On the border to freedom

"I'm sorry, Mr. Blumenfeld, but you cannot cross the border. You're going to have to go back."

"You don't understand, officer," Blumenfeld said quietly. He kept his tone to avoid frightening his children, but even Golda, the little one, saw how tense her father was and how he repeatedly wrung his hands. "We left because we overheard them talking about us, about how they were going to...deport us." 

"I apologize, Mr. Blumenfeld, but you cannot cross the border," the Swiss soldier repeated firmly, "try Belgium."

"You can't be serious," Blumenfeld hissed, "This is about life or death." His eyes were wide with fear and fury. The soldier's expression never changed. It was strict and stubborn. Nothing Blumenfeld could say would convince him to let the man and his family cross over from Germany into Switzerland. His gaze darted to the Jewish man's family who stood huddled together a bit further down the path. They had almost nothing with them, only a few bags. He'd felt a pang of sympathy for the first few families he'd dismissed, but now that he'd heard the same story a hundred times it was much easier to distance himself from all of it. 

"Mr. Blumenfeld, you and your family are not permitted to cross the border." 

The soldier nodded at one of the other men patrolling the border to come over. Abraham Blumenfeld stepped back in surprise. 

"I'm not dangerous, I-:"

"Turn around, Mr. Blumenfeld. We cannot let you cross." 

"You do realize you're sending me to my grave, do you?" 

"The borders are closed, Mr. Blumenfeld. I advise you to go now." He stood his ground even as the angry Jewish father closed in on him and glared down at him angrily. The second soldier had finally reached them and stood tall next to his comrade. 

Abraham Blumenfeld looked from one of their pale faces to the next. Their expressions were the same. Emotionless. No matter how hard he tried to convince them, they would never let him through. "We can pay." He admitted finally. "And not just for the time we stay in Switzerland, we wouldn't be taking the State's money - I assure you, but I can pay you two as well."

"Mr. Blumenfeld. Go." The second soldier said firmly. "Good luck to you and your family." 

Blumenfeld took a few steps backward. The two Swiss men watched him, unmoving. He turned slowly and made his way back to where his family stood - a little bedraggled and anxious group. Once he reached them the second soldier picked up his march along the border and the other one struck a match to light a cigarette. They knew that Abraham Blumenfeld wouldn't try to bust through the border. He had a wife to think about. And children. 

"Alright, let's go." He said, gently placing his hand on the small of Esther's back. 

"We can't go in?" Golda asked, eyes wide. Abraham Blumenfeld shook his head and picked the little girl up. She looked over his shoulder, at the Swiss soldier who was staring after them, tugging breaths of his cigarette. "Why can't we go in?"

"It doesn't matter why. We just can't." The father snapped at his child. He turned her head to look away from the soldier gently. "Don't look back, Golda." The family made their way back up the path. Golda couldn't help but stare at the soldiers and the border to Switzerland anyway. Her father didn't notice her staring, he was too preoccupied thinking of places they could go. Belgium was far, they wouldn't make it on foot. And he didn't know people he could rely on might house them for a night on the way there. 

Golda raised her hand and waved goodbye to the Swiss soldier politely. He raised his hand as well. It was a sad salute, a farewell that broke through his otherwise professional and stern facade. 

Abraham Blumenfeld had heard of some people getting help through Swiss soldiers or even civilians, who helped smuggle them over the border in exchange for money. But he had no contacts on the inside, and he knew how tired his children and Esther were. Tonight wasn't the night for that. He decided to dedicate himself to trying to find an even somewhat acceptable place to stay for the night. A lonely barn. A hotel that didn't ask questions. Somewhere. Anywhere safe. But there was nowhere to go.