The Postcard

In the novel’s opening, Nachman warns his children at Pesach to be fearful of sweetness on the tongue. When times get too good, they are at risk, Nachman says. The holiday of Passover reminds Jewish people to be wary of complacency. Throughout the novel, as Ephraïm seeks comfort and belonging, readers recall Nachman’s warning. That Ephraïm does not is his ultimate downfall. He could easily have stayed in Palestine but was disgusted by his own destitution. When Nachman visits France, Ephraïm is again disgusted by his father’s appearance of poverty. And yet Nachman is free, happy, and content.

When Nachman and Esther appear broken by their toil running the orange grove in Palestine, Ephraïm believes all hope for the good life is lost. It is the life of luxury, plenty, fruit and honey that Ephraïm seeks. Nachman warns him to stay in Palestine or go to America, but Ephraïm is lured by the promise of prosperity. He wants the sweet fruits and honey, without the price to be paid for them because of his ancestry.

Throughout the novel, the beating of fists on doors signals danger and death. Nachman’s family was attacked in Russia prior to their escape, signaled by fists on doors. The fists that pounded on the door in France were the hands that took Noémie and Jacques, and later Emma and Ephraïm, to their deaths: “They groped for one another’s hands beneath the table, fingers intertwining, hearts already beginning to break. Fists pounded on the door” (128).

In pastoral France, when fists pound on doors, the police are on the other side. This time, nothing happens, but the fear that radiates throughout Myriam is palpable. When Lélia and Anne go door to door in Les Forges knocking on doors, the residents come out expecting trouble. There is no more trust for visitors in a world that witnessed the removal of neighbors, never to return.

There is an inherent and complete distrust for authority that comes across most clearly in moments when authority figures come to the homes of key characters. Home, readers feel, should be a place without the interference of authority, a place where fists never pound on doors, a holy, reverent, and impenetrable place where families can feel secure. And yet, this isn’t what the family experiences.

With every subsequent pounding on the door after the first fists in 1919, readers know that peace will never come.