After the tunnel went silent, I stood motionless in my hiding place, overcome with sadness. My heart screamed, as it had the night Papa had drowned. Pawel, our savior, had been arrested. Dread rose in me then, mixing with my sorrow. Pawel had not just given us sanctuary, but had brought the food that sustained us. We could not possibly survive without him.

Devastated, I returned to the chamber. I considered not telling the others the terrible news at all to spare Mama from losing even further hope. But I could not hide the fact that Pawel would not be coming with food again. “Pawel was arrested!” I cried. Bubbe, who had been napping in the far corner of the chamber, stirred.

Mama looked aghast. “Are you certain?”

I nodded. “In the tunnel, just now. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Pan Rosenberg stood from the place where he had been sitting. “There are Germans in the tunnel?” His face paled.

“It was the police actually, not the Germans.”

My clarification was of little comfort. “They’ve come for us. Pawel warned us this might happen.”

“They’ve left,” I said, trying to soothe him despite my own worry. “They don’t know about us.”

“But they might find out,” he panicked, eyes darting back and forth. “We have to go, now, before they come back.” His voice rose higher, nearly cracking.

“Pawel won’t tell anyone about us, Papa,” Saul said, his voice echoing with doubt. There was fear in his eyes like I had never seen before.

“I’m sure he won’t,” Mama agreed quickly.

“Pawel did not give us up,” I confirmed. “We are safe here.” Pan Rosenberg’s entire body sagged with relief. But over his shoulder, Saul’s eyes met mine, questioning if that was really true. Pawel was loyal to us and strong. But who knew what the Nazis might do to him, or whether or not he would break?

“We will have no food.” Bubbe, whom I had not known was listening, bolted upright on her bed. Though her voice was not as panicked as her son’s, her eyes were wide with worry. “Without Pawel, how are we to survive?” Her question hung unanswered in the air among us.

The police did not return. But as the next few days wore on, our uneasiness grew. Even if we were still safe here, our only source of food was gone. We ate even less than usual. We shared the crumbs as if they were a feast, each person careful not to take more than his or her share.

But despite our efforts to conserve, three days after Pawel was arrested, the last of our food was finished. “What are we to do?” I asked.

“We will have to think of something,” Mama said, trying to force the worry from her voice. “We will have to find another way to feed everyone ourselves.”

“But how?” I asked.

Pan Rosenberg rubbed his fingers against his beard, thinking. “When we were in the ghetto, there was a rumor of a man in our building who kept potatoes behind a wall.”