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An insane devotion
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An Insane Devotion
Mutti and Herr Finkham stooped low in the back room of Herr Finkham’s shop. The roar of broken glass was deafening. Shouts of Juden filled the street.
Smoke wafted into the shop. Mutti whispered, “Are they burning us alive?” Herr Finkham shook his head quickly. “It is from the shop across the street.” Mutti’s heart dropped. The kosher bakery. They are burning the cinnamon challah. That is why the smoke smells sweet.
“We should leave. Go back to the Blue House,” said Mutti.
“I did not run from the British. I did not run from the French. I will not run from my own people,” said Herr Finkham. Waves of brownshirts ran down the street, throwing rocks into Jewish businesses. Gloved hands grabbed Jewish goods for sale. All of the jewelry boxes in Herr Finkham’s front window disappeared. “They have taken the fake jewels,” whispered Mutti. At that Herr Finkham laughed.
Amid the noise, both Mutti and Herr Finkham heard the door open and the crunch of boots on glass. Herr Finkham’s face contorted as he tried to stand. His left hand gripped a metal pipe. With difficulty, he stood. As straight as he could, he faced the five young men.
“You Jews have fired the first shots. You have assassinated a German diplomat. As Hitler says good Germans will respond,” said one boy, the largest.
“I have served the German army all my life,” said Herr Finkham stiffly. “I am a good German.”
With that blows rained down on Herr Finkham’s head. Only when Mutti’s screams died did the boys stop. Turning to Mutti, the one who challenged Herr Finkham, looked down at her. He saw a gaunt old lady with grey hair crawling to a plump crooked old man, covered in blood. She was sobbing, frantically trying to stop the blood from his wounded head with her dress. He was dead.
“You may leave,” said the boy, pitying her.
“No. I will never leave my husband.”
Pitying her more, he killed her. It was like ending a dog’s misery.
Early the next morning, Sarah entered the shop, shoes crunching over glass. There, she found her parents, lying dead, hands entwined.

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