Resilience by Independence1776

Mid November 1938

Maglor watched as Yakov tied the yellow ribbon at the end of his younger twin’s braid. “Be safe.” The fear in Yakov’s eyes mirrored the fear in his daughters’. All of them knew they would likely not reunite. Hitler and his people hated them too much while the world did nothing.

Devorah handed Maglor a worked silver bracelet with a few gems set in it. The bracelet would not have fit on her daughters’ wrists. Even at sixteen, they were still petite. But the price of the bracelet might prove enough to better their fortune once they reached safety, in England or elsewhere.

Devorah said, “Follow your instincts, Avner. Use your songs.”

“I will.” Maglor had traveled from Jewish community to community over the centuries. People knew him as one of their own— he was occasionally the only hazzan available— even as they knew he was not quite mortal. And they knew they could rely on him to save a few people, here and there. It was never enough and never would be enough. But one life saved was a world saved.

Maglor resettled the heavy pack on his back and waited while the twins said farewell to their parents.

*

Many decades later

“Here! Here!” Five-year-old Ana thrust a jelly doughnut into Maglor’s hand. “Eat it!”

Maglor carefully took a bite. The raspberry filled leaked out as he bit into it. The dough was perfectly fried; the raspberry not too sweet. He finished the doughnut, rinsed his hands off in the kitchen sink, and returned to the living room where Faigel and the generations of her family celebrated. Over a dozen menorot stood on the aluminim-foil-covered table shoved in front of the picture window; most used candles and a couple used oil. Maglor’s own stood among them, a small one he’d crafted over a thousand years ago after his conversion. It was one of the few things he’d been able to bring out of Nazi Germany when he escaped with Faigel and her sister Freida.

He sat next to Faigel in her rocking chair. She smiled at him, the light from the flames coloring her silver hair. “A great-grandchild, Avner.” The infant slept safely in her mother’s arms.

Maglor leaned his head against her shoulder. She reached over and took his hand into hers. “I know you’ll move after I die. Where will you go?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” He still had time.

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