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JOIN THIS POWERFUL & INSPIRING EVENT TO BLESS THE SUN…
IT ONLY HAPPENS
ONCE IN 28 YEARS…
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The Blessing of the Sun:
Birkas HaChamah
The Road Home
A NovelAviva Cytryn
The Road Home
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Book Excerpt from The Road Home
The Road Home
A Novel
Aviva Cytryn
The performance started promptly at eight. Waiting was a funny business. I knew that on stage the performance was going on, but I couldn’t see any of it. I just knew that after the first act was entirely over, that was my cue to get up there. I also could not be critical of the performance. I couldn’t tell whether it was good or bad. To me, it was just real.
As I stepped out on stage for the very first time, with Jula and Peter beside me, I took a moment to look at the audience. It’s interesting that the first thing I noticed was that I couldn’t see anything. I knew that the audience was there, and that they were all looking at me, but to me the auditorium was a dark void, vast and unfeeling. I was no longer afraid — I did not fear what I could not see.
I remember nothing about my thoughts during the performance. My fingers moved skillfully on their own, well trained from months of practice. I let the music guide me, and I knew that if I stopped to think about what I was playing, I would lose my flow. Somehow I remembered to think of my mother and hoped that she could see me. I sent her a loving thought and felt her presence once again surrounding me.
When I finished to thunderous applause, I knew one thing. I wanted this. I wanted to spend my life waiting in the wings of stages. I wanted to feel the anxiety before a performance and revel in the aftermath of a job well done. I needed to be up there. I was born for the stage.
After the show, I was greeted with flowers and hugs from Monika and her parents and a box of chocolates from Ela. A light rain was falling outside. The tree branches glittered as if made out of diamonds, and the city had never looked more beautiful.
“Where’s Papa?” I asked.
Ela answered. “He caught the whole show. He was bursting with pride.”
“But where is he?” I looked around.
“Out in the car, waiting for you. He will take you home.”
Papa was inside the car, just as Ela had said. He didn’t look at me until I was seated next to him. He was staring blankly, straight ahead. I was waiting for him to comment on my performance. I blushed slightly in anticipation of the praise that was sure to be forthcoming. But a long moment passed without a single word from Papa. Finally, I could stand it no longer. I burst out, “Papa, what did you think of the show?”
He smiled at me. “With such a breathtaking performance by my only daughter, how could I have been anything but proud? For a moment you looked so much like your mother up there on that stage. She, too, was confident and self-assured. In so many ways, you remind me of her.” He smiled again, but he could not hide the sadness lurking behind that smile.
There was an awkward silence. This was the first time Papa had spoken of Mama, really spoken of her, since she passed away. I didn’t know what to say.
Papa fumbled in his coat pocket. “Here, I almost forgot. I bought you something. A gift of congratulations on your opening night.” He handed me a small box wrapped in silver.
I gasped as I opened it. It was a thin gold ring with a delicate silver rose engraved on it. I looked up at Papa wordlessly, my eyes shining. More than the ring, I sensed that Papa was finally approving of my music, and that made me happier than any gift could. I slipped it onto my third finger and beamed at the perfect fit.
Impetuously I gave Papa a hug and babbled, “Oh, Papa! Isn’t it wonderful? And this is only the beginning. I will still be working hard, but I’ll just have to keep practicing under Mrs. Sellik at MPAS until —”
“No. I am afraid that will be quite impossible.” Papa’s voice was quiet.
I shook my head, confused.
“I’ve heard new reports that the relocating of Jews under the Nazi control is due to start here in Poland any time now.” He paused. “There is a train leaving for England on Thursday. And you will be on it.”
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