The Scheiners got off, staggering slightly under the weight of their luggage. “’Bye,” I called, waving to them through the window. I wasn’t sure they heard me, but they definitely saw me waving, because they waved back. Mrs. Scheiner held up three fingers as if to remind me to count three stops, and the train sped away, leaving them far behind me. I clutched the handle of my suitcase tightly as the train picked up speed.

The trees here were so different from the ones I had seen in Eretz Yisrael. There, trees spread out their branches broadly, welcoming anyone who wanted to enjoy their shade. Here, the trees were tall and sort of pointy, with almost no branches. I might have remembered Europe, but I didn’t remember this, and it seemed so cold. The trees looked like soldiers blocking the way.

The train slowed down and I counted one stop. Two more to go. By the time the train slowed down for the third stop, I was already standing up. The station was busy and for a moment I was seized with panic. Where was Bubbe? Had I gotten off at the right stop? But then I saw two people waving furiously at me. I headed toward them at the same time as they made their way toward me, and we met in the middle. The tall man next to Bubbe reached for my suitcase.

“Elka,” Bubbe smiled at me warmly, stroking my cheek. And suddenly I was shy. So much time had passed since I had seen her last. I almost didn’t recognize her. Actually, I hadn’t recognized her, and if Mama hadn’t sent a picture to Bubbe, I don’t think she would have recognized me either.

“Come, Elka,” Bubbe said, leading me to a wagon. Around us streamed buses and cars, as well as horse-drawn wagons like our own. The city Bubbe and Zeide lived in was a big one, not at all like Kovno, which was the only place in Europe I remembered at all. It was strange and foreign, and all the buildings looked so gray — which they actually were — the outside of most of the buildings were painted a sort of gray color. There were some beige and yellow buildings, too, but the overall feeling was just gray.

Suddenly I remembered Dovid’s words right before I left. He was right. Europe wasn’t the way I expected it to be. And even though the sun shone high in the midafternoon sky, it was nothing like the bright gold of the sun in Yerushalayim. This sun was weak, and far away, and I turned back to watch the trains speeding away from the station behind me. There was no way I could hop back on and speed back to Yerushalayim, but a big part of me wanted to.

“Elka?” Bubbe said, breaking through my thoughts. “I’m so glad you were able to come. We’ll be home soon. So many people are excited to see you — it’s been so long. And your Uncle Menachem’s wife and children are already waiting for you.” She nodded at the man who had accompanied her. So that’s who it was — Uncle Menachem. I studied his face so I would remember it next time Bubbe wrote to us. It was good to have a face to match the name.

I blinked as we opened the door of the apartment. After the darkness of the stairwell, Bubbe’s apartment seemed light. Bright. The large window in the dining room let in a lot of light and even the kitchen, which boasted only a small window between clustered cabinets, seemed bright compared to the stairwell.

“Papa!” A little boy who had been sitting at the table eating a cookie jumped up to greet his father. This must be Uncle Menachem’s son. He looked about three years old, which meant I had never met him, but I tried to remember if we had gotten a letter when he was born. I thought about it, but came up with nothing. Three years ago, we had just arrived in Chevron. Even if Bubbe would have sent us a letter about this little boy, I would have been too busy settling into Chevron to notice.

“Come say hello to your cousin Elka,” Uncle Menachem said, bending down to pick up his son. “She came all the way from Eretz Yisrael!”

The little boy stared, his eyes wide with curiosity but his mouth firmly shut.

Bubbe laughed. “He’s cute, that little one,” she said shaking his hand gently. “Elka, you’re probably tired from your trip. Come sit down and eat something and I’ll show you where you’re going to sleep.”

I followed Bubbe to the kitchen table where she set out a steaming bowl of soup. It was strange, but for all that Mama was her daughter, Bubbe cooked foods I had never seen before. I was starting to think Dovid was right. Europe, the real Europe, was nothing like I remembered it to be.

To be continued…

Suddenly I remembered Dovid’s words right before I left. He was right. Europe wasn’t the way I expected it to be

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 933)