Letters Across the Sea by Genevieve Graham (spicy books to read .txt) 📕

Thinking about newspapers reminded me of Arnie’s earlier comment, about how people’s understanding depended on which paper they read. Dad always had a Telegram lying around to use as a fire starter, but one day I’d been on the sidewalk and spotted a copy of the Toronto Daily Star sticking out of the garbage, so I grabbed it, thinking they might post some other jobs. Right away I’d noticed the different tones of the papers. The Star wrote a lot more about what was happening in Germany and the Soviet Union than the Telegram ever did. Richie argued with me that the Telegram did, once in a while.

“Most of those basically deny anything is happening over there,” I said.

“Then maybe they’re not happening,” Richie replied.

“But the Star reports them,” I insisted. I’d pulled out an article from June 3 by a reporter named Pierre van Paassen that said over 120,000 people had been imprisoned by Nazis in Germany. “The Telegram never even mentioned it,” I said. “Listen to this: ‘What is happening at the present moment in Germany? The burning of books, the incarceration of liberals and pacifists, socialists—’ ”

“Yeah, but the Star was banned from Germany for spreading misinformation,” he said. “So keep that in mind.”

“I don’t know, Richie.” My finger slid down the page. “ ‘Only men who are afraid of the truth try to ban it. Only men who are afraid of reality try to shut their eyes to it… They call revolutionary a regime that burns the masterpieces of modern literature and the latest depositions of science, while leaving the people, by way of philosophical nutriment, the incoherent drivel of Adolf Hitler and Rosenberg’s political discussions, whose reading reminds one of a debate in a lunatic asylum.’ ”

“Sounds more like an opinion than reporting,” he said with a shrug. “Don’t buy into it.”

But the Star had opened my eyes, and Arnie’s comment piqued my interest.

“Speaking of reading,” I said, looking over at the others. “Arnie, when you were talking about newspapers, did you mean how the Telegram and the Star report things so differently?”

Arnie perked up. “Partly. Ever heard of Der Yidisher Zhurnal? It’s Toronto’s daily Yiddish newspaper.”

“Why would she have heard of that?” Max asked wryly.

“Good point. Molly, allow me to introduce you to a paper you haven’t yet read.”

“And probably never will,” Hannah said. “Honestly, do we always have to talk about serious stuff?”

“It’s important,” I said.

Hannah set her hat on her face. “I’ve heard this a thousand times. I’m going to take a nap.”

David smiled at Hannah. “Sounds like someone needs a lemonade.”

She peeked up at him. “Actually, yes. Thank you.”

David jumped up and headed over to the lemonade stand, while I scowled down at Hannah, slightly annoyed. These days, she never seemed to want to talk about what was going on.

Arnie rubbed his hands together. “All right, Molly. What do you know about Hitler?”

“He’s the chancellor of Germany, he hates Jewish people, and he has a ridiculous moustache.”

“All moustaches are ridiculous,” Hannah muttered from under her hat.

“That’s more or less the basic story,” Arnie said to me, “but there’s a lot more you don’t know.”

“It’s not your fault,” Max assured me. “You’ve only read what the papers report on.”

I looked back at Arnie. “Okay, so tell me.”

“Neither the Star nor the Telegram ever talked about German politics until Hitler was pronounced chancellor this past January. They never even mentioned his name. But by that point, the Zhurnal had already run multiple stories on him and the Nazi Party. Have you heard of Joseph Goebbels?”

I shook my head.

“He’s Hitler’s minister of propaganda. The Zhurnal ran a piece about Goebbels’s plan this spring, which was called—and I quote—‘How Nazis Will Exterminate the Jews of Greater Germany.’ ”

I shivered despite the heat. “Exterminate?”

“Interesting, isn’t it? How nothing was written about that in either the Telegram or the Star.”

“I remember seeing something in the Star just this month,” I said, thinking of Pierre van Paassen’s article. “About 120,000 people in German prisons.”

“Yeah,” Max said. “They constructed what they call a ‘concentration camp’ for political prisoners back in March.”

“The Star only recently started reporting on some of the big headlines that the Zhurnal covers.” Arnie counted on his fingers. “Like the maltreatment of Jews, the mass exodus of scientists and academics, the confiscation of Jewish money, the removal of Jewish doctors, lawyers, teacher, actors…” He looked at Max. “Oh, and the fact that Jewish people are no longer allowed to matriculate as medical students.”

Max’s mouth twisted, his eyes on the ground.

Arnie continued. “Last April, they ran the story about the German Student Union’s ‘campaign against the un-German spirit’ on the front page. In May, the union burned all the Jewish-authored books. They called them un-German and said, ‘The Jew can only think Jewishly. If he writes German, he lies.’ ”

My mind flashed back to Mr. Smith refusing to carry The Radetzky March, and I shifted uncomfortably on the blanket. I still hadn’t told anyone about that day at his store.

“So the Star has stepped up,” I said. “But if the Telegram mentions any of those things, they say they’re not true, or at least that they’re not as serious as is being claimed in other places. Or that Jewish people are just causing trouble, which gives idiots like Phil Burke and the Swastika Club the ammunition they need.” Max and Arnie were both nodding, so I continued. “I understand journalists interpreting subjects with a bias. That’s only natural, because everyone sees things through their own eyes. But this sounds more like censorship.”

“And that comes down to the editor,” Arnie agreed. “If the Telegram is determined to ignore what’s happening, they’ll put their best misinformation journalist on it.”

I paused. “There are so many stories out there, how do we know what’s really going on?”

Arnie grinned. “Have one of us read you the Zhurnal.”

He couldn’t fool me. “It’s not that easy, Arnie. The Zhurnal can say whatever it wants, too.”

“Arnie!” David called from twenty feet away. “Come help me carry