Lisa was
ecstatic when she called Sondra a week later and told her that her parents had
agreed to a bat mitzvah.
“Daddy’s
taking me to Wichita tomorrow to meet with the rabbi.”
“I’m happy
for you,” Sondra said.
“I think I’ll
ask the rabbi about the Soviet Jews.”
“Good
idea,” Sondra answered. She planned to ask Mr. Marcus for addresses on her next
trip to Kansas City.
She stayed
with Debbie again and, without being reminded, put all of her mukta
items in her purse and stowed the purse under her bed. After havdalah, before
the bowling party, Mr. Marcus looked over the sample letter she and Lisa had
written up. He made a few minor corrections and Monday, after school, Sondra
and Lisa took turns working on Herbert's typewriter in the basement. Howie
returned from swim practice and offered to help. His typing was much faster
than both of the girls' and in no time they were finished.
Afterwards,
they sat around the kitchen table and sipped hot chocolate and addressed the
envelopes. There was a nice comradeship between the three of them. It was the
first time that Lisa could remember that Howie and Sondra were together and did
not treat her like a pest.
“Were you scared
when you got up on the stagw at your bar mitzvah?” she suddenly asked her
brother.
“Not at
all.”
“How about
you?” Lisa turned to Sondra. “Were you scared when you were in The King and
I?”
“I was
terrified the first few minutes and then I was okay. Are you already getting
nervous about the bat mitzvah?”
“A little
bit,” Lisa admitted.
“I don’t
believe you!” Howie threw his arms in the air. “You nagged and nagged about
wanting a bat mitzvah and now you’re scared.”
“I didn’t
say I was scared,” Lisa responded with dignity. “I said I was nervous. There’s
a difference.”
“You’re
right,” Howie conceded. “Don’t worry. The rabbi is going to make you practice
your Torah portion so often you’ll be able to do it in your sleep.”
In less
than a month they had received replies from all of the congressmen. Although
the letters were sympathetic, it was clear that the war in Vietnam and the
protests against it were what held the attention of most of the politicians.
Sondra was at the spring play practice when she heard the news about Kent
State. National Guardsmen, who had been called in to control the anti-war
protests, had shot and killed four students on the Ohio college campus.
It was
Roger who announced the news. Although more than a year had passed since he had
asked Sondra to the prom, she was still sensitive to his emotions. She noticed
that his face had turned pale.
"I'm
going to Kent State next year." His voice was shaky.
"Maybe
you should change your plans," Charlie joked, but no one laughed.
"I can't
believe kids could get murdered just walking on campus," Christine spoke
softly.
"Who
says they were just walking," one of the freshman snapped. "The
National Guard was there because of all the protests, and some of them were
violent."
A few of
the kids agreed with the freshman, but most did not. Voices were raised and the
discussion became heated. Mrs. Wiggs called an end to the play practice and
sent everyone home.
By the next
day it was clear from the news that only one of the students had been
protesting. All of the others had been on their way to classes; one of had even
been going to his ROTC class. The mood at play practice was one of indignation,
but Mrs. Wiggs was able to maintain control. Later, as they walked out to the
parking lot, Sondra found herself deep in discussion with Jane, Roger, and two
other seniors.
"We
should have a memorial service for the slain students," one of the girls
said.
Roger
nodded his head. "I'm going to speak to the principal tomorrow at lunch
break. Does anyone want to go with me?"
"I
have an orthodontist appointment during lunch," Jane shook her head.
"I
have a paper to finish," the girl with the suggestion excused herself.
"Sorry, Roger," the other senior answered. "I had words with Dr. Martin last
week. I don't think I'll be an
asset."
"I'll
go with you," Sondra said quietly and found herself blushing when Roger
gave her a grateful smile.
As Dr.
Martin ushered them into his office Sondra thought how appropriate it was for
Roger to be the spokesman. With his conservative clothes and haircut he looked
nothing like a typical war protester. Surely the principal would listen to him.
He did. Dr. Martin sat patiently with his hands folded in front of him and gave
Roger his full attention. Once Roger finished Dr. Martin unfolded his hands and
placed them palm down on his desk.
"Those
students were killed on a college campus. We're a high school. How is that
relevant to the student body?"
"Well,
sir," Roger's voice was full of confidence, "a good percentage of the
student body will be going to college next year and, frankly, we're a little
scared."
Dr. Martin
nodded and drummed his fingers on his desk for a full five minutes. Finally he
nodded.
"Okay,
we'll let school out ten minutes early on Friday. Whoever wants to stay for the
service can. You can have the auditorium."
Roger
displayed none of the disappointment he felt, but he made one request.
"We'd
prefer to use the courtyard of the school, sir, if that's okay."
Dr. Martin
nodded his head and the two shook hands cordially.
Sondra, who
had not made a sound throughout the interchange, followed Roger silently out of
the office. Once the door was closed behind them Roger slammed his fist into
the palm of his hand.
"Ten
minutes! Wow! I hope if I get killed in college next year they'll give me more
than ten minutes."
"We
can make it as long as we want," Sondra pointed out as they entered the
cafeteria.
"Yeah,
but the bus students will have to leave as soon as the bell rings."
"I
didn't think about that," Sondra admitted and fell silent. She felt
totally inadequate to deal with her own emotions, much less Roger's. The
picture in her mind of the innocent students being gunned down by National
Guardsmen was too similar to the dozens of pictures she had in her mind of Jews
being gunned down by Nazis. The only way she could think of fighting the
injustice was to help with the memorial service.
There was a
meeting called for that afternoon in the library. To Sondra's chagrin, she
found that everyone else there were seniors. Plus, she happened to overhear
that Roger had just broken up with his girlfriend. She hoped he didn't think
she was chasing him. Embarrassed, she sat tongue-tied and left as quickly as
she could. She didn't go to the other meeting and told Roger that between
homework and play practice she had no time. She did stay for the memorial
service on Friday, though. The courtyard was crowded as almost all the seniors
and half of others were there. Four students held crosses with the names of the
slain students on them. Poems were read and everyone stood for a minute of
silence while one of the boys played taps on his trumpet. Roger and the others
had done a good job. The service was short and moving, but Sondra felt like an
outsider and went home feeling depressed.
Finding a
blue envelope in the mailbox when she arrived raised her spirits a bit.
Debbie's letters were always a treat and surely she would have something
comforting to say about Kent State. Eagerly Sondra tore open the letter and
read it as she walked up the path to the house. What her friend had written,
though, only shocked Sondra. Calling a quick hello to her mother she ran up the
stairs to her room and dialed her cousin's number.
"Howie,"
Sondra spoke breathlessly. "do you know that three of the students killed
at Kent State were Jewish?"
"Really?"
"That's what Debbie wrote."
"Some
of those names did sound Jewish," Howie admitted.
"Yeah.
And here they held crosses for them!"
"Don't
get so upset," Howie's voice sounded so calm. "Originally the cross
was just a symbol of death, not Christianity."
"You
think it was okay to hold a cross for them?"
"I did
not say that," Howie stated firmly. "But what’s done is done. We can
just comfort ourselves by thinking of it as a symbol of death."
"Well,
okay. But if I ever get killed you make sure no one holds a cross for me."
"We'll
see who goes first," Howie laughed.
Sondra
laughed halfheartedly in return. The fact that the students were Jewish made
her analogy to the Nazis gunning down Jews so much more apt. She spent the
weekend brooding the issue. Full of questions, she wondered whether Jews really
belonged in America. For the first time she contemplated going to Israel for
university, but dismissed the idea knowing her parents would not want her to go
so far away. On Monday morning, though, she resolutely pushed her depression
away. Play practice, term papers, end of the year examinations, and helping
with the bat mitzvah were ahead of her. There would be no time for moping.
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