The Priest’s Grotto felt much safer to Anton than the other cave they had hidden in. At least at first. For one thing, it was enormous. The cave’s passages went on for many kilometers. The most important feature, though, was the underground lake that kept them fully supplied with water.

His uncle Dmitri explained to him that this cave was composed primarily of gypsum instead of limestone. Both of them were soft minerals, which meant that for thousands of years water had worked its way through the ground to carve out the nooks and crannies they now lived in. The gypsum was soft enough to work with. They carved benches, stools, and even tables from the rock. All in all, it was a good place to be trapped.

But the elders reminded them every day that they were still in grave danger. The women and children did not leave the cave under any circumstances. Dmitri and the other men would go foraging only when supplies ran low.

The whole community did their best to make life in the cave as normal as possible. Bubbe and the other women did everything they could to keep their traditions alive. They observed the Sabbath, and feasted on whatever they had available. It was tough to keep kosher, but Bubbe promised that God would forgive them.

The days passed slowly. Weeks turned into months, and still they remained hidden. Eventually, Anton went out with Dmitri on supply runs. Bubbe argued against it, of course, but Dmitri convinced her that he and the other men could use an extra pair of hands.

Anton became adept at locating vegetable gardens. They would take just enough to keep the farmers from noticing that any of their crops were missing. He helped gather winter wheat, which the women in the cave ground into flour. But potatoes were his specialty. Anton developed a sixth sense for looting potato fields. Hanukkah came that winter, and everyone in the cave agreed that his bubbe made the best latkes. It was a good thing, too—often there was nothing else to eat.

Though there were no candles to light or presents to exchange, Anton helped the littlest children make dreidels out of wood. He wished his friend Daniel were there to charm them with his gentle, teasing smiles. Anton did not know where Daniel could be—Dmitri had not seen him since the ambush. Anton hoped that his friend had found another safe place to hide from the Nazis. He refused to believe Daniel had been captured. Every day Anton waited for his friend to appear. Occasionally, newcomers would arrive at the cave and the community would take them in. But none of them ever turned out to be Daniel.

In the spring, they observed Passover. Bubbe had the small ones sweep away the dirt on the cavern floor, while the women washed the dishes and cooked a fine meal. They ate heartily that first evening. On a supply run, Dmitri had even managed to trade for two bottles of wine. They poured a glass for the prophet Elijah, and thanked God for all of the many blessings they were grateful for.

We are still alive, thought Anton. Whatever else may happen, at least I can be thankful for that.

It was difficult to find out news of the war. Once, Dmitri managed to bring home a three-month-old French newspaper. No one could read it, but there were pictures of American soldiers in the streets of Paris. This brought cheers and a celebratory dinner for the group that night. The Americans were pushing the Germans back, but the Germans counterattacked. The Russians were moving west, but the Luftwaffe, the German air force, kept them from making any real progress. No one knew what to believe.

One night, while Anton and Dmitri were returning from a foraging trip, a niggling thought itched at the back of Anton’s mind. He knew they needed to hurry—they had gone farther from the cave than usual and it would be daylight soon—but he could not seem to ignore it.

“Uncle Dmitri, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course, nephew,” Dmitri answered.

“Do you suppose something happened to Daniel?” He paused. “Something bad?”

“No, I do not.”

“Why?”

“Because I have faith.”

“Why?” Anton repeated.

“You must always trust in God, Anton,” his uncle said softly. Dmitri could sense that something was troubling Anton.

“What about Rina and her child? Didn’t they have faith?”

“Rina was a devout woman. I am sure she believed that God would watch over her.”

“And yet she and her son are dead.”

“This is a conversation for a rabbi, which I am not. Faith is belief in things we cannot know or see. Things we are not meant to understand. It is a belief that God has a plan. What happened to Rina and her son was tragic. I cannot explain to you why it happened. But you must pray for them. And for God to guide you—to guide us. I’m sorry, Anton. Sorry for all of this. That we live in a cave like animals. That we must scrounge for food like rats. You should be enjoying your childhood. Of all of us, sometimes I feel it is you who has lost the most. You were so young when your mother died.” Dmitri sighed. “As I said, God’s plan is God’s plan. We do as he commands us. The rest … I’m sorry … I have no words.”

They walked on in silence, but a cacophony of questions pinged around Anton’s head. All day long and into the night, he had felt uneasy, as if something was about to happen. He could not rid himself of the feelings.

“Do you think my father is alive?”

He heard his uncle breathe in sharply.

They walked on for a while before Dmitri answered. “I do not know. I am being truthful with you. I truly do not know. But I fear he may not be.”

“Why?” Anton felt his chest tighten.

“You were too young to remember. Or perhaps Bubbe kept it from you. Your father enlisted in the Polish cavalry in July 1939. But the Poles did not have tanks like we think of when we hear the word cavalry today. Their cavalry was made up of men on horseback. The Germans attacked Poland that September. And the Germans did have tanks. And artillery and an infantry. The Germans’ assault was swift and vicious. They called the style blitzkrieg. It means ‘lightning war.’ The Polish army was nearly destroyed. Those who were not captured were killed. So I do not know what has become of your father. If he survived, he could still be alive. Perhaps he is a prisoner of war. But if I know my brother, he would not cower or run away from a fight no matter the odds. If ever there were a man who would take on a Panzer tank with nothing more than a horse and a sword, it would be my brother Nikolai. I wish I could give you an answer. All we can hope for is to learn his fate once this terrible war has ended. I’m sorry. I know it is not what you wished to hear. Now we must hurry. Light is coming and we must be in the cave before the sun comes up. There are German troops still about.”

On they walked through the woods, the light growing brighter in the east. As they crept closer to the cave’s entrance, the uneasy feeling Anton had not been able to shake grew stronger.

Suddenly, Anton heard shouting in the distance. The screams of his friends—no, his family—filled his ears. Sergei Serniov. Eva Birnbaum. Little Lena Weiss. Anton and Dmitri dropped their sacks of food and ran.

Something was very wrong. Their people always whispered. They would only be shouting if they had been ambushed. Then came the sound Anton prayed he wouldn’t hear. His bubbe’s voice.

And this time, Anton did not know how he would protect her.