We strolled into a Gestapo office in central Warsaw and faced three self-assured Aryan. They were easier to snuff than a cigarette, Renia K. wrote later. Dragon sisters we called ourselves. We guised as farm girls with braids, kerchief tied around. Took them and like sacks of potatoes left them in the shade. The blond dye and chutzpah, rage, a deep buried hope, a housemaid job, belts for the contraband, an iron will. Women so unlike me--they were the fight to my flight--hope was daily, a put on like lipstick you reached down for it, the rest of your face obsessively cluttered in a jute bag. I was sixteen when I left Hungry for Palestine, but had come back to Europe. The "courier girls" confused me, the active pride of them at parties held by a smuggler. They had money too, and fake IDs, plenty of jokes to relieve fear, and said marmalade jars were perfect for grenades. One said my smile wasn't fake enough and I should practice looking at my Nazi killers directly ...
Leg Squat blog welcomes you to a growing portfolio of middle school fairytales and young children stories. See the archive for articles related to Prophetic Nuclear Disarmament or Prayer Against Torture. The title is a play on the combined meanings of the prefix Leg- (Latin legere) to gather, choose, pluck, read: lectern, lecture. Squat. -n. The lair of a hare.