Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4 - 7 2018 | Page 29

Journey to the Western World
Carmel School Association Elsa High School, Gershon, Lily - 14
W
hether to return to the western world was always a taboo topic to be discussed. Might I say it
was something many of us would only dream of during the war; however, that sense of reality
gradually vanished through our fingertips as our home slowly transformed into death camps.
Never in my life did I know I would end up like this. No, never would I think that I would be leaving my
home, life, and my childhood to live in a ghetto in the eastern parts of the world. But, the war was now
over, leaving us Jews in a state of confusion. Should we stay or must we go? Shanghai had become our
home; the essence of novelty had worn off.
“Out! Out! You filthy animals, you lot can return home now,” shouted the German troops. “Führer Hitler
died; you worthless lot can leave but don’t cause trouble again!”
The banging sounds got louder and louder and they gave trills down my spine. We were free to
live our lives, lives that are no longer being lived in tyranny. The Germans and Chinese rushed everyone
out of the ghetto. The stomping of families leaving the ghetto masked the sounds of screaming from
confused children. I stood in the middle of this chaos, suddenly time stood still. I was caught in a moment of
tension: what was I going to do with my life? I was longing for an adventure into the real world; however, I
felt I could not be welcomed by anyone anywhere. If I could not be accepted in my own home in Poland,
was it even possible to be accepted anywhere else? I screamed. I opened my eyes, and I was safe, still here in
the ghetto. I decided to get ready for the day ahead. I couldn’t stay in bed when there was a whole world
out there yearning to be explored. I could even go home! I rapidly changed into daytime clothes and went
downstairs to meet with the other Jews in the ghetto.
It was a new dawn, a new day. The news that Führer Hitler died had spread as fast as the speed of
light. The news that the war had ended jumped around the ghetto, enlightening everyone’s spirits — it gave
everyone the returning longing sense of hope for the future. The problem we, the Jews in the ghetto, faced
now was, what do we do now?
“Well, what more is left to say, Dalia? Our home back in Europe has been utterly destroyed. No, no use,
you may as well stay here and live out the rest of your life in Shanghai, after all, we have made this area into
our own,” said Mrs Kaminsky. She was always a funny one, never has she ever once missed an opportunity
to be cynical.
“But Mrs, have you ever pondered what has happened to Europe? Perhaps I can discover a new
world out there. The nature of us living here has become a habit, but I feel the world’s eagerness telling me
to leave the ghetto and get out there! I am going to make a journey to the west!” I replied, whilst jumping
out my seat.
“Is that so, Ms. Dalia Aderman? What about the funds to be able to travel? A young girl like you is
not able to travel unaccompanied! Where are you going to go? My dear, I believe you are living in a
fantasy,” said Mrs Alberstain. These comments circled the room as if everyone was mirrored, and the
comments they spoke of reflected everyone else. I began to feel myself bubbling with frustration.
“I am not concerned with all those matters. I’m concerned that I am going to be trapped in this
ghetto when there is a whole world out there! Why waste this opportunity to be free from the mental
slavery of being forced into one place when we now can live our lives free?” I replied. “Someone has to
understand my thoughts! Well, I cannot stay here much longer. I am going to leave.”
I began to gather my belongings, packing away my memories, a nd storing away everything I learnt from
living in the ghetto. I felt a sense of sadness and guilt. I was leaving the place that welcomed me with open
arms to go into the unknown. I felt numb; I was at last able to live a life not in fear. This felt strange. I
slowly walked down the stairs and looked beyond the ghetto.
“Ms Aderman! Come here, darling girl. Take this. You may need it as you embark on your
journey,” shouted Mrs Beranstein. Mrs Beranstein, the humble old lady, handed me a grey coloured knitted
scarf. I put it around my neck and immediately felt comforted.
“Dear Mrs Beranstein,” I said whilst hugging her, “I shall write to you whenever I can. Oh, will I
miss you! Thank you for everything.”
Mrs Beranstein and I exchanged smiles and then I walked out of the ghetto. I turned around and
took in a final glimpse of the ghetto. I nodded and smiled, then began my journey.