Rabbi Heziah Wissen had ventured south against the pleas of his wife and daughters.

He had established many contacts with several other rabbis still in the country, visiting many safe houses, and making his way southward to Innsbruck, from where he had been smuggled into Zürich.

In Switzerland he had met with Jewish leaders from throughout Europe, passing along what information he possessed about the underground’s work in Poland.

News of the Allied landing at Normandy reached him at Zürich. Though to do so would put his life in danger, and though Nazi death camps now operated at full capacity in a feverish attempt to rid Europe of Jews before the Allies put a stop to it, immediately he began making preparations to return to Germany. He would not leave his wife and daughters alone as the war ended.

He returned through the network to Innsbruck, thence north.

After an absence of ten months, he had now been back at Lebenshaus a week. It was early August 1944.

He and Baron von Dortmann found themselves alone in the library one afternoon. As if drawn by common consent, they had come together in the place that housed wisdom greater than their own.

“Worse times could be approaching, Baron,” the rabbi was saying. “As the Allies draw closer, Germany’s leaders may move in unpredictable ways.”

“The wild beast trapped in a corner is always the most dangerous,” assented Baron von Dortmann.

“Especially after the recent unsuccessful attempt on Hitler.”

The baron nodded. His heart had been heavy to hear of it, not because the assassination had failed, or because it had been attempted, but merely because his beloved nation had sunk to such depths that honorable men should consider killing its leader the only solution. Perhaps his heart was heaviest of all from the news he had received that his friend Dietrich Bonhoeffer was apparently among those who felt that way.

“It may be time for you to reconsider your position, Baron,” added Rabbi Wissen.

“How do you mean?”

“They will be looking for us with even greater intensity than before. You have your own family, your own safety to think about.”

“What are you saying, Heziah?” said the baron, with a rising astonishment in his voice.

“That you should consider asking all of us to go elsewhere. I do not want to endanger Lebenshaus. The longer we are here, the greater the risk of discovery for—”

“Don’t speak another word of it, Heziah!” interrupted the baron. “I do not make commitments to carry out only when it happens to be convenient to myself. When I make a commitment, it is for life.”

“I only—”