Page 89 - Devil's Arithmetic by Jane Yolen

In his own house! I had a friend who was one of the
seven who got out. He told me the smell of people
burning is not unlike the smell of cooking pigs."
"Hah!" said Gitl. "And how does he—a good Jew—
know what pigs smell like cooking?"
"So—so he was not kosher. Or the Shabbos goy told
him."
"So!"
"How can you joke about such things?" Hannah said
in a very small voice.
Gitl made a tching sound, with her tongue. "If we do
not laugh, we will cry. Crying will only make us hotter
and sweatier. We Jews like to joke about death because
what you laugh at and make familiar can no longer
frighten you. Besides, Chayaleh, what else is there to
do?"
"Hush," the woman near Hannah remarked again,
"the children."
"We could break down the doors and run away,"
Hannah said.
"Run away? Where, little Chaya? To Lublin?" Gitl
asked. ,
"To America," Hannah said.
"To be with Avrom Morowitz? This is my home."
"This boxcar?" Hannah whispered.
"Do not be impudent."
"To Israel then."
Gitl laughed, a strange, hollow sound. "And where
is Israel," she asked, "except in our prayers?"
"Hush," the woman begged.
The stories continued.

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