Short Stories

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Even When He Is Silent


“Aufmachen!” a stern voice shouted, accented by fierce pounding on the front door. “In the name of der Führer!”
A girl sat at the table bent over a book. At the first knock, she turned pale and brushed a wisp of blond hair out of her eyes with a trembling hand. Mein Gott, no! With effort, she steadied her nerves.
“Fräulein,” She opened the door to a young officer, who nodded at her stiffly. “We have orders to search this house.”
“W-why?” A chill swept through her.
Fire sprang into the officer’s clear blue eyes and he sneered, spitting out one word. “Juden!”
The girl compressed her trembling lips. What choice did she have? She stepped away from the door and said stiffly, “Come in.”
“Danke, Fräulein.” The man accepted her invitation and stepped in out of the November chill. He glanced about the room before focusing on the girl’s face. The question was abrupt. “Where are the Jews?”
Something cold and numbing washed through the girl, freezing in her veins like ice. She forced a smile. “I assure you, Herr, I have no idea—”
“Come now, Fräulein,” said the officer with a short laugh. “Let us be honest with each another. Unser Führer does not have much patience with liars.”
The girl looked away from the man’s cold blue eyes and swallowed. They would find them. It did not matter what she said. And if they were going to be found anyway, why should she sacrifice herself and her family in the process? Forcing herself to meet the officer’s eyes without flinching, she whispered, “Look in the cellar.”
“A wise choice, Fräulein,” the man said, smiling.
Spinning on the heel of his polished black boot, he opened the door and shouted an order out to his waiting men.
Mechanically, the girl watched the men stamp through the house. As soon as they were out of sight, she pressed a hand to her forehead and fled to the bedroom. After twenty minutes of lying trembling on the bed, hands pressed against her ears, she crept out of the room, down the wooden steps, and into the cellar.
The room was cold—and empty. The girl bent down and picked up a gray woolen scarf that lay haphazardly on the floor. She turned it over in her hands, feeling its coarseness, inhaling the familiar scent. It had been Lea’s. Dear, sweet Lea, who was now—
The girl felt a blackness, a deep darkness, rise up within her, threatening to consume her. Oh mein Gott, what have I done?
She flung the scarf across the room, caught sight of something scrawled on the block wall, and froze.

Ich glaube an die Sonne auch wenn sie nicht scheint.
Ich glaube an die Liebe auch wenn ich sie nicht fühle.
Ich glaube in Gott auch wenn Er schweigt.

She felt as though her heart had been ripped in two and trampled into the dust by heavy, booted feet. With a cry, she fled up the stairs to the safety of the bedroom, the words seared into her mind.

I believe in the sun even when it is not shining.
I believe in love even when I cannot feel it.
I believe in God even when He is silent.

An hour later, she still lay on her bed, her heart dry and empty after the flood of tears and regret. How could one believe in the midst of such horrendous evil? She could still hear Lea’s sweet voice explaining, We do not believe because of what God does for us. We believe in Him because He is God.
She lay unmoving, dry-eyed. Then why did He—
We believe in him because He is God.
She clenched her right hand, breathing slowly and deeply. My Lord, I believe in You and Your Word.
Her hand relaxed. Two tears dropped. Even when You are silent.

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