William Kienzle - Requiem for Moses

Koesler studied the display of some portraits and candid shots of the late doctor, his family and a few hangers-on. He felt he was “getting acquainted.” He had never met Moses Green-in either of the doctor’s lives. Koesler had never even seen the doctor, except in his casket, falling out of it and, finally, after the fact, on his deathbed.

Koesler heard a commotion. It reminded him of something, but he was unsure of what. He turned. There, standing in the doorway was Sophie-good old Aunt Sophie. The last time he had seen her she’d been knocking Dan Reichert head over heels, and then, as it were, awakening the dead.

So imposing was she that it was not until she had approached him that he noticed that Margie Green, overshadowed by Sophie’s presence, had entered the room.

Sophie looked Koesler up and down several times. Finally, she spoke. “So, you’re the priest. Such a waste!”

Koesler was unsure how to take the remark. The implications ran from his being worth nothing to his being a desirable but unattainable male. Since Sophie was smiling, he took the remark as meant to be positive.

“We got to talk,” Sophie ordered.

Koesler had come primarily to talk to Mrs. Green. But a postponement of that conversation now seemed inescapable.

“Come in here.” Sophie led the way into an alcove where they could have some privacy. Koesler followed her.

Conveniently, there were just two upholstered chairs in the tiny room.

Sophie sat in one chair and shifted until her bulk was comfortable.

Then, a remarkable transformation occurred. Aunt Sophie seemed to leave a persona behind. She spoke English devoid of the Yiddish dialect and delivery. She also lost her comic appearance.

“I think it’s important for you to know something,” she said, making strong eye contact. “You put your neck on the chopping block for Moe when you let him be waked in your church. And, as far as I’ve been able to learn, you’ve been involved in this thing ever since.

“Maybe I’m wrong, but you might be sucked into this thing deeper even than you know.”

She had Koesler’s undivided attention.

“In a hurry,” she continued, “I have to tell you the story of Moses Green-or Wilhelm Bloom.”

Koesler’s mouth dropped open.

“It happened right after Kristallnacht. Do you know about that?”

Koesler nodded. “The Night of the Broken Glass … although I can’t give you an exact date.”

“November 9, 1938. Goebbels, the propagandist, ordered Nazis to get rough with German Jews. In twenty-four hours, more than thirty thousand Jews were arrested. Nearly one hundred were murdered on the spot. Seven thousand Jewish businesses were destroyed. And nearly three hundred synagogues were burned. In twenty-four hours! Some German Jews got the drift and some didn’t.

“My father, Nathan Greenberg, was a medical doctor and lecturer. Kristallnacht taught him that Hitler was determined to make life miserable for the Jews. I don’t think anybody then could have realized that the Nazis were going to try to wipe out an entire race.

“But, as I said, Father had a pretty good idea, at least partly, what was about to happen. He had prepared an escape route and put away all the money he could spare. He and his family would flee to America.

“We had a maid, a faithful woman named Erika. She had Catholic parents. But that didn’t stop her father from abusing her. Right around this time, early in ’38, Erika got pregnant by her father.

“With her mother’s consent-she wanted to get Erika away from her father-we took her in. Her father threatened to make trouble, but my father was a prominent man. Even though my father was Jewish, he could have made big trouble for him. So her father backed off.

“My father had a friend, an older man, Israel Bloom-a Jew, of course. He took pity on Erika and married her-to give the child a name. As it turned out, he didn’t do her any big favor. Not when, very soon, being a Jew in Nazi Germany carried a death penalty.

“Anyway, Erika had her baby, Wilhelm Bloom. In spite of his last name, the baby was as far away as you can get from being Jewish. His parents were Catholic.

“Then came Kristallnacht.” She was quiet, remembering. After a moment, she continued. “Even with a name like Bloom, Erika was sure she could weather this storm. But she wasn’t so sure about her baby. And in that she was correct. Some storm trooper probably would have picked up a baby named Bloom and bashed his head against a wall. Erika begged us to take Wilhelm with us.

Erika had been like one of our family. Father wanted to take both Erika and her baby with us. But Erika had family-an aged mother, and aunts and uncles. She decided she had to stay. It almost killed her to part with her son, but she knew it was the only way.

“We took Wilhelm with us. My parents adopted him and renamed him Moses Greenberg. Later, in this country, we dropped the ‘berg’ and became just Green.

“I was five years older than Moe. Even at that tender age, events were so traumatic that I knew and remembered what was going on.

“Father made a good living in this country. He was instrumental in getting Moe into medical school.

“Moe and I grew apart. There was something … dark … about Moe. I always thought it was due to his natural father, who could be and frequently was a vicious animal. Anyway, Erika died in a concentration camp. Even though she was Catholic, she couldn’t live down that name.”

“Then …” Koesler closed his mouth to get the saliva moving again. “Dr. Moses Green was not Jewish?”

Sophie shook her head. “His parents were Catholic, and he was baptized Catholic.”

Koesler thought another few moments. “He certainly seemed to think he was Jewish.”

“He did!” Sophie said. “He did think he was Jewish!”

Koesler tipped his head to one side, and once again his mouth hung loose. “You mean,” he said at length, “no one ever told him this story?”

“No one. It seemed best to try to give him as much stability as possible. Especially since he had spells, that grew more frequent, of that vicious streak he maybe inherited from his real father.”

“How many people were in on that secret?”

“As few as possible. My parents and me, of course. Some of our close relatives. It got to be a solemn pact. When he married the first time, it was to a Jewish girl. We all felt the marriage wouldn’t last. She didn’t have a clue as to how to handle Moe. And, just as we expected, it broke up before long.

“When he married Margie, it was like history coming full circle. She was Catholic-just like his birth parents. Our family disowned him, for all practical purposes. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. All his life I tried to protect him-as nasty as he could be.

“Anyway, this girl-Margie-looked like she could handle him. As time went by, I gave it a real good chance of lasting. So, eventually, I told her.”

“You told Margie about Moses! She knew he wasn’t Jewish! And still he didn’t know?”

Sophie sat further back in the chair and nodded more vigorously.

“This verges on the incredible.”

“Believe me,” Sophie said with utmost seriousness, “if I had known Margie as I do now, I would never have let her in on the secret. Oh, no!”

“What do you-”

But Koesler’s question was interrupted by the announcement that the memorial service was about to begin.

There was a shuffling of chairs, and Sophie rose to join the others. Her parting words to Koesler were, “Be careful.”

The memorial ceremony largely escaped Koesler’s awareness. Ordinarily he liked to compare liturgies of Catholic and non-Catholic denominations. Often he was able to pick up useful insights.