Ruth and the Night of Broken Glass , livre ebook

113

pages

English

Ebooks

2020

Écrit par
Carlson Berne Emma , Emma Bernay

Publié par
Capstone Global Library

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113

pages

English

Ebooks

2020

Lire un extrait

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne En savoir plus

Publié par

Capstone Global Library

Date de parution

25 juin 2020

EAN13

9781474787291

Langue

English

Poids de l'ouvrage

7 Mo

In the late summer and early autumn of 1938, ten-year-old Ruth Block, along with her father, mother and best friend, Miriam, must navigate the increasing pressure placed on the Jewish population in Frankfurt, Germany. Ruth grows more worried by the day. Her father's stationery store is shut down; she and Miriam are mocked in the street; their school is closed. Then one night in November, the family's flat is broken into. Ruth's father is dragged into the square and arrested, along with hundreds of other Jewish men. Ruth, her family, her friends and her community struggle to survive the fiery night and the terrifying, uncertain future ahead of them. Featuring non-fiction support material, a glossary and reader response questions, this story takes readers to Kristallnacht, the Night of Broken Glass, one of history's most important moments.

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Publié par

Capstone Global Library

Date de parution

25 juin 2020

EAN13

9781474787291

Langue

English

Poids de l'ouvrage

7 Mo

G I R L S S U R V I V E

RUTH AND THE NIGHT OF BROKEN GLASS A World War II Survival Story

G I R L S S U R V I V E

Raintree is an imprint of Capstone Global Library Limited, a company incorporated in England and Wales having its registered office at 264 Banbury Road, Oxford, OX2 7DY – Registered company number: 6695582

www.raintree.co.uk myorders@raintree.co.uk

Text and illustrations © Capstone Global Library Limited 2020 The moral rights of the proprietor have been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means (including photocopying or storing it in any medium by electronic means and whether or not transiently or incidentally to some other use of this publication) without the written permission of the copyright owner, except in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 or under the terms of a licence issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, Barnard’s Inn, 86 Fetter Lane, London, EC4A 1EN (www.cla.co.uk). Applications for the copyright owner’s written permission should be addressed to the publisher.

978 1 4747 8728 4

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A full catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Acknowledgements Newscom: Pictures From History, 107; Shutterstock: Max Lashcheuski (background), 2 and throughout; Tom Uhlman, 112; XNR Productions, 105

The author is grateful to Dr Alan E. Steinweis, Professor of History and Miller Distinguished Professor of Holocaust Studies at the University of Vermont, USA, for answering many questions about Kristallnacht and daily life in Frankfurt, Germany in1938.

RUTH AND THE NIGHT OF BROKEN GLASS A World War II Survival Story

b y E m m a C a r l s o n B e r n e i l l u s t r a t e d b y M a t t F o r s y t h

ONE CHAPTER

Frankfur t, Germany Miriam’s apar tment 7 November 1938

“Miriam!” I knocked on the carved wooden door at the back of my best friend’s apartment. The door swung open, and Miriam stood there,

slightly out of breath and covered in flour. Behind her, I could see her mother in the kitchen, mixing something in a bowl. Her father, Rabbi Gluck, was sitting at the table, hunched over two huge Talmudic texts. His long, black beard almost brushed the surface.

It was a familiar sight. Rabbi Gluck was the rabbi for our synagogue – really our whole neighbourhood – so he was often studying religious books.

“Do you want to come with me to get butter?” I asked. “Mama’s making the cake for my party tonight, and she’s just run out.”

“Are you excited about turning twelve, bubbeleh?” Mrs Gluck asked as she kneaded the challah dough.

“Yes, Mrs Gluck,” I replied.

She smiled at me, then turned to Miriam.

“Miriam, you might as well go,” she said. “You’re getting as much flour on yourself as in the bread dough.”

Miriam grinned at me and grabbed her coat.

Together we hurried out of the door. Outside, we

brushed through the busy crowds that always lined

the pavements of our Frankfurt neighbourhood.

“So, who’s coming to the party?” Miriam asked. We wound our way around a man in a Nazi uniform making a speech. There were so many

grey and brown uniforms on the streets now, not

to mention swastika flags with the red background and the twisted black cross. Papa said they were all

over Germany. I was used to them at this point, but

they never failed to make me uneasy. “Everyone in our class!” I said, pausing at a stack of newspapers outside the grocer’s.

I felt angry – and a little sick in my stomach

– when I saw the front page. On the very top of the pile, a large cartoon showed an octopus with a twisted-up face grasping the globe with all eight

of his tentacles. A Jewish star floated above the octopus’s head, and black goo dripped from its arms.

“What does it mean?” I asked.

“Jews are strangling the world, I guess,” Miriam

said beside me. We looked at each other, and I could tell Miriam felt as upset as I did. Lately the newspapers seemed

to carry more and more anti-Jewish cartoons and

articles. Papa had said it was Joseph Goebbels.

Führer Hitler had appointed him head of the

Ministry of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda. Goebbels didn’t like Jews. None of the Nazis did. “It’s not right, saying things like that,” I said

furiously. I flung the newspaper face down so we

couldn’t could see the cartoon any more.

“Those cartoons are everywhere lately. I hate

seeing them,” Miriam murmured. I put my arm through hers and pulled her toward the grocer’s. “I know,” I said. “But we’re

notdisgusting octopuses or whatever that was. And

it’s not OK for them to say so. I don’t care how

important they are.”

The bell over the grocer’s door tinkled as

Miriam and I entered the shop. We’d shopped for

food here since I was little. Frau Hermann was not

Jewish, so her shop wasn’t kosher, but Mama always sent us to buy milk, butter and vegetables there.

Frau Hermann was behind the counter, arms

crossed over her ample middle, as always. When

she saw us, her face tightened into a frown.

“Hello!” I greeted her as we approached the

counter. “How is Helga?” Frau Hermann’s daughter, Helga, was just a couple of years younger than Miriam and me.

“There is no need to ask after Helga,” Frau

Hermann said shortly. Her voice was oddly

strangled. She shot a glance over her shoulder

towards the back room. “What do you want?”

she snapped.

“Ah, b-butter,” I stammered, stung and

bewildered by her harsh tone. It was drastically

different from her normal, friendly voice.

Frau Hermann opened the fridge and practically

threw a block of paper-wrapped butter across the

counter. “Take it and get out. Don’t come back.

You’re not welcome here any more.”

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