I Understand

Setting: In the early 1970’s on a New York City park bench. A young girl, around 14 years old, dressed in a prep school uniform, sits with her elderly grandmother. The girl is sulking.

Girl: (almost hyperventilating with sobs and deep breathes) You don’t understand, Bubbie. Sulk. They were so MEAN. Sulk. They don’t even know me. They hate me. You don’t understand

Grandmother: (with a Yiddish accent) Vat do you mean? Vat happened today? You were so excited to go to ziss new, fancy school We fixed ziss uniform so perfect; your hair, so perfect, your new bag for ze books, so perfect, you had all your lessons ready for your classes. “VAS IS DAS?”

Girl: (finally catches her breath) Yes I was so excited. My first class, everyone smiled at me. I answered some of the teacher’s questions and I met a few girls. “Hi, I’m Rachel,” I said. They introduced themselves too—“I’m Tina, I’m Sally, I’m Lisa.”

Grandmother: So what then. I’m glad you calmed yourself down now. Do you vant I should make you some tea?

Girl: No . No tea. And don’t mention this to momi and papa. They worked so hard to pay for me to go to this school. I don’t want them to think that I’m not grateful.

Grandmother: So then, vhy all the tears.

Girl: So after lunch, we all changed into our gym clothes for gym class . See—our beautiful green gym shirts have our last names printed on the back.

Grandmother: Yes… lookie—G R E E N B A U M -- so nice! Greenbaum, on a green shirt!

Girl: No. See that’s when it all started. One girl yelled out, “Greenbaum? Greenbaum? Are you kidding me, we have a JEW in our class now? “ Everyone started glaring at me (girl begins to sulk and hiccup again holding back the tears) They-were-all-glaring- at-me!

Grandmother: So when they saw what an athlete you are, they still glared?

Girl: Glared! Oh and it didn’t stop.. you see NO ONE picked me to be on their basketball team. No one (sulk) spoke to me (sulk) the rest of the day. (The girl breaks down again, crying) OHHHH Bubbie… you wouldn’t understand. You wouldn’t understand. They hated me, for no good reason. They just hated me. One started , and then the next, the next , the next. Even the ones who spoke to me earlier in the day, and Susie, the one I had lunch with. They all just hate me. You can’t understand , Bubbie. You can’t possibly understand.

Grandmother: I understand plenty. I understand plenty. (As the grandmother embraces the girl, her concentration camp number is clearly displayed toward the audience.