“DID YOU EVER GO BACK, Babichka?” Paul asked as the story ended. Vera and Paul were still lying on the couch in their grandmother’s living room. Their grandmother had been talking for several hours, and outside it was already beginning to grow dark. Soon, Vera and Paul’s parents would be arriving to take them home after their long day’s visit. Inside the living room, the lamp cast a soft, light shadow over the face of their grandmother and over the surface of the dresser which stood behind her.
“Well, let me tell you what happened in the end,” she replied. “My mother and I did leave our home to hide in the mountains with the Kos family. We hid in their barn, and each day they would bring us food, water and other things we needed. They had a daughter my age, named Evichka, and we became friends and often played together in the haystacks of the barn. The days were long and often boring for me. I don’t know what I would have done without Evichka’s companionship.
“Sometimes my mother allowed me to borrow some of Evichka’s clothes. When I was dressed as a village child, I was allowed to play outside with Evichka at night, when it was dark and there was little chance of us being seen. We could go outside only if we stayed close to the barn. Outside I felt free, and I could breathe the fresh air. All the same, even at night it was daring and risky for me to leave our hiding place. If anyone in the village had seen us and become suspicious, we might have been reported to the police, and we would have been arrested instantly. Eventually it became too dangerous to go outside the barn. Soldiers were roaming through these villages, searching for hidden Jewish families. And some of the peasants were eager to turn us in. So most of the time I just stayed hidden in the barn, playing games with Mamma and Evichka, or reading books the family brought us.
“I was thirteen and a half when Mamma and I went to hide in that barn in the mountains, and fifteen when the war ended and we knew it was safe to return to our village. We had been away almost a year and a half. The time had seemed endless.
“It was difficult to say goodbye to Evichka and her family at the end of the war. They had risked their lives to keep us safe. I stayed in touch with Evichka for years after that, writing occasional letters, until we finally lost touch. But I shall never forget her family’s kindness and courage.
“Mamma and I travelled down the mountain to our home, not knowing what we would find there. Well, our house was still there, looking very much as we had left it. But there was one big change. Another family was living in it! Can you imagine what it was like to come home after so long and find that the home we thought was ours no longer belonged to us? It was like that with so many Jewish families. Strangers had simply taken over our houses. And the law had let them do it. Our furniture, our books, our personal belongings, were all being used by strangers. And there was not one thing we could do about it!
“I remember when Mamma and I knocked on the door of our house. The woman who answered was the wife of the supervisor who had come to oversee our property when we were still living there. She knew instantly who we were, and she was clearly embarrassed. We knew she was worried that we might try to make trouble for her, so she let us come in and take a few special treasures. Mamma took her silver candlesticks, the chessboard that Papa and I used to play on, and a few other items that were important to her. Then she faced the woman who now lived in our house and demanded one single piece of furniture. Can you guess what it was? Of course, it was the dresser. This beautiful dresser that you see here in my living room was the one piece Mamma was determined not to leave behind.
“The other woman was startled, but Mamma was so firm with her that she had no choice but to agree. Mamma borrowed an old truck and we used it to move the dresser and the other small things. For several months after that, we stayed with cousins in a town close by. Then, with our meagre belongings, Mamma and I made our way across the ocean to begin our new lives in North America.”
Silence settled upon the living room as the story ended. Vera and Paul looked in amazement at the dresser that stood before them. Slowly they rose from the couch and approached the dresser, opening its doors to peer inside. Paul crouched down, measuring his own height against the height of the dresser. He wondered what it would feel like to have to stay curled up like that, inside that small, dark space for hours and hours.
“Babichka,” Vera said thoughtfully, “Gabi — I mean, you were so brave. I don’t know if I could have hidden in there.”
“Well,” replied her grandmother, “I was scared. But I had my Papa there to protect me. At least, I felt I did. And each time I heard his voice, I was a little less frightened.”
“And that helped you?” asked Vera doubtfully.
“It helped me very much. Sometimes, when you believe that someone or something is there to help you, it makes you feel you can do anything.”
“Like the time you gave me that lucky penny to hold, when I auditioned for the play at school?”
“That’s exactly right. The penny was a reminder of me. And when you held the penny and thought of me, it gave you courage for your audition. In the same way, my papa’s voice was a reminder of him. And when I thought of him and imagined his voice, his presence, I felt calm and brave.”
“Still, I hope I never have to have that much courage,” sighed Vera.
For a moment Gabi Kohn didn’t reply. She knew she had been lucky to survive the war, when so many others hadn’t. She prayed silently that her children and grandchildren would never have to suffer the way her people had been made to suffer during those terrible times.
“Oh, I hope so too,” she replied. “But listen, I think I hear your parents knocking. Come, let’s open the door for them, and have a quick bite to eat before you all go home.”
Later that evening, long after Vera and Paul and their parents had left, Gabi Kohn walked through the darkened hallway of her home into the living room. Alone in her house, she approached the dresser. She ran her hand lovingly across the old wood, now faded and rough with age.
Slowly she opened the door of the dresser, the door that had once been opened for her to crawl inside and hide. She peered into its dark interior and thought of her father, as she had thought of him so many times since that day. She still missed him; that would never change. But once again she saw his smile, and heard his brave and wonderful words:
I will shelter you from harm,
You must have no fear,
You’ll be safe, my precious child,
You’ll be safe, my dear.