The mouth of the tunnel yawned black against the peak of the high, snow-covered mountain in front of them.

Heziah Wissen and Jakob Kropf, closer brothers now than at any moment in their sojourns of more than two and a half years together, shook the hand of the fellow who had led them up the steep sheep track into the Austrian Alps. From here they would have to continue their journey alone.

They waited until the seven women and girls, and Jakob’s nine-year-old son, had caught up and had the chance to regain their breath after the steep climb. Then with his small lantern in front of him, Jakob took the lead and plunged into the abandoned railway tunnel into the heart of the mountain. He was followed by his wife and their seven-year-old daughter, Ursula and Gisela, and Marion and Sabina—Christian hosts for two years, now being cared for in turn by their Jewish friends—with Rabbi Wissen bringing up the rear just behind his wife, Helga.

How fitting for it to end in such a manner, thought the rabbi to himself, as the line ahead of him gradually disappeared into the mouth of the mountain.

The whole of the last several years had been as a long, dark tunnel for the Jews of Europe. None ever knew how long their own personal darkness would last, or whether light would ever come for them again. For most it never had, and the tunnel had ended in death.

Similar thoughts ran through the mind of each of the pilgrims slowly following the sure foot of Jakob Kropf. Each in his own way had been deepened and matured by the last three weeks together, a journey that had lasted longer than first anticipated. They had learned to depend upon one another and love one another, to pray for and trust one another. They had learned all the more the price and value of freedom—and life.

Not far at any moment from their thoughts was the price paid by the one who had made their freedom possible. He was not often spoken about, out of respect for her who it seemed likely was by now his widow. But rarely was there a waking moment when at least one of the ten was not offering up a prayer for the safety and protection of him who had proved himself their servant, even unto the making of the ultimate sacrifice one man can make for another of his kind.

Perhaps the greatest personal impact had been registered upon the two Jewish men—now walking before and behind the small troop—upon whom circumstances had forced a mande of leadership neither had sought.