“What you don’t know is what happened to that boy, Yankel. He barely survived. For over three years he slept in farm fields or in the forest or in barns—any place he could find a little shelter. He lived in constant fear that the Nazis would find him. Through rain, through the heat of summer, and worst of all, the bitter cold of winter. He ran, hid, and somehow managed to survive. He clung to life, even as death chased him. During his third winter, he was sick and exhausted, but most frightening of all was what happened to his hands. His fingers were so frostbitten that he was certain they’d snap off at the slightest touch. He prayed for a miracle.

“The next day, he spotted a woman washing clothes in a stream. His first instinct was to stay hidden. If she turned him in to the Nazi authorities, there would be a good chance they’d closely examine his ID and wonder why he was so far from home. Even if he said that he was an orphan, the Nazis could easily check, and then they’d know he was an impostor. Waclaw was terrified. He didn’t know what to do. He looked down at his hands and his blackened fingers. And that’s when he heard a small voice. ‘You can trust her,’ the voice said. ‘She’ll help you.’ Reluctantly, he walked over to her. He held up his hands, not in surrender, but to show her what had happened to them.

“Waclaw saw sympathy in her eyes. Carefully, she examined his fingers. And then she asked him if he was Jewish. For three years Yankel had been Waclaw. For three years he had hidden his true name, his true identity.

“That small voice said, ‘It’s okay. You can tell her.’ He said, ‘I’m Jewish.’

“The woman’s expression changed from pity to sorrow to compassion. She said, ‘I will help you. We’ll say that you’re my nephew. But you have to promise me you will never speak of this to anyone. You can never tell anyone you’re Jewish. It’s not safe. Do I have your promise?’ And he did.”

Tears track down Nana’s cheeks and I wipe them away.

“It was too dangerous to bring Waclaw home then, but she promised to return after dark and instructed him to wait for her in the shelter of trees near a cornfield. He waited and worried. Hours and hours passed, and then the cold day became a bitter night. Nearly every minute he questioned his decision to wait. His thoughts would teeter between hope and fear. What if she brought Nazi soldiers? But that small voice came to him again, reassured him, comforted him, promised him that the woman would help.”

She pauses, lowers her eyes, and loosens her grip on my hand.

A minute passes, two. Then Nana lifts her eyes, breathes deeply, and continues.