The sun rose, bringing light and hope as shafts of sunlight streamed through the grimy windows. The commotion outside had faded into the distance with the departing vehicles. More prisoners slipped outside, and Miriam heard shouts from all over the camp. “They’re gone! They’re gone! The Nazis are gone!” She joined the rush of women leaping down from their bunks and streaming through the door into the chilly April morning, shivering with cold and joy.

“We’re free to go?” someone asked.

“They left the main gate wide-open!”

The shouts and cheers could probably be heard for miles. Yet after all these years of being hunted and hounded and demeaned and imprisoned, Miriam was afraid to believe she was finally free. She went in search of the orchestra director, Ernst Lubbers, and found that several other musicians had done the same, gathering around him for advice. “What do you think we should do, Ernst? Are you leaving?”

“I think I’ll wait and see. For my wife’s sake.” Frau Lubbers was a flautist who seemed as ethereal as the sound of her flute. It was a tribute to Ernst’s love that she’d survived persecution this long. “There’s food and shelter here,” Ernst said. “And who knows what we’ll find out there. As far as we know, the Netherlands is still at war.”

“What if the Nazis return? Won’t we be sorry we didn’t run while we had the chance?”

“Undoubtedly. Listen, I can’t speak for anyone else or advise you what to do. We each must decide for ourselves.”

Miriam knew she wouldn’t survive on her own. Avi had faced myriad obstacles when he’d escaped Westerbork and walked across the country to Leiden. And that was before five years of war and bombings and Nazi occupation. Some of her fellow prisoners were already hurrying down the road to Assen with their loved ones and suitcases, but like a caged bird, she was afraid to fly through the open door.