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stand up to tyranny no matter how subtle. If the world had done that when Hitler marched into the Rhineland, the Jews might be free in Germany today.”
    But Martin was besieged with conflicting emotions. He’d never thought much about being a Jew; yet he’d never considered hiding his Jewishness either. But suddenly, for the first time, he was overcome with guilt. He really didn’t want to spend four years in a place where he would at best
     
    be tolerated. He saw no reason to apologize for being Jewish; if anything, he’d grown up proud of the fact. But he’d also grown up with a strong sense of justice. He believed in fighting for the underdog.
    It was just that he’d never seen himself in that role.
    With a stiffening of resolve, he swung his legs off the bed and stood up to face his father.
    “Okay, we’ll fight,” he said.
    “But it’s a little like shadowboxing.
    It’s hard to know who’s the enemy. “
    “I’m sure he’ll come forward,” said Julian with a dour smile.
    “In any case we have until September several months in our favour.”
    But it didn’t take that long. As in the great European universities that Yale emulated, money, big money, spoke in a loud, clear voice.
    Soon after Julian arranged to donate, anonymously, a new reading room in Sterling Memorial Library, Martin received a letter informing him of an unexpected vacancy and congratulating him on his acceptance.
    As Julian swallowed the somewhat hollow victory, he tried to reassure himself that Ephraim would have been pleased. Yale was, after all, a long way from the Paris ghetto.
    The first of August found Bess in a frenzy of excitement trying to get Martin ready for school. She sewed name tags just as she had when he had gone to summer camp. There was mending and sorting, and of course, shopping for a proper Yale wardrobe. She decided that they could buy rain gear and a heavy wool overcoat when they got to New Haven. In addition, there was the purchase of Martin’s car. He absolutely refused to take his yellow Buick convertible. He said he didn’t think he’d need a car anyway, but if he was going to take one he insisted on trading in the Buick for a Ford. Bess was not entirely pleased with his demand, but still . The day after Labour Day the three of them took the train to New York, where Julian picked out Martin’s Ford.
    They spent a few days in the city shopping and seeing shows, then they drove up to New Haven to get Martin settled. It was the first time Bess had visited an Ivy League school and she was suitably impressed. With its Gothic buildings and landscaping, it seemed more like Oxford than an American college.
    Martin went to the Bursar and was quickly assigned to a room on Old Campus, the freshman quad at the heart of Yale’s campus. Bess was happy he was the first to arrive in his suite, which consisted of three bedrooms, one of which was a single, a bathroom, and a cosy living or study area. Bess insisted Martin take the single.
    “You’ll have lots of work. It will be quieter she insisted.
    “You don’t know the other boys. They may not be so interested in studying.”
    Martin, who by now had done a little investigating of his own into Ivy League antiSemitism, didn’t argue. He might have suite mates who would not care to room with a Jew. But suspecting this and experiencing it were very different, Martin was to discover.
    He helped his mother unpack and tried to reassure her he’d be fine.
    “After all,” he said, “I’ve been away to school. You’ll see. This won’t be very different. I’ll bet you won’t even miss me. You and Dad can plan a second honeymoon.”
    Bess smiled, but once settled on the train back West she allowed herself to cry a little. She knew Yale would not be the same as high school. Memo School for Boys had hardly required cutting the umbilical cord. It was thirty minutes away from Hillsborough, and Martin was home almost every weekend. But Yale was what Martin and Julian