She glanced at him again. “No, you don’t have to . . . but I need to keep practicing if I hope to stay in shape. Abba thinks I can apply to a music conservatory once we’re settled.”

He approached and offered his hand for her to shake. “I’m Avraham Leopold —Avi.” He had wiry black hair and a thick beard and eyes the color of strong coffee. His high forehead and thin, wire-rimmed glasses gave him a scholarly look. He was perhaps two or three years older than Miriam, with the slim build of a long-distance runner. His smile warmed her and she smiled in return.

“I’m Miriam Jacobs. My father and I just arrived from Cologne a few days ago. Where are you from?”

“I’ve lived in Berlin all my life —until now.”

“Have you been here very long?”

He exhaled so wearily that Miriam was sorry she’d asked. “Nearly four months already. My barracks wasn’t even finished yet. And I didn’t have this beard!” He grinned and stroked his face. “I’ve been trying to get a visa to move to Palestine. They were right when they told me it would take a long time. The British have enough headaches trying to appease Hitler. They don’t want to stir up trouble in Palestine by letting Jews come back to their homeland. Where are you planning to go?”

“I think my father wants to stay here, in the Netherlands.”

He shook his head. “They won’t let us stay. This camp was built for Jewish refugees, but only until we can find a permanent place somewhere else. That’s why it’s way out in the middle of nowhere. We aren’t supposed to mingle with the Dutch people. It’s a small country, and there are hundreds of us. They would like us to move on.”

“My father has been writing letters to his fellow professors in several countries, trying to find a position in one of their universities.”

“I wish him well. I was an engineering student until they forbade Jews to study at the university.”

“Is your family here with you?”

He sighed again. “No, my parents couldn’t read the handwriting on the wall.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you know that story? It’s from the book of Daniel the prophet.”

“We’re not religious.”

“Neither is my family,” he said, laughing. “Believe me! But I’ve had a lot of time on my hands here, so I’ve been studying the Bible. I’ve read through the Torah three times, in fact. Now I’m reading the Prophets.”

“Papa thinks it’s absurd that we’re being persecuted for being Jewish when we aren’t even religious. We rarely celebrated Passover or the other holidays. We sometimes had dinner with Mother’s family on Friday night, but we don’t keep kosher or anything like that.”