Date with a Stranger
Ivanna walked along the filthy, overcrowded streets of the ghetto on her way to work. Like many of the young girls in the surrounding neighborhood, she worked in one of the many factories located along the banks of the river. Ivanna was a bright girl and would have done well had she gone to college, but opportunities for those who lived in the ghetto were scarce. Their choices were few. One could either work in the factories or else starve.
Buttoning her thin, ragged coat against the frigid, wintry weather, Ivanna hurried past the desperate, wretched inhabitants who were temporarily leaving the ghetto to make their daily living. Amid the throng of the hungry, weary and shivering populace, a single face stood out from the rest. It was a stranger. Ivanna stared with admiration at the fair skin, the blond hair and the blue eyes.
What is he doing here? she wondered. He is not one of us.
Ivanna knew she should hurry. If she was late for work, she might lose her job. As terrible as the working conditions at the factory were, she desperately needed that situation and had been fortunate to get it. If Ivanna didn't perform her duties to the owner's satisfaction, she could quickly be replaced by any one of a hundred or more eager, starving girls.
With this fear in mind, Ivanna started to run down the crowded street. At the corner, unable to resist the temptation, she turned and looked one more time at the attractive stranger. She felt a nervous spasm in her stomach as she met the young man's hypnotic blue eyes. He had been watching her, she realized with a pleasant surprise. The stranger stared briefly at her and then smiled.
"Come on, Ivanna," her friend Mariana urged, tugging on her coat sleeve. "We don't want to be late for work."
* * *
Throughout the day, as Ivanna toiled away at the factory, she daydreamed about the blond-haired, blue-eyed stranger she had glimpsed in the crowd. She had never before seen so handsome a man, either in or out of the ghetto. She knew it was foolish of her to dwell on thoughts of him. Most likely, she would never see him again.
Yet why shouldn't she engage in a little harmless romantic fantasy? It wouldn't hurt anyone, and it didn't cost anything. Lately, there had been no pleasure in her life at all—nothing except hard work, hunger and fear.
On the walk home from the factory that evening, an exhausted Ivanna searched the faces of the people who passed by her on the dark, crowded streets, hoping for a sign of the fair-haired, handsome man, but he was nowhere to be found. Even though she had not seriously expected to see him again in this Mecca of poverty and despair, the young woman was nonetheless disappointed.
For the next several days she scanned the faces in the crowd each morning and evening, on her way to and from the factory. Even if she were to find him, she had no idea what she would do. Would she speak to him? It was extremely doubtful. He was, after all, a stranger, and it would be inappropriate for her to be so forward.
Eventually, Mariana noticed her friend's unusual behavior.
"Ivanna," she asked. "What's come over you these past few days? Sometimes when I talk to you, it doesn't seem like you're even listening. Are you feeling well?"
"I'm fine. I've just been daydreaming. That's all. Nothing for you to worry about."
Mariana's face lit up with excitement.
"It's a man, isn't it?"
"No," Ivanna lied unconvincingly.
"Come on, you can tell me. We're best friends. Who is it?"
"I don't know who he is," Ivanna admitted. "I never actually met him. In fact, I only saw him once, a few days ago on my way to work."
"This is a small neighborhood," Mariana suggested. "Someone in your family or mine must know him."
"I doubt it. He's not from around here."
"Oh? How can you tell if you've never met him before?"
"Because he's got fair skin, blond hair and blue eyes."
Mariana's features hardened into a mask of hatred.
"You mean he's one of them?"
Mariana, like the majority of the residents in the ghetto, saw things in black and white. Everyone fell into a category. There were them and us, good men and bad, right and wrong.
"I don't know," Ivanna confessed, "but I suppose he is."
"Well, you just listen to me: forget about him. It's for your own good. You know that it's because of people like him that we're forced to live here in this hell hole! Surely, there are men of our kind to daydream about."
"Why must there always be barriers between people?" Ivanna cried. "Race, sex, religion, nationality—why do people let all these petty distinctions matter so much? We're all born on this earth. While we're here, we all laugh and cry; we feel joy and pain; we grow old, and then we die. I don't understand why we can't all get along for the short time we're here."
"How can you say that they are like us? Those people have no hearts. Just look at what they are doing to our people."
"I suppose you're right," Ivanna admitted and then abruptly changed the subject.
* * *
Three days later Ivanna again walked along the filthy, crowded streets of the ghetto. Spring had come, and the weather was getting milder. Somewhere, far from the city, trees were sprouting their new green leaves, and the first colorful flowers of the season were starting to bloom.
The winsome girl closed her eyes briefly and let the sun's rays warm her face as she imagined herself walking through a country field. When she opened them again, she spotted the face of the fair stranger. As before, the nervous spasm gripped her stomach.
The handsome man, who was only a few feet away from Ivanna, once again looked directly into her large, doe-like brown eyes and smiled. He then walked toward her.
"Hello, Ivanna," he said.
Her heart leaped with joy. The stranger knew her name!
"Do I know you?" she asked, feeling the blush warm her face.
"We haven't officially met yet, but I know you've seen me in the crowd."
"Yes, I have," she admitted shyly. "I don't mean to be rude, but I'm on my way to work now and I can't be late or else I'll lose my job."
"I wouldn't want that to happen. Would you mind if I walked with you?"
Ivanna's blush deepened as the stranger fell in step beside her.
"Do you live here in this neighborhood?" she asked innocently.
"No. In fact, I have no real home. I travel from place to place, rarely stopping for any length of time."
"I could think of many other places I'd rather visit than here."
"I go where duty leads me," he said cryptically. Before Ivanna had the chance to question him about his mysterious duty, the stranger continued, "I'd really like to see you again. Perhaps we could meet somewhere one night when you're done working."
"I don't know. My parents are old-fashioned. They like my friends to come to the house, so they can meet them."
The stranger bit his lip.
"I doubt your parents would approve of me."
Ivanna didn't dispute his claim. Her parents would take one look at the fair-skinned stranger and would see not a potential friend, but a hated enemy, for they, like Mariana, divided people into two opposing groups: them and us.
"Maybe we could meet for a little while," Ivanna said shyly.
The handsome stranger smiled and promised, "I'll see you again soon."
Then he turned and without another word disappeared into the crowd.
* * *
Ivanna did not see the mysterious stranger that evening when she left the factory, nor did she see him the following day. Weeks passed, in fact, and there was no sign of him, but Ivanna could not forget their brief meeting. On the contrary, she thought of little else.
It's so ridiculous, she chastised herself. I don't even know his name.
As the weeks went by with no sign of the stranger, Ivanna stopped scanning the faces of people she passed in the streets. Instead, she walked with her head down and her eyes on the pavement beneath her. The poor, starving residents of the ghetto had been given another cross to bear. Disease was now spreading through the crowded tenements, and many people were dying. It was not unusual to see half-starved, naked bodies lying on the sidewalk, their clothes taken right off their backs by their starving, disease-ridden neighbors.
"Ivanna," a soft, familiar voice called her from behind.
The young woman turned, surprised to see the fair-haired, blue-eyed man after all the time that had passed.
"You haven't forgotten me, have you?" he asked with a smile that melted Ivanna's heart.
"You know I haven't. I expected to see you sooner though."
"I am a bit late in keeping our date. Allow me to apologize. I've been very busy lately. Can we go someplace and talk now?"
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"Is it because you're afraid your parents won't approve of me?"
"No. It's just ...."
Ivanna couldn't adequately describe her feeling of unease.
"I know nothing at all about you, not even your name."
The fair-haired stranger smiled and said, "Call me Mort."
"My friend Mariana has an Uncle Mort," Ivanna said.
"Now that you know my name, can we keep our date?"
Ivanna looked deeply into his blue eyes and felt a strange sense of tranquility.
"I guess we can talk for a little while."
Mort led Ivanna down a narrow alley that led to the ruins of a burned-out building.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asked nervously.
"It's one of the few places in this neighborhood where we can be alone."
Suddenly, Ivanna was frightened. Her fear stemmed not from the fact that he was one of them, but rather from the simple fact that he was a man, and she was a defenseless woman.
Mort sensed her anxiety.
"You'll be safe with me," he promised gently. "I only want to talk to you."
Ivanna stood still, poised for flight, like a deer caught in the headlights of an automobile.
"Don't be afraid of me."
Mort's blue eyes held so much tenderness, so much compassion, that Ivanna would have followed him to the ends of the earth.
The interior of the building had been gutted by a recent fire. The walls were charred black, and the acrid smell of smoke still hung in the air. Mort went into another room and returned with two wooden stools that had somehow escaped destruction.
Ivanna sat down and asked, "Was there something, in particular, you wanted to talk about?"
"Yes," Mort replied.
The young woman waited patiently for the stranger to continue.
"You know that I'm not like you and your people," he began.
Ivanna smiled at the irony of his statement. That was one thing that them and us had in common: both groups insisted on drawing that invisible line that forever separated one from the other.
"I'm not one of them, either," Mort declared softly as though he had been able to read his companion's mind.
"What are you then?" she asked.
"Before I answer your question, Ivanna, I have one of my own to ask. Suppose you were to learn that a great war was about to take place in the very near future, one that was to engulf the world, and that in this conflict millions of innocent people would die. Now, suppose, too, you were given the chance to help your fellow man in this time of crisis. Would you do it, even if it required your making a great personal sacrifice?"
"I don't know," she said honestly. "I never thought about it."
"Think about it now then. What if someone or something had chosen you ...?"
"Do you mean God?" she asked.
"Okay, God, if you will. What if God had chosen you to help deliver your people from fear and mental anguish? Would you be willing to sacrifice your own happiness?"
Ivanna had no idea where this conversation was heading but had decided to follow along.
"I suppose I would. What is the life of one person compared to that of many?"
Mort smiled sadly.
"I thought you, of all the people I observed, would feel that way."
"I don't understand."
Ivanna saw the pain etched on the young man's handsome face.
"I'm sorry. I wish there were some other way I could accomplish this."
Mort raised his hand and gently placed it over Ivanna's eyes.
"Look closely and see what the future holds for the world," he said.
Ivanna saw a glowing light in the center of his palm. Its radiance spread and grew in intensity. She tried to close her eyes to shield them from the painful brightness, but her lids would not respond. Soon Ivanna could see images floating in the light. She could see them growing in power, spreading their might across Europe. The images terrified her, and she tried to pull away.
"Observe and learn," Mort urged.
Unable to move, Ivanna had no choice but to watch as they stormed the ghetto, intent on burning and destroying. They then herded us onto trains that carried innocent people off to concentration camps where millions would die. She saw horrific images of men, women and children enslaved, starved and executed and images of inhumane doctors performing unspeakable experiments on defenseless prisoners. But as she continued to watch, the images began to change. The tide turned. They were eventually defeated, the Allied Forces liberated us and the terrible war came to an end.
Mort closed his palm, and when the glowing light was extinguished, Ivanna was plunged into a darkness from which she would never return.
"My eyes!" she said tearfully, once she had recovered sufficiently enough to speak. "I can't see anything."
"I know. That is the sacrifice you had to make. I let you see the future so that you could help your people, but by doing so, your vision was permanently scarred."
"What can I do to help my people against so powerful an enemy as the Nazis? How can I stop them from killing us?"
"You can't. Those who are going to die are beyond your help, I'm afraid. It is the survivors, not the victims, who will need you. Their faith will be sorely tested in the years ahead, and you must give them hope."
"I am only a young girl, and now a blind one at that."
"But you have within you the knowledge of brotherhood, love and compassion. They will see this in you, and it will sustain them."
"How will I reach the people?"
"On November 9 and 10, a time history will eventually refer to as Kristallnacht, the S.S., aided by the German people, will descend upon the ghetto. They will burn synagogues, shops and houses, and they will arrest and deport thirty thousand Jews. You will be arrested as well and taken first to Belzec and then to Birkenau, but you will not die there. You will live and give hope to those people around you. Word of your great faith will spread and will give your people the strength to hold on through the dark days ahead of them."
"If what you say is so—and I have no reason to doubt your words—then my eyesight is a small price to pay for the gift that I have been given."
Mort took her arm and led her out of the building, down the alley and back to the main street.
"You will be able to find your way home from here," he assured her.
"How? I cannot see."
"The same way that you will survive in the camps, for if the Nazis learn you are blind, they will no doubt gas you with the elderly and the infirm. An inner sense will guide you; you will learn to 'see' with your heart, not your eyes."
"What about you?" she asked. "What will become of you in the years ahead?"
Ivanna did not ask him who or what he was or how he had been able to show her the future as he had. Such answers, she felt, must surely be beyond her mortal comprehension.
"Regrettably, I will be kept very busy," Mort said sadly.
"Will we ever meet again?"
"Yes, we will. Many years from now, I will seek you out again, but it will be for a much more pleasant reason."
"It's a date then," she said with an innocent, hopeful smile.
Ivanna then felt a gentle, feather-light kiss on her forehead.
"Goodbye," she whispered and turned and walked away.
The people in the dirty, overcrowded street barely recognized Ivanna as they passed by her. Her long brown hair had turned prematurely white at the sight of the holocaust she had witnessed, yet a mysterious glow seemed to radiate from her serene face, as though she had been touched by the hand of God.
What the people in the crowded ghetto streets did not see that day was a fair-skinned stranger with blond hair and blue eyes. They were completely unaware of him as he donned his black hooded cape and raised his mighty golden scythe, for Mort, sometimes called the Grim Reaper or the Angel of Death, walked among them cloaked in invisibility. Except for the blessed young Ivanna, none of the people he passed could see him until such time as they were to keep their own date with death.
When it comes to dates, they don't come any stranger than Salem!
