Student is nothing less than laughable.”
While the class laughed at the mere idea, the Nazi turned to Frau Volker and asked, “Who is Top Student?”
Frau Volker, perspiring heavily, stepped to the board. She promptly turned the S she had written into a B and finished chalking the name Bruna Muller.
Bruna stood and curtsied.
“No!” Sophie wailed, finding her voice again. “That’s not right, Frau Volker! That’s not right!” The Nazi grabbed her again, but this time she struggled against him. She went on wailing, “Chalk my name, Frau Volker! Chalk my name!” until he dragged her out of the classroom.
That night, Sophie lay in the dark, reliving her mortification. The pain she somehow managed to shunt aside while it was happening, and then again while walking back home with Giddy and the rest of the Jews, was now lacerating her. A clammy mass under her blanket, she touched her forehead, her ears, her nose, her en- tire face. And she felt ashamed for doing so. She knew that nothing that awful man said was true, but it didn’t really matter. The class believed every word. She hated that man. She hated her class. She hated Frau Volker and Frau Schneider. She hated that school.
But what she hated most of all was that she was not allowed to go back.
Sophie heard a scratching through the wall next to her. Then several light taps. Then more scratching. “We don’t need a secret code, Giddy,” she sighed. His bed was on the other side of the paper-thin wall.
“Your forehead isn’t tall,” Giddy said.
“Thanks, Giddy,” Sophie said, sitting up.
“And your ears aren’t pointy.”
“But even if all those things were true, you would still be beautiful.”
A lump in her throat prevented Sophie from saying thank you again. She burrowed back under her blanket and mashed her face into her pillow to muffle her crying. She was crying because Giddy wanted to comfort her, but also because she hadn’t realized the Jewish kids in the hall had witnessed her humiliation too.
Giddy didn’t say anything more and soon, she heard him snoring.
Sophie was still crying when her door creaked open. She knew it was her Papa from the smell of wood shavings that was a perma- nent part of his person. She loved that smell.
Even so, she wasn’t coming out from under her covers.
Benno sat down on her bed, causing it to sink dramatically. Despite herself, she felt soothed. She knew he was going to tell her a story.
“In the Sixteenth Century,” her Papa started, in his low, resonant voice, “in Prague, there was a great and powerful rabbi called Judah Loew ben Bezalel, who, from the mud of the river Vltava, created a giant, which he brought to life through spells and incantations.”
Sophie lay still, listening.
“This giant — this golem,” her Papa said, “was eight feet tall and had the strength of a hundred men.”
“That’s even bigger and stronger than you,” Sophie couldn’t help but respond. “What did it do, Papa?”
“The Jews of Prague became his people, so he protected them. No one ever bothered them again.”
Sophie came out from under her covers and sat up. “Is that the end of the story?” she asked. She couldn’t see her Papa, but his presence in the dark was huge.
“That is the end,” he told her. “They lived happily ever after.”
“Why did you tell me such a short one, Papa?” Sophie was trying to decide whether or not to be annoyed. She liked the story.
“You are my angel,” Benno said, putting his heavy hands on her shoulders and squeezing them gently, “I will be your golem.” He leaned over, kissed her on the top of her head, then went out of the room.
Sophie lay back down and fell asleep.
David Michael Slater is the fiction editor for Judith Magazine and an acclaimed author of nearly forty works of fiction and nonfiction for children, teens, and adults. His forthcoming publications include The Vanishing (06/2025); UGLY, a John Irving-style tragicomedy about man’s inhumanity to woman (10/2025); and a re-release of his first novel, Fun & Games, which Heeb Magazine called “The funniest book about growing up Jewish since Portnoy’s complaint” (early 2026). You can learn more about David and his work at www.davidmichaelslater.com. Story submissions for the magazine should be sent to david@davidmichaelslater.com.
Five tiny delights:
Chocolate (if the chocolate is tiny, which means it’s also a tiny disappointment)
The three surreally beautiful Juniper trees beyond the window where I write
The smell of orange peels and Daphne
When my wife laughs at one of my dad jokes
Every single save I manage on the floorball court
Five tiny Jewish delights:
Every memory of my time at Camp Ramah
Corned Beef on challah (the above chocolate caveat applies here as well)
Looking at pictures of our long-ago couple’s tour of Israel
Hearing a truly great sermon
Witnessing every act of Jewish courage in these troubling times, no matter how tiny
Wow! Breathtaking writing. Chilling, and captivating at the same time.