Narrative: Who Are We Are Here Today?

Ingrid and I were good friends growing up. Three times a week we did gymnastics, and we spent much of the time in between together as well. Before practice, which started at 4, we would always go to Ingrid’s grandparents, who made us lunch and gave us rides. This was a practical arrangement, as all of our parents were working past practice hours. Going to her grandparents became something we would look forward to.
As kids we come and go, without registering much of what the things around you might say about somebody. In retrospect, I am glad to have made the acquaintance of my friends grandparents. The story I am about to tell was highly formative.
Ingrid’s grandparents were Jewish, and so was Tiril herself. When you are a kid, those differences

in belief don’t really show much, but I was to discover that it defined her family’s story.
Due to a severe thunderstorm one Wednesday afternoon, practice got canceled. The grandmother put on a pot of water, and prepared hot chocolate for us. The grandfather found blankets, and implied for us to sit down by the fireplace. A lamp was turned on in the left corner of the living room, but other than that, it was dark around us.
“What did you learn at school today, girls?” said the grandfather, as he leaned back in his chair, immediately at comfort.
“We’re learning about us!” Ingrid responded excitedly. I found myself somewhat confused as to what she was referring to. I had no recollection of learning anything particularly related to us.
“Good for you. Would you tell me what you were taught about us, sweetie?” the grandpa asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“Ms. Jakobsen taught us about the Menorah and Hanukkah. Oh, and Kosher! And tomorrow we’re reading a story about Moses,” Ingrid answered, seemingly more engaged the more she remembered. I couldn’t recall all of those names, but I grew aware of the little tiny hat on grandpa’s head. That on the other hand, connected to what we had learned about Judaism in religion today, as the Kippah was one of their visible features.
For a little while longer, we kept talking about school and defining concepts in Judaism. Not until grandma joined us, would we enter the deeper, darker aspects of Jewish history, and what significance it had for Ingrid’s family.
She sat down next to grandpa, raising her legs to the footrest, as she started, tentatively:
“Ingrid and Nora, our journey here has not been easy. Soon, I believe you will learn about the persecution of Jews in history. Do you know what that means?” grandma asked softly.
Ingrid cast a glance at me to see if I did, and we shook our heads together in response.
“Persecution is when somebody punishes you, or treats you with hostility, because of your race or religious beliefs. It is not right to persecute anyone at any time, regardless of the circumstances,” grandpa assisted.
“We are here today because we had no other choice.

Persecution leaves you with two options, and those are either to surrender or to escape. When I was just a little girl, I had to leave my friends and my town in Austria because of the ongoing persecution. Survival was critical, and we had to act fast. Your great grandparents, Ingrid, took me and my brother away in time. We went to Paris, but we did so without my grandparents. My grandmother was virtually incapable because of her bad hips, and they couldn’t find the strength to move quickly and hunt for a new home. It was too overwhelming for them, and there was nothing we could say, nor offer to make them come with us. Luckily, perhaps, I didn’t understand what this meant for their fate until later. Yet, I still remember our goodbyes. My grandma made me promise to keep my head high, and never let anyone tell me how to live my life. As with their fates, I didn't understand this until much later in life.” Ingrid’s grandma paused at this point, and stood up. She left the room, but came back with an orange, tiny

star.
“This is the star of David.

In the 30s in Germany, an Austrian man called Hitler came to power. He was a dictator, and he ordered persecution of the Jewish people. He believed there was a superior race, the Aryan, and the rest were not to have power in this world. At the bottom of his list were the Jews, and he demanded that all Jews were to wear an orange star, the Star of David, to mark their inferiority. The dictator’s followers, the Nazis, followed his orders, and this is ultimately the reason we had to escape. The Holocaust, this period of unjust treatment and gruesome manslaughter, cost the lives of over 6 million Jews in total. Luckily, we managed to get to France in time, but it wasn’t safe there for long. Paris was soon after invaded, and therefore we couldn’t stay there either. So we left for Portugal, temporarily, as we didn’t intend for it to be our new home, primarily because it felt too close to the war zone. We made the decision to cross the pond to Brazil, but we did so without your great grandma. One sunny morning in June, my mom went to the market in the town of Lisbon, but she never returned. The time after, dealing with my little brother and a heartbroken dad, I started losing faith. When we got to Brazil, I found myself committing crimes, such as stealing and threatening innocent people. I was burnt out, and I believed in no such thing as humanity any longer.” At this point, Ingrid’s grandmother had lost herself in the horrifying memories and looked

rather grim. Nevertheless, she finished her story:
“Luckily, those days came and they passed. Your grandpa came to my rescue when I needed him the most. He found me crawled up in the corner of the grocery store in Brasilia. Everything was cheerful and festive in that city, and the fact that your grandpa found me there, and reached out to me amid all this happiness, remains my greatest compliment to this day.”
Ingrid’s grandfather reached for her hand, stroking it gently. She pressed it hard, and drew her breath quietly. She was on the brink of bursting out in tears. Ingrid leant closer, wanting to comfort her, and delicately reaches the other hand.
The story was overwhelming. Frustration boiled inside of me, and steam was let out as I breathed. More than anything, I wished that I was empowered to change the stories of so many. Six million Jews were lost because of one man’s power and persuasion. Knowing Ingrid’s grandmother, and how sweet and loving she is, it was a difficult truth to comprehend. Losing faith in humanity when such injustice is done upon you, I believe, is the only logical response, as unfortunate as it is.
“Your grandfather invited us to come to Norway, where he lived, and stay with him until we could find better. He said he didn’t have much to offer, but he wouldn’t leave our situation as it was in Brazil. He could assure safety and protection with him, and so we accepted. The war had ended, and I had a lot to learn about the world. Love came into the picture later, but gratitude and kindness have not been absent since that day,” she smiled, and met our eyes again.

I looked around the room. For the first time, I noticed the brown boxes in the corners. They had no intentions of moving, nor had they recently moved. Those boxes had been never been unpacked. A reflection of the concept of homes came to me. Home was a relative concept for Ingrid’s grandmother. It had been taken away from her time after time, and destructed to the point where she couldn’t settle her heart and soul anywhere. That is, in any place other than her husband’s heart. She carried a heartbreaking story, but she held her promise nevertheless, and kept her head high.
Outside, the sun had come out.