At the Mikveh, Age Four

For weeks my brothers flooded me with tales of drowning, said the special pool was where young girls sank and did not rise again.

When we appeared at the mikveh & attempt to quell the swell of non-Jewish blood swimming through our veins, I planted myself upon a bench refusing to budge from my position.

Wanting to live no matter the future cost. In my heart I was a Jew, this I knew, no ceremony could make it so.

Better to stay than to go. While brothers and mother vanished under water and prayers rang out in the rooms, Alone, I remained wordless, prayerless still and silent as a stone.