February 18, 1943
Road near Kolacin
From what I’d seen, there were three kinds of Polish citizens in the country these days. The first were those who endeared themselves to the invaders, who proudly allowed their homes to be assimilated into the German territory and their lives into the Nazi culture. They helped in the war effort, either because it benefited them or because it kept them from harm. The woman with the eggs probably belonged in this category, but I was glad we weren’t there long enough to find out for sure. These were like the men who had stopped Yitzchak and my father on the street and harassed them or even beat them, knowing they wouldn’t fight back because the persecution would only get worse if they did. Or the women who rode the trolleys through the ghetto to laugh at the Jews and shout that we had finally gotten what we deserved. I considered them traitors to Poland, and certainly traitors to their fellow citizens who were being crushed beneath the boots of the Nazis. When this war ended, I suspected many of these people would meet their end just as the Nazis eventually would, with shame and cowardice, having been betrayed themselves. And I wouldn’t shed a single tear when they did.
The second group of Poles, the largest group, were merely surviving, trying to blend into the background. They might’ve moved into the homes abandoned by Jews who were sent to the ghettos, and might’ve taken over our shops and our possessions, but they felt little joy in it. They didn’t help us, but they believed that at least ignoring our situation caused no harm. They were wrong. If there was any difference between causing a man to drown and failing to throw him a rope, it certainly didn’t matter to the man in the water.
Although a small minority, the third group of Poles was different. They helped. They snuck close to the ghetto at night and tossed bread over the walls. They looked the other way when a Jewish child stole food from their shops to take back to his family. Or they took Jewish people into their lives, into their homes, and offered them a place to hide, a chance to escape the fate that tens of thousands of us had already suffered. They did this knowing what would happen to them and their family if they were caught. I would love these people for as long as I lived, and fight for them as hard as I would fight for any of my own.
And now I was sitting beside a man on a wagon, trying very hard to figure out which of these three types of Poles he was. I couldn’t make any assumptions, and I couldn’t give away anything until I knew for sure. But this was always the most dangerous moment in a first contact. How could we get his help unless I gave up some information about myself?
Everything I’d told Wit so far was a lie. That my name was Helena, and Esther was my cousin. He seemed to believe we were looking for our grandmother’s house, though I’d not had to give him an address since he claimed to already know where she lived. And so far, he was speaking to me as if I was Polish, as if I was like him. I wanted to keep it that way.
“Where are your families?” he asked.
“Still in Lodz. But they felt we’d be safer out here in the countryside.”
“Nowhere is safe.” Wit sighed. “The partisans often move through this area, which brings the Germans in to search for them. It’s only a matter of time before we feel the full effects of the war out here.” He looked over at me kindly, perhaps with sympathy. “I suspect you two have already felt far too much of the war.”
“The war is everywhere,” I replied. Keep the lies simple, general. Give up nothing.
“Why was that woman giving you trouble back on the road?” he asked.
“She meant no harm. She just doesn’t know us.”
“Ah. Well, I know her. She is delivering those eggs to a German officer today.”
“He buys them?”
“He buys the information she brings along with the eggs and pays her well. She tells him about any partisan activity here, about anything suspicious she might have seen. It’s possible she will tell him about you and your cousin.”
Behind me, Esther drew in a sharp breath. The possibility that we’d have German soldiers tracking us toward Warsaw was a terrible threat, one that twisted my gut into knots too.
But I couldn’t let it show, so I shrugged it off. “She has nothing interesting to say about us.”
“We both know what she’ll tell that officer. You have no grandmother anywhere near here.”
“I do. Her name is—”
“What is your real name, child? It’s not Helena, and I doubt that’s your cousin.”
My hand slipped into the bag with the gun. I wrapped my fingers tight around the metal, though I wouldn’t bring it out unless I had to. He seemed so nice. Had seemed nice. Now I wasn’t sure what to think, though I was fully willing to believe the worst, if necessary.
Before it came to that, I’d try to quell his suspicions. “My name is Helena—”
“No, it’s not, and that’s fine.” Wit sighed. “It’s all you can say. I understand. I need you to know … Helena, it took a long time for me to realize what was happening to the Jews, and there are still far too many of us who don’t understand it, because it’s not happening to us. Does that make sense?”
I shook my head. And it wasn’t because I missed his point—I knew far too well what he meant. The animal who wanders free has no idea what is happening to the one caught in the trap. But I wanted to keep this man talking as long as possible. Better him than me.
Wit took a slow breath, then said, “There will come a time when everyone must account for their actions during this war. Some will be judged as evil, others as complacent. But I suspect the greatest number of us will fall to our knees and weep when we discover the full extent of the crimes being committed here.”
“Will that be you, sir?” I asked. “Do you mourn for those who have died here?”
“I mourn for those I could not help.” He eyed Esther, who had been facing sideways as much as possible. “You girls need a place to hide, I think.”
I didn’t know what to say. To admit that we needed a hiding place was to admit our identities. If this was a trap, if he was only a gentler, kinder version of that woman we met on the road, or a clever szmalcownik, then with a single nod of admission, I would walk us directly into it. But if I refused his help, doubled down on my lies, perhaps he would make us leave this wagon, and I’d rather be here … if he was safe.
Esther sat forward. “Offering to help anyone hide is a serious crime these days.”
“And refusing to help is a serious sin.” He shrugged. “That’s what my wife believes. Last September she was in Lodz when she heard screams coming from within the ghetto, women begging for their children. She followed the cries to the train station and saw what was happening, the children being taken away. When the soldiers weren’t looking, she grabbed two of the children from the train and hid them in this very wagon. We’re raising them as our own now, along with a Jewish man who helps on our farm and keeps an eye out for any passing SS men. I’ll bring you girls in as my orphaned nieces, should anyone ask. But we’ll try to keep you out of sight if possible. There’s a false floor in my barn. I can’t promise you safety forever, but I can promise that no one in my family will ever betray your trust in us.”
Silence followed, and I was surprised to find myself considering his offer. After months of fighting and running and lying, I was exhausted. What if he really was offering a place where we could hide and wait out the war? A place to forget all about the resistance.
But I never could do that, even if I wanted to. If Esther was right, then at this very moment, there were hundreds of fighters in Warsaw, trapped in the ghetto, scrambling to figure out how to defend thousands of Jewish civilians. Nazi tanks could roll in there any day. Esther had some sort of package to deliver. They needed our help.
Tears filled my eyes, but I blinked them away and blamed it on the sting of the cold wind when he noticed. “I think you’re a good man, Wit. Full of courage and honor, and may you be rewarded for what you’re doing for … those people. But my cousin and I need to find our grandmother, and we will. When you come to the turn in the road between your farm and the road ahead, please drop us off there.”
“If you stay in this wagon, I can save your life,” he said. “Leave, and you will almost certainly lose it.”
Hadn’t those been almost my very words to Avraham and his friends? I’d begged them to come with me, to save themselves. They had refused because they believed their lives had a higher purpose.
As I had to refuse this man, for a similar reason.
When I told him so, he nodded, seeming genuinely sad, but so was I. I didn’t dare look back to see how Esther was feeling because I was sure she was equally tempted to accept his offer, and I didn’t want to see that. My decision was made.
Little was said between us as we continued the ride. He knew who we were, but that was all right, because now I understood who he was too.
When he did stop the wagon at a turn in the road several kilometers ahead, he pointed to the right. “Stay on this road for as long as you can. If the Germans come looking for you, they are less likely to go that way.”
I smiled, hoping to lighten the heaviness in my own chest. “What a coincidence. I’m sure our grandmother is just ahead on this very road.”
Wit’s expression back at me remained serious. “Your grandmother must be a good woman to be a part of your family. I hope you will stay safe with her until this terrible war is over.”
My eyes felt hot and I didn’t know what to say. I hoisted the bag higher on my shoulder and gave him a nod of thanks. It was time for us to go.
“Wait.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out some money, which he offered to me. “It’s all I have here, but I want you to take it.”
“No, sir, I can’t—”
“Wherever you’re going, you need this more than I do. One more thing. I was out delivering some bread for my wife, but I think we can spare a little.” He opened a bag at his feet and offered us an entire loaf of bread. It smelled so good I wanted to dive for it, but I held my composure until he placed it in my hands.
With sincere thanks, I accepted both the money and the bread, then Esther and I climbed out of the wagon with heavy hearts. We said nothing to each other as he drove away. We turned and silently continued down the road. The money he’d given us would help a little with replacing the items we had lost in Lodz, and I was determined to save as much of it as possible for ammunition, when I found any to purchase.
“I think Wit was being honest,” Esther finally said. “I think he would have hidden us.”
“He was one of the good ones,” I said, to myself more than to her. I intended to remember Wit Golinski for as long as I lived, to remind myself that wherever there was evil, good men and women would also rise up to fight it.
For the first time in weeks, I felt hope for the future.
February 18, 1943
Road to Warsaw
The road we were walking on was as beautiful as any place in Poland. Vast acres of farmland reached to the horizon on every side of us, covered in untouched snow with patches of trees laced with ice. The sun was sinking fast, coloring the snow in a sea of reds and deep purple.
But the open beauty also made this area very dangerous. There was nowhere to hide here. Even the trees, barren of leaves, became cruel teases for safety. From one viewpoint, we might be impossible to spot from the road, but if the angle changed, we’d be betrayed. As beautiful as the sunset was, tonight we needed the darkness.
“What now?” Beside me, Esther walked slower and slower, and she’d begun shivering. I was sure her feet had as many blisters as mine, each step sending prickles of pain up my calves. We’d been going almost nonstop since Wit dropped us off earlier this morning. I didn’t know how far we’d come, only that my mind had become numb to distance. No matter how much road we left behind, it continued to unfold endlessly ahead.
A dog began barking from a farmhouse we were passing. Maybe the owner would invite us in for warm cider and something to eat. Maybe not.
Probably not.
Shadows of a large man crossed in front of the home’s candlelit window and we hurried away from its glow, taking comfort in the shadows and the safety of approaching darkness.
“I feel like a criminal,” Esther said, glancing back at the light. “I suppose that’s what we are.”
“These days, it is a crime to be Jewish, to have been born.” I barely felt the weight of my own words. What did right and wrong matter in a world that had been turned upside down? One in which the murder of innocents was the law, and defense of those same innocents was punishable by death.
I smiled over at Esther, adding, “If we have no other choice, then let us be proud criminals, honorable criminals, and criminals who will die one day knowing that we did everything we could to disrupt the peace.”
She laughed, though it started the dog barking again. She quickly muffled her laughter, and we picked up our pace, getting as far as we could from anyone who might see us out here.
Just like criminals.
“Tell me a story,” I said. “Something from before the war.”
“I don’t want to—”
“Something pleasant. We need the distraction; please, Esther.”
It took her a long minute of thinking before she finally began. “All right. Well, when I was eight years old, my school had a large oak tree in the yard. An enormous, beautiful tree that begged to be climbed. The branches were perfectly placed—if you could get to the lowest one.”
“They’d let children climb this tree?”
“Of course not! But the more the teachers said no, the more I wanted to do it. And it was the last day before summer break, so I knew I’d never get another chance. I came to school early, carrying a step stool along. It boosted me up to the first branch, where I could see the whole schoolyard. From there it was a simple thing to get higher. I climbed above the top of the school. Then higher, where I could see homes all around.”
“That must have been incredible.”
“It was … until I fell.” Ignoring my gasp, she quickly added, “I didn’t fall far, but what saved me was a branch that got caught on my bloomers.”
“Your bloomers? You were—”
“Hanging facedown with my dress halfway over my head and my bloomers caught on a tree branch. I didn’t dare move. If the branch broke, I’d go straight to the ground. I just had to wait until someone came who could help me.”
I giggled, hoping she didn’t think it was rude. “How long was that?”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s the problem. I was too embarrassed to call down to anyone, and they never looked up. They walked right beneath me, going about their business. Finally, after a few close calls, I thought I’d at least better get my dress off my head. But I wiggled too much. And I fell …”
“Oh no!”
She started to laugh. “Oh yes! Right as I fell, a groundskeeper was passing below, hauling a wagon of fresh dirt. I fell right into it! Face-first! The only thing sticking up out of the wagon were my bloomers, still perfectly white!”
I laughed too, enjoying the fact that because we were finally far enough from any homes, it was safe to be a little loud. Safe to enjoy being a pair of ordinary teenage girls, even if only for that one small moment.
But in wartime, laughter never lasted long. Only a half kilometer down the road, we came to a field that must have been the site of a terrible battle. Ditches had been dug through cornfields. Small pits to drop seeds into were now whole chunks of earth blown apart by exploded shells. It took little imagination to visualize where bodies might have fallen. Some of their soldiers, more of ours.
But the Polish army must have had some luck in the battle. At the far end of the field, I saw a German tank. It was camouflage green with a tank number and black Iron Cross on each side; the scrapes and dents on it looked like it ran over its fair share of obstacles to get here. But it was clearly damaged. The gears were off its track and its turret was bent.
Another smile widened on my face.
Esther noticed, and her tone immediately sharpened. “No, Chaya. What if—”
“No one’s in it. It’s obviously been abandoned.”
“We can’t sleep in a German tank! It’s wrong!”
“It’s perfect. Think of what a great story this will make for your children and grandchildren one day, of the night we hid inside a weapon designed to kill us.”
“That’s not funny.”
I grinned over at her. “Well, it’s not funny in the same way that you falling into that wagon was funny. But this comes close. Let’s go.”
Careful to avoid making tracks where possible, I led the way toward the tank. I paused long enough to examine the exterior damage.
“What could have done this?” I asked.
Esther stood several meters behind me, reluctant to come any closer. “A single mosquito carrying malaria can end a human life. It’s small but deadly. I suppose if you hit the tank just right, even with something small, this can be destroyed too. But we don’t need to know how to stop a tank.”
“Maybe we will one day.” My expression became stern. “We have to go inside, Esther, purely for research purposes.”
Ignoring her protests, I turned my attention back to the tank. My first concern was how we’d get inside, but a glint of reflected moonlight showed a gap between a hatch on top and the rest of the tank. It was open.
I climbed onto the track wheels in the front using the tank’s gun turret as a brace. How cold the metal was now, though it must’ve been as hot as fire during its final battle here. When I was balanced on the platform, I leaned down to help Esther, but her arms were folded and she looked ready to run.
“I can’t. If there’s someone inside—”
“If there’s someone inside, we’ve already woken him up by coming this far, and on your best day, you’ll never outrun his gun.”
She sighed, gave me a miserable half-smile, then reluctantly took my hand. I did her the favor of checking inside the hatch first. I wasn’t worried about a live body down here; that wouldn’t make sense on a battlefield that must’ve been a couple of years old. I was worried about a dead body, which the Germans sometimes left behind as a trap, with a device that would explode if anyone tried to move it. I couldn’t see anything from here; it was pitch-black down below. Grinning again at Esther, I took a deep breath, then sank myself into the darkness. Almost instantly, I landed on a metal floor contained in the upper, rotating half of the tank. The lower half would have belonged to the commander and driver. They’d have more comfortable seats than these, but up here, we were surrounded by leftover weapons, an entirely different kind of comfort.
I called up to Esther. “It’s empty.”
“No soldiers?”
“That’s what empty means, Esther.” Once she descended beside me, I sealed the hatch, allowing only a small pistol hole nearby for our air, ensuring that other than us, it would remain empty.
Esther began feeling around for anything that might provide light but found nothing.
“It’s better this way,” I told her. “A light would make us a lantern out here. It’ll be morning soon, then we’ll have plenty of light.”
“I can’t sleep,” she said. “Not closed up inside this terrible place.”
“I can sleep just fine,” I replied with a yawn. “Get some rest. We still have a long walk ahead.”
February 19, 1943
Road to Warsaw
My eyes opened earlier than I wished they had, partially from the discomfort of the cramped space within the tank, but mostly because sunlight was peeking in through the pistol hole directly onto my face. Aside from being impossibly tired, I was eager to explore my surroundings. I’d never been inside a tank before, but I knew they were manned by a well-armed crew. At our strongest, Esther and I couldn’t carry any of the larger munition shells with us, nor would I know what to do with one if I could, but if there was a pistol hole, then there had to be pistols here too, or at least ammunition. Since we had climbed into the gunner’s hatch, we were in the most likely place to find any remaining weapons if they were left behind.
I stole a quick peek at Esther, who was curled up almost into a protective ball. I knew it frightened her to be in here, but it frightened her to be nearly anywhere, and besides, we were probably safer here than out in the open. The tank wasn’t foolproof; that was obvious now that I’d seen the inside of one. If someone wanted to flush us out or kill us, a gas bomb or grenade rolled into the tank’s muzzle should do the trick. But I wouldn’t tell Esther that. Besides, a gas bomb or grenade wouldn’t be friendly no matter where we were. At least here, we were surrounded by thick metal and a hatch with an interior lock.
I began searching quietly so as not to disturb her. Very quickly, I found a compartment containing German army rations. I hoped this food wasn’t packaged by any resistance members determined to add a dose of food poisoning to the German diet, but we were going to take the risk—and take the food—anyway.
The markings on the food packages were in German, but I knew enough of the language to recognize the crackers, tinned meat, and most exciting of all, squares of chocolate! Unable to stop myself, I tore into one package and broke off half a piece for myself, then leaned back in the chair and smiled, letting it melt in my mouth. I hadn’t had chocolate since the war began and had forgotten until this moment how much I missed it.
With that thought, the guilt returned, this time like a lead weight inside my stomach. I hadn’t needed that piece, I’d only wanted it, and I wasn’t out here to satisfy my wants. I had responsibilities to literally thousands of people who would trade a limb from their bodies for that bite of food.
“What do I smell?” Esther opened her eyes with a smile and her eye zeroed in on the chocolate. I could hardly deny her what I’d just given myself, so I offered her the other half of the piece I’d eaten. Except that where I popped the entire thing into my mouth, she only nibbled at it from the corner, determined to make the half square last as long as possible.
“Can I hate the Nazis and love their chocolate?” she asked.
I grinned. “Chocolate does not take sides in a war, and that is a good thing.”
Now that Esther was awake, we began a thorough search of the tank, opening every hatch and searching every gap inside this metal monster. Some of what we found was disgusting, a reminder that the soldiers who once operated this tank didn’t get out as often as five grown men should have. But we found a half-used package of unused rags that we gratefully used to clean ourselves, bottles of clean water, and more food than we’d be able to carry.
I wanted the food, but I was still searching for ammunition. The gun I brought out of Lodz was fine for waving around if I wanted to look threatening, but it might also start a fight I couldn’t finish. I needed bullets.
Since Esther was smaller, she maneuvered herself into the lower section of the tank. The driver would have been on the left, but she slid right, to where the commander would sit. Almost immediately after she shifted into position, she called up, “A radio!”
Radios were almost impossible to come by these days, and even those who had one hidden were reluctant to bring them out. But Esther switched it on, her eyes wide with hope and expectation. Finding an Allied or resistance station would be invaluable.
However, the radio was already tuned to a German military news broadcast, the only reception she could get after scanning through the entire dial. For now, it would have to be enough. Esther looked to me for the translations, so when I could understand the broadcaster, I passed on information while we continued our search of the tank.
“Mostly they’re describing different battles that are taking place,” I said. “It sounds like the war is reaching all over the world.”
“Who’s winning?”
I shrugged. “This station will say that the Germans are winning, even if they’re not.”
Her eyes widened as she looked back at me. “What if they truly are winning, Chaya? What happens then?”
I’d asked myself that same question countless times. If they won, the extermination that began with us would extend to anyone they viewed as a threat to their twisted ideals. If there was any chance of them winning, then the resistance mattered more than ever.
But all I said to Esther was “I never let myself believe in a future where evil wins. Because if I do, then everything I’ve done, everything you and I are still doing, is for nothing. We need to believe in a future where love is stronger than hate. Where peace is normal. Where this”—I gestured around the tank—“is just a page from the history books.”
She nodded and we returned to our search. I found a few well-made winter hats, but they’d have to be left behind. As nice as they would be over the next few weeks, spring was coming, and besides, we could use the space in our bags more efficiently.
Meanwhile, the radio announcer kept speaking, little more than a German backdrop to our exploration of the tank. Until—
“Oh no,” I mumbled, almost unconsciously.
Esther’s voice registered alarm. “Is that the news? What did they say?” When I hesitated, she said, “I can handle the truth, Chaya. Tell me!”
I took a deep breath, then said, “There’s a student resistance movement in Germany that calls itself the White Rose. Akiva wanted to prove that not all Jews went like lambs to the slaughter, right? Well, the White Rose members hoped to prove that there were good Germans who disagreed with the Nazis and Hitler’s war.”
Her voice faltered a bit. “What happened to them?”
“Their leadership was arrested last night, and they’ll be executed before it’s over.” I leaned back and closed my eyes. One group at a time, the Nazis were shutting down anyone who resisted. Every whisper of freedom was being silenced. Every chance of escape was being snuffed out.
I still believed that Germany would lose the war, but I believed it less than I did five minutes ago.
After a long moment, Esther began exploring her area again. “Bullets!” She dragged a metal box from beneath her seat, and it looked heavy.
“What caliber?” I yanked the pistol from our bag and opened the chamber. When she held up a bullet, I let out a disappointed sigh. They didn’t match. In addition to a gun with no bullets, I now had bullets with no gun. If it came to a standoff, I’d have to throw the bullets at the Nazis and hope one poked out an eye. That’d be the worst I could do.
But surely, once we reached Warsaw, someone there would want this ammunition. We had to bring the box with us. I stuffed the gun, bullets, and radio into a knapsack I’d found behind my seat, along with as much food as I could fit inside. Esther loaded her bag as well. With our overstuffed bags, one of which had German colors, we’d look more suspicious than usual should anyone see us on the road, but it was a necessary risk. We’d just have to be extra careful while we were out in the open. As always.
We emerged from the tank with caution, but the field was quiet, the late-afternoon sun bathing the field in a final hour of daylight. I hoped we could make a lot of progress before it was gone. We moved too slowly at night, and now that Esther had told me about Warsaw, all I wanted was to get there before the Nazis crushed yet another resistance group.
Esther began the conversation today. “You’re always asking about me, but what about your family? Are any of them … still with us?”
I was surprised by the boldness of her question. It was more than I’d dared ask her, despite my intense curiosity. But perhaps if I shared a bit of my story, she’d share more of hers.
“I have a grandmother in a safe house near Krakow,” I began. “My parents … I don’t know. I’m not sure if my mother cares anymore whether she lives or dies, and I don’t know how long my dad will go on if she doesn’t … If they haven’t already begun liquidating the Krakow Ghetto, they will soon.”
“Why …” She was being more cautious now. “Why doesn’t your mother care anymore?”
I wondered if there would ever be a time in my life when I could answer that question without a swell of pain rising inside my chest. “My sister used to sneak out of the ghetto to smuggle food for my family. She knew of a hole in the concrete walls that wasn’t well guarded, and like me, she had a look that wouldn’t draw a lot of suspicion on the Polish side. But one day she was caught by an OD when sneaking back into the ghetto. He demanded her food and she refused, then ran away, thinking she had gotten away with it. But when the Gestapo demanded a list of names soon after, her name was there. My parents didn’t know at the time what it meant to have your name on a list like that. They figured maybe she’d be sent to the countryside, same as what happened to me. So when they demanded everyone on the list show themselves on the street, they sent her out. She—” My voice broke and I stopped there. I’d said enough.
“I’m sorry, Chaya.”
I sucked in a deep breath. Strangely, it felt good to be telling her all this. Like an infection that needed to be drained. It hurt to talk about it too, but for the first time since that day last summer, it wasn’t a wound I had to carry alone.
“There’s more,” I added. “I have a brother—had a brother—named Yitzchak. He disappeared around the same time. He was probably either taken away with my sister or killed. But maybe not. Maybe he’s still alive. No one knows. No one will ever …” My voice trailed off.
“That’s why you became a courier,” she said. “Every ghetto you enter, you look for his face. Every bite of food you distribute, you think, maybe if he’s there, maybe he’ll get it.”
“Or, at least, maybe I’ll find someone who can tell me what happened to him.” I tried pushing his face from my mind again. It never worked.
“I understand,” Esther said. “My family is … was—” She clamped her mouth shut again, and I knew she wanted to tell me about them too, but something still held her back.
“Where’s your family, Esther?”
She shook her head and pushed on at a faster pace. “Never stop hoping, right? That’s what keeps us alive, to never stop hoping for a happy ending.”