My Bridges of Hope by Livia Bitton-Jackson Page A

campers’ knowledge of Judaism, I proposed to conductclasses in subjects I learned during the past school year—physics, chemistry, math, health, geography, nature, and Russian. My proposal was greeted with enthusiasm. I set about devising games, quizzes, and competitions as framework so that even the little campers can participate in these sessions, mostly held in the shade of the pine forest encircling the villa. It has given me great pleasure to see the little ones just as attentive and as eager to learn as their older peers.
    In two weeks our vacation will be over. All summer I watched the mysterious distant hills with yearning and have dreamed of climbing one of them. Finally my fervent wish has come true. Next Sunday we are going on a mountain-climbing expedition to the highest peak in the area!
    It will be an all-day hike for the older campers, boys and girls. When I proposed it, Sruli thought a mountain-climbing expedition was a marvelous idea, and he helped me work out all the details.
    Mrs. Gold has agreed to care for the little ones when the two camps, together with a professional guide familiar with all the trails,set out at the crack of dawn for the mountains. It was Sruli’s idea to hire the friendly guide from the village, Shmuel, who offered his services within the first week of our arrival.
    Yesterday I took the girls to the village to buy good climbing shoes, extra shoelaces, and fruit.
    We are agog with excitement. All day Friday we prepare sandwiches and pack knapsacks.
    Sabbath is a glorious day. In the morning we conduct joint prayer services with the boys’ camp, in the open air. In the afternoon all the boys and girls sit in a large circle on the hillside overlooking the valley while Sruli delivers his weekly Sabbath discourse. The haze of July is gone; August glitters with diamondlike brilliance, revealing an endless row of peaks stretching to the horizon. Tomorrow we shall climb the highest among them!
    Sruli and the boys leave for their camp at sunset. Long shadows swallow up their silhouettes, one by one, as they begin their downward path. Sruli’s silhouette is last. Just before vanishing, he turns to wave. Or doeshe? I cannot be sure. The night is closing in rapidly.
    It is bedtime. We must retire early and rise before dawn, to be ready for meeting Sruli, the guide, and the boys at the gate precisely at five A.M.
    After putting all my campers to bed, Mrs. Gold and I check on the provisions. Food parcels, drinking vessels, first-aid kits—everything is in order, carefully packed in individual knapsacks.
    Mrs. Gold gives me a warm hug. “Much luck tomorrow, young lady!” she calls heartily. “And don’t worry about the little ones.”
    â€œThank you, Mrs. Gold,” I reply, and hug the kind, generous lady in return. “Good night.”
    As I lie in my bed, the crisp night air ruffles the satin curtains. Anticipation of the climb, the excitement of the challenge, the sense of responsibility—and the thought of spending the day in Sruli’s company—fill me to the brim. And keep me awake for a long time.
    Oh, God, am I entitled to such happiness?

A Rude Awakening
    The Tatras, August 11, 1946
    It must be past midnight when I finally fall asleep.
    Heavy pounding downstairs shakes me out of a deep trance. What time is it? It is still dark. Who keeps pounding on the front gate at this hour?
    In a daze I crawl out of bed. Now I hear hurried footsteps, whispered voices.
    â€œDon’t open the light, Mrs. Gold. Hurry, and call Miss Friedmann. I must speak to her at once. Please hurry.” It’s Sruli’s clipped voice. Urgency reverberates in the dead of night.
    My God, what’s going on? Groping in the dark, I make my way toward the hallway, where Mrs. Gold’s slim, robe-clad figure suddenly appears.
    â€œWhat time is it, Mrs. Gold? Why has Sruli come?”
    There’s a quiver in Mrs. Gold’s voice: “It’s