Nana nods, then picks up the story. “One day, truckloads of Nazis showed up at his family’s farm. They checked their ID papers, raided the house for food and valuables, then left, heading toward town. Your pa asked his parents what the Nazis were going to do. They refused to say and forbade him to follow.

“Waclaw didn’t listen. As soon as he had a chance, he went into town. The Nazis had gathered up all the Jews. Every single one and forced them to stand in the square. Over a thousand people. An SS officer announced that if anyone spoke, they would be shot. There was a crying baby. The mother tried to get her to stop, rocking her, pressing her to her breast, but nothing got her to stop. What that Nazi did to that precious baby, that angel.” Nana gestures like she’s tossing a ball into the air. “The mother screamed! Her husband tried to console her, but he couldn’t. They both received bullets to their heads. Such cruelty.” Tears stream down Nana’s cheeks.

“Grandpa didn’t tell me about the baby,” I whisper.

“Ma, we don’t need to hear this now. You’re upset—”

“Mikayla, I have lived with this burden almost my entire life. It’s time.”

Mom sits at the bottom of Nana’s bed, one arm across her stomach and her other hand covering her mouth like she’s trying to suppress a cry. Dad stands near Nana’s dresser, motionless.

“These Nazis were beyond vicious; they were pure evil. Six of Grandpa’s friends were hung on gallows—the oldest was fifteen and the youngest was twelve.” Nana closes her eyes. “He was so small—like a marionette.” Her voice chokes. “It took him the longest time to die.”

“Oh Ma, that’s awful.”

Mom brings over a box of tissues. Nana motions for me to continue, and I fill them in on how Grandpa found Yankel hiding in the barn and how Grandpa’s mom said Yankel couldn’t stay. “They bleached Yankel’s hair, gave him a cross and a Bible, and told him which Catholic prayers to memorize.”

Nana fixes her gaze on Mom. “Yankel was given Waclaw’s identification card. Waclaw, your pa. Yankel became Waclaw.” Her eyes narrow, as if she’s saying, Are you listening? Have you heard every word?

“So Yankel became Waclaw,” Mom confirms.

Nana nods. “There’s something important you need to know.” She clings to my hand, motions for Mom to come close. She sits next to me.