By Felix Nussbaum, “Lovers,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
“Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic till I’m gathered safely in
Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove
Dance me to the end of love.”
–Leonard Cohen, “Dance Me to the End of Love”
Felix and Miriam hurried to reach the new hiding place along the coast. Felix had lost count of the number of places in which they’d hidden. Was it four? Five? In each, he had painted or sketched with whatever materials he could find. The urge to create was powerful.
Although most waterways were heavily fortified, Felix had been told the patrols in this rocky area were infrequent. Still, he wished the night was not so clear.
“I could swim to freedom from here, even with the rocks and waves,” said Miriam. She was a champion swimmer before war and restrictions intervened.
“You could, my little fish,” he replied, as he looked around. Something about the deserted quay did not feel right to Felix. He had always trusted his instincts.
“You hide here,” he told her. “I have a bad feeling about this place. If it’s OK. I’ll let you know. If it’s a trap, you must run for freedom.”
“But I can’t leave you,” Miriam replied.
“You must. For the sake of our child.” He put his hand on her belly.
She nodded. “First though, we must make a wish on that bright star.”
They held hands and closed their eyes. Then Felix clutched her, kissed her, and left.
He entered the deserted building. In the seconds before the Germans kicked in the door, he heard a faint splash in the distance. He had a good feeling that his wish had come true, and Miriam had escaped. He smiled as they beat him, knowing in his soul, that at least one of his creations would survive.
This is in response to Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge.
The prompt was the painting above by Felix Nussbaum. His family were German Jews who had been proud Germans. His father was a WWI veteran. Felix and his wife, Felka, also an artist, hid in several locations before they were discovered and sent to concentration camps. Felix Nussbaum’s entire family was murdered at Auschwitz. The Leonard Cohen song played in my mind with this painting.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 
A very poignant story.
Thank you, Cindy.
Once you know Nussbaum’s story, it’s hard to imagine anything but tragedy in his paintings. Your interpretation choked me up.
I agree. His story is so tragic.
The Holocaust is too awful to think about or comprehend in its entirety, I think. Sometimes I think we feel it more by hearing one person’s story.
I’m happy though that my interpretation moved you so.
The Holocaust touches a nerve with me, as deeply as if I was personally affected by it. Nothing else I can think of has that power to move, disgust, make me howl with helpless rage. I can’t bear to be in the same room as anyone who denies the horror of it. They make me physically violent.
I understand completely. I wonder if I have distant relatives who perished in it. (No one that I know about.)
And the madman running for president here is cozy with people who admire the Nazis.
There’s a book of photographs tracing the millennium (I think it’s just called Millennium) and there’s a photograph in it of children on one of the kindertransports. One of the boys is playing a violin. All of my children have asked me in amazement if that was papa. The kid looks exactly like my husband, who also plays the violin. The idea that it could have been my husband really touches a deep chord.
That made me shiver.
Especially as he doesn’t know much about his grandfather’s origins. His father was never very forthcoming.
Oh my! Extra shivers.
We’re all connected if you go back far enough;
Yes, indeed. That’s why I’ve never understood those who want to separate and discriminate.
Talking about this community and that community, just reinforces differences.
I picked out one line from this affecting story that describes you too and the energy and focus I see in your poetry: “The urge to create was powerful.” All it takes is historical facts and your imagination.
We will never, never forget . . . Thanks for imprinting the horrible with the hope of survival, Merril.
Thank you for the very kind words, Marian.
And you are quite welcome. I thought there was a tiny bit of hope in this, too, so I’m glad that message got through.
Oh, this is wonderful…in addition I love this song by Cohen and it is so beautifully woven into your writing.
Thank you so much for your wonderful comment!
I truly love this! Bravo.
Thank you!! 🙂
Oh, wow. I like your story’s ending so much better than the real story. Actually, I love your story so much, I wish it was an actual novel, and not just a bit of microfiction. I want more! It touched my soul. ❤
Awwww–thank you so much, Rachel.
You made my day!
( It probably would be a good novel–but it would take so much research.)
My oldest friend’s father perished in Auschwitz.
I’m so sorry! I cannot imagine.
When the horror is personalized it becomes more real.
What is worse is that there can be no confirmation of this.
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Beautiful story Merril, enjoyed this very much…there were so many people for whom this was a reality…
Thank you very much, Michael.
I know, and it scares me.
Beautiful story, sad but true, it’s hard to believe that these things happened.
Thanks for sharing.
Thank you, kiwinana.
It is sad and horrible that these things happen, and similar things still happen.