“While we regarded ourselves as Jews, we were rather well assimilated and not terribly religious. We lit candles on Shabbat but generally went to synagogue only on holidays. My father didn’t wear a beard or a kippah, and our kitchen wasn’t kosher. My sister and I attended an ordinary Dutch school. Many of our classmates didn’t even realize we were Jewish. That was especially true of me. You see, Mr. Argov, when I was young, my hair was blond.”

“And your sister?”

“She had brown eyes and beautiful dark hair. Like hers,” she added, glancing at Chiara. “My sister and I could have been twins, except for the color of our hair and eyes.”

Lena Herzfeld’s face settled into an expression of bereavement. Gabriel was tempted to pursue the matter further. He knew, however, it would be a mistake. So instead he asked Lena Herzfeld to describe her family’s home on Plantage Middenlaan.

“We were comfortable,” she replied, seemingly grateful for the change of subject. “Some might say rich. But my father never liked to talk about money. He said it wasn’t important. And, truthfully, he permitted himself only one luxury. My father adored paintings. Our house was filled with art.”

“Do you remember the Rembrandt?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “It was my father’s first major acquisition. He hung it in the drawing room. Every evening he would sit in his chair admiring it. My parents were devoted to each other, but my father loved that painting so much that sometimes my mother would pretend to be jealous.” Lena Herzfeld gave a fleeting smile. “The painting made us all very happy. But not long after it entered our home, things started to go wrong in the world around us. Kristallnacht, Austria, Poland. Then, finally…us.”

For many residents of Amsterdam, she continued, the German invasion of May 10, 1940, came as a shock, since Hitler had promised to spare Holland so long as it remained neutral. In the chaotic days that followed, the Herzfelds made a desperate bid to flee, first by boat, then by road to Belgium. They failed, of course, and by the night of the fifteenth, they were back in their home on Plantage Middenlaan.

“We were trapped,” said Lena Herzfeld, “along with one hundred and forty thousand other Dutch Jews.”