“At dawn on the second day of the invasion,” Avi continued, “a group of us left camp and walked to Assen. Nobody stopped us because the country had much bigger things to worry about than a bunch of Jewish refugees. The Nazis weren’t in Assen yet, so we boarded a train, planning to travel to the coast in Zeeland. We hoped to hire a fishing boat or some other ship to cross the channel to England. I planned to come here and get both of you so we could escape to England together.”

“I also looked into booking passage to England immediately after the invasion,” Abba said. “A few ships were able to make it across in the early days before the surrender, but the Nazis quickly took control of the Dutch coastline. Crews and passengers of any vessels they caught trying to cross the channel were sent to the labor camp in Mauthausen or shot on sight.”

Avi closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. “We never made it that far. On the very first day, our train was forced to stop near Zwolle because the railroad bridge across the IJssel River had been blown up. We boarded a different train, planning to head toward the northern coast instead. We made it only as far as Leeuwarden when the war halted us again. The people in Friesland were very kind when they heard our story and offered us food and shelter in their homes. But we were a large group and difficult to hide, and the Nazis soon found out about us. We fled once again rather than endanger our hosts, but the Nazis chased us down and took us back to Westerbork.”

“You were trapped again?”

Avi nodded. “But before the Nazis had time to count and register everyone, I decided to escape across the heath alone. I’ve been traveling ever since.”

“All the way across the Netherlands?”

“Yes. Mostly at night, avoiding the main roads and Nazi roadblocks. So many bridges have been destroyed that I had to swim across canals and rivers in places. The main roads are well guarded. But many wonderful people helped me along the way, feeding me and ferrying me across rivers . . . And now I’m here.”

Miriam gripped his icy hand, trying to warm it between her own. Avi had nothing with him —no bag, no extra clothing.

“You must be starving!” Miriam said. She was reluctant to leave his side, but she rose and quickly filled a plate with leftovers and bread from their supper. She sat beside him at the table, watching him wolf it down.

“That bread is from our Shabbat dinner,” Abba said. “Miriam has learned how to make challah.” Abba’s smile, so rare these days, was warm and tender. He loved Avi too.

“You’re still keeping Shabbat?” Avi asked.