Rolf drove for a very long time. It was growing dark when they stopped at a house in a small German village near the Dutch border. It belonged to the guide who would help them cross the border. The guide’s wife offered coffee and sandwiches at her kitchen table. They barely spoke as they waited until midnight. It all seemed like a dream to Miriam, and she longed to wake up in her bed in their apartment near the university. But it wasn’t a dream. She thought of Saul and wished they had all left together weeks ago as Abba had begged them to do.

“It’s time to go,” the guide finally said. They went out into a cold wind and walked across a meadow and into the woods behind the village, carrying their suitcases and the violin. The ground was wet, soaking Miriam’s shoes, the night dark and frigid. After living inside for months, it seemed strange to feel the wind blowing her hair across her face.

They emerged from the woods several minutes later, and after crossing another pasture, they came to a river where a man waited with a rowboat. The boat rocked as the man helped her and Abba board and then tossed in their suitcases. Miriam shivered as if she might never be warm again as they crossed the river, the wind blowing straight from the Noordzee. When the boat reached the other side, the man helped Abba lift out their suitcases and haul them up the embankment.

“Head straight west across that field and you’ll come to a road,” the man told them. “Turn right and follow the road north until you come to a small village. The Dutch people will help you from there. They’re good people.”

The trip across the damp field and up the dirt road into the village took more than three hours. Abba had to stop several times to set down his heavy suitcase and rest. Miriam was grateful each time. Her feet felt frozen, her hands blistered from gripping her bag and her violin. Her lungs ached. All around them, the countryside rustled with strange sounds.

Dawn shimmered along the horizon beneath the clouds, like a window shade slowly rolling open by the time they reached a farm on the edge of town. The farmer had just stepped from the barn with his dog, and the animal hurtled toward them, barking a warning. The farmer silenced it with a shout and walked out to the road to meet Miriam and Abba. “From Germany?” he asked. Abba nodded. “Many, many are coming,” he said in clumsy German. “I will show you the train. It takes you to Westerbork, the camp for refugees.”

CHAPTER 3

LEIDEN, NETHERLANDS