January 1944
IT WAS JUST BEFORE six o’clock in the morning when Joseph’s truck pulled into the village of Olsavica in the northern part of Czechoslovakia, the country where Gabi lived. The trip had been long, almost four hours, but gratefully uneventful. Mama and Max had even managed to fall asleep, lulled by the rhythm of the truck winding its way up the mountain road. Each time Gabi had tried to close her eyes, her sleep had been filled with nightmares of being captured by the Nazis. In the end, she decided it was better to stay awake.
But still the dark visions did not disappear. These were terrifying times for thirteen-year-old Gabi and her eleven-year-old cousin Max. They and Gabi’s mother were running for their lives, escaping to the mountains to hide from the Nazis. The raids on Gabi’s hometown had intensified as the Nazis searched for any remaining Jews. Gabi’s house was no longer a safe place. She prayed that in this mountain village, where no one knew them, her family would be well protected and safe.
During the drive, Gabi could not block out the images of what was happening in Europe, especially to Jewish families. Since 1939, when Germany had invaded Poland and started this war, people everywhere seemed to hate Jews. But long before that, the Nazis had introduced tight laws and rules about where Jewish people could go, whom they could have as their friends, what they could own, and where they had to live. By 1940, Jewish families were losing their homes and their businesses. In 1942, Gabi and other Jewish children were no longer allowed to go to school.
Life became most frightening when Jewish families were arrested and sent to “work” at terrible prisons called concentration camps, where Jewish men, women, and children were starved, tortured, and killed. At first, there were only rumors that these places were killing grounds, talk that no one believed. But recently, the rumors were becoming more convincing. People, especially Jews, were terrified of being sent to the camps. Gabi and her mother kept hoping that things would get better and that the war would soon end. But things only seemed to get worse. They worried that they too would soon be sent away. By the time Max arrived at their home in January 1944, Mama and Gabi’s plans to leave their home and go into hiding were already in place.
Joseph shifted the gears of his truck, cranking the motor loudly, as he glanced into his rear view mirror at his three passengers. He caught Gabi’s eye and smiled reassuringly at her. Joseph had lived next to Gabi’s family since before she was born. A few months earlier, he had helped another Jewish family escape by arranging safe passage for them on a train to Switzerland. Joseph never really talked about it, but Gabi s mother knew he was part of the Czech resistance, a secret group that tried to help Jews hide or escape and supplied them with food and clothing in these difficult times. When Gabi and her family knew they were in trouble, he was the obvious person to approach. The danger to Joseph for offering assistance to a Jewish family was enormous. But he had agreed to help them without question. In spite of the risks, there were still some people, like Joseph, who were committed to helping Jews. They didn’t use guns to resist the Nazis, but they were very effective. If only more people were like that, thought Gabi, maybe this war would not be happening.
Gabi shuddered and shifted again in her seat inside the truck, careful not to awaken Mama. Joseph’s vehicle offered little protection from the freezing winter air. Gabi watched her icy breath trail up and disappear into wisps of smoke. She reached over to wipe the frost from the window, glancing up at the familiar mountains that dominated this part of Czechoslovakia. The mountains were commanding in any season. But in winter, they looked most magnificent, their snowcapped peaks framed against the clear blue sky, like a landscape painting. Despite the early hour and the cold, the cows were already out, moving lazily on the hills above the village. Beyond the hills, the village was surrounded by forest — a jungle of thick, densely packed trees and bush. Gabi could see a narrow path trailing up behind the farmhouses and disappearing into the woods. She shuddered, thinking how terrifying it would be to get lost in those woods.
Papa used to take us up here to these mountains for holidays, recalled Gabi sadly. What would he say about this trip? Gabi could not believe that more than two years had passed since Papa’s death. In that time, life had become so much harder for Gabi and her mother. She missed Papa’s strength, his wisdom, and his caring presence.
Joseph’s truck lurched over the unpaved, rough main road of the village, sending its passengers swaying back and forth. Joseph swerved to avoid hitting the chickens and geese that roamed freely on the road. Small, modest farmhouses lined the road on either side, each one of identical white stone and red, white, and yellow painted wood. Every house had a small plot of land to the side and a small barn in the back.
Picturesque though it was, this was a tiny farming village with poor people and crude homes, nothing like the fine old stone house that Gabi and her family had left behind. Gabi’s family had owned many acres of land on which they grew wheat, oats, barley, and potatoes and raised animals. She closed her eyes, wishing she could return to that home but knowing that this was no longer possible. At least we will be safe in one of these houses, she thought, with a family that is willing to hide us.
Up ahead, Gabi could see the stone church that was at the center of the town. And just behind it stood the town hall. Approaching the village, the church was the first thing one noticed — a majestic stone building, crowned with a black tiled roof. The church was modest in size, but its impressive steeple dominated the village, protectively looking out over its congregation of farmers and their families. Joseph’s truck headed in that direction and pulled to a stop behind the church tower.
Mama stirred, opened her eyes, and blinked several times, while Max stretched and yawned, adjusting his glasses. His cap was pulled low over his dark, curly hair, but it couldn’t hide the permanent fear in his eyes. Gabi thought back a month earlier, to the day Max had arrived at her home, late at night and all alone.
“The Nazis took my mother and father. And they took Julia too,” he had declared solemnly, as soon as Mama let him in. His skinny body shivered violently in the winter nights air, his face pale as chalk.
“Max, darling, how did you ever get here?” Mama questioned him anxiously, peering into the darkness to see if anyone else was there. These days when someone banged on the door at night, it usually meant trouble: soldiers coming to arrest you or bad news about a relative or friend.
Max had walked alone from his town in eastern Czechoslovakia to his aunt’s home. It was a dangerous journey of more than ten kilometers through the forest between his home and theirs, over several large hills and across roads that were patrolled by soldiers. Nazi soldiers were constantly in search of a wayward Jew whom they might hurt for their own amusement. It was a miracle that Max had made it to their house safely.
“The soldiers took my mother and father. They took everyone,” he repeated, trying to stifle the tears that spilled out under his glasses. “I was out trying to find some food and when I got back, Mama, Papa, and Julia had disappeared. The house was a mess and they were gone. Mrs. Landa from next door told me the soldiers had come while I was out. They banged on the door and when no one answered, they broke the door down, went in, and forced everyone outside and onto their truck. Mrs. Landa said it happened in a minute and then they were gone. And then she added that I had better leave or the soldiers would come back for me. She said, ’These days, one less Jew means one less headache.’ I didn’t know what else to do, so I came here.”
“Oh no!” screamed Mama. “Not my brother — not our family too.” She struggled to gain control over herself and hugged Max, trying to calm his slight, trembling body as her own mind tried to cope with the news of her brother’s arrest. “You must have been terrified, my poor boy.” Mama swallowed hard and clutched her nephew to her chest. “Tell me again, Max,” she asked more gently. “Did your neighbor say anything about where the soldiers were taking your parents? Did you hear anything at all?” Max shook his head “no.”
“It took me two days to get here, because I could only walk at night,” Max continued. “In the daytime there were too many soldiers on the road and I was afraid they would see me. I got lost several times.” Max sniffled, reaching behind his glasses to rub his eyes. “The Nazis took Mama and Papa and Julia.” Over and over again, he repeated this line, as if repeating it would make it real for him.
This was how cousin Max had come to live with Gabi and her mother. And, just as quickly, he had become part of their plan to escape into hiding. Inside the truck, Gabi smiled over at Max. He sat quietly, so unusual for the energetic young boy. But Max had been numb since the day he arrived at Gabi’s home. All he could think about were his mother, father, and sister. Where were they? Were they safe? Were they even still alive? He longed to be with them. Gabi and her mother were wonderful and kind, but it was not the same. It could never be the same as living with his own parents. Deep inside, he felt alone and so scared.
Inside the cold truck, Mama took a deep breath and smiled reassuringly at Gabi and Max. “We made it,” she said.
Made it where, wondered Gabi. The air was silent and peaceful, interrupted only by a rooster crowing in the distance, the lazy sound of cows mooing from the field in the hills. The sounds of the animals were sharp and crisp in the fresh morning air. Joseph opened the back door of the truck. The sun had just risen and daylight streamed in.