Rachel 8

During supper Mr Tendler is in an unusually withdrawn mood. By now I know him well enough, know he's deep in thought as opposed to angry.
As we're done, I say cheerfully, "Mrs Tendler, I'll be glad to feed the dishwasher."
"Thank you dear, you are always so helpful."
I grin, "here at least I have a dishwasher to feed."
Everyone except Himself laughs.
"No, don't go yet," he says quietly, "I've been thinking. Now everyone says a Jew has to be well informed, but that doesn't mean you have to kill yourself in the process. See there is nothing like Les Bienveillantes, it's in a class all of its own. You could read two dozen dreary books and still not learn as much as by reading it."
My skin crawls, I know exactly where he is headed.
"There is no childrens' version in English, might not be for years. Which means Naomi has to read two dozen dreary books instead. Could I ask you a favor Rachel?"
I nod.
"Read and translate aloud for Naomi as you go. Good learning experience for both of you."
"Yes, I could do that," relieved it hadn't been worse.
"That is not fair Dad," Naomi insists, "inflicts two heavy books on me, not one."
"Ok honey, you make the choice freely. It's either do this or else face the two dozen dreary books."
"Da-ad, you really have a nasty way of painting people into corners. Am I right Mum?"
Mrs smiles gently, "you take the free choice honey. But, I'll have you know, your father is right."
I sense Naomi groan inwardly.
He smiles gently, "honey you could read say Browning's 'Ordinary Men', but I'm guessing you'd be lucky to learn a tenth as much. If you are a Jew anyway, why not be an efficient one?"
The silence hangs for all eternity and then some, but probably only a minute of real time. Naomi says quietly, "your promise Dad, if I go through with this, you don't suggest any more books for two years. I have witnesses here, you know."
Indulgent smile, "all right honey, that's how important I feel it is," looks at the calendar, "you have my word, two years from today."
He turns to me, "please, don't start tonight, chances are you won't sleep well. Tomorrow evening is ok."
I raise an eyebrow, "you mean, the Sabbath?"
He gives a loud mock groan, winks, "oh come on, don't tease me like that, I'm not old fashioned. And after all, it is a Jewish topic."
Friday evening we tour with an Einsatzkommando, not just any one, the one which vacuumed Kiev. Saturday morning we're encircled at Stalingrad in the depths of winter. Saturday afternoon, it's off to Auschwitz to do research. And Saturday evening, it's the fall of Berlin, including an ending of stunning betrayal.
Now unless you happen to have spent twelve hours of your weekend in the hospital emergency waiting room, I can guarantee I had a lousier weekend than you.
But you know, give the devil his due, he was absolutely right. I'm left with a sense of having gone up Mount Everest on my first climb. After that, why on earth would you bother with anything else?