Aliza - Gold Winner 🥇

Aliza

A Short Story written by Brynlee Boline

My name is Aliza. I am fifteen years old. That’s where the “normal” in my life ends.

I grew up with a loving family in Poznań, Poland. My parents had jobs. My now ten year old brother, Icchak, and I went to the multi-grade school down our street. Everything was perfect until Germany invaded. They came in like a storm, quickly overtaking my country. They only wanted pure-blooded Germans because they thought that they were the best type of people, and all others were dirty pigs. Their goal was to find Jews. Their goal was to find us. The monsters burned down houses, scavenged the ruins, and took everything of worth. Jews were rounded up and sent to concentration camps.

At first, my family managed to avoid capture. We hid out in the woods and in friends’ houses. Some were more than willing to help; others didn't want anything to do with us. We spent three years running from the Nazis — the group who invaded, which was led by a man named Adolf Hitler — until they caught up with us. Papa had told us to run, and we did. He bravely stayed back and confronted the men chasing us. I never saw him again. That night, my mother, Icchak, and I found shelter in the loft of an abandoned barn. Other than a leaky roof, the barn was fine because the straw made good beds and we instantly fell asleep. 

I woke up to the smell of smoke. “Maman!” I had cried. My mother quickly woke Icchak and collected our belongings. Coughing, we scurried down the barn’s ladder and crawled through the growing fire. Finally, we had made it outside. I had seen multiple footsteps leading from the barn. Nazis. I looked back to see the flames envelop our temporary safehouse. What had we done to deserve being persecuted like this?

It has been a year since that horrid day. Now, it is just Icchak and me. Maman died of fever a few months ago. No one would help us. But, before she passed, she renamed us so we wouldn't immediately be recognized as Jewish. My new name is Elza, and Icchak’s is now Izaak. We found a group of resistors, who have taken us in for now. Located in an old church building that was deserted in the bombings, we amount to twenty people. Some of our bunch are Jews, but most are Poles who disagree with Hitler’s reign over our country.

Izaak doesn’t know it, but I help with the resistance. I feel bad not telling him, but I know it’s for the best. Once a week, a group goes out with the goal in mind to slow things down for the Germans. I have helped with two outings before. One was tearing down Nazi encouragement posters, the other throwing food over the walls of prison camps. But tonight is the most dangerous; we are going to smuggle in a letter for a pastor, who is being held prisoner for preaching against Hitler. Unexpectedly, Symeon, the old resistance leader, has chosen me to do it. The others will wait outside in case anything goes wrong. “I believe you have what it takes, Elza.” Symeon told me.

I say goodnight to Izaak, kissing him on the forehead beneath his unruly hair line. He thinks I am just hanging out with some of the people I have befriended. 

“Have fun, Aliza!” he whispers.

I jerk my head to look at him. “Izaak, you can’t call me that. My name is Elza.”

“Sorry.” He says with a sheepish smile. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, buddy!” 

My group slowly and silently makes our way to the prison, playing the part of some teenagers on the way home. It is not yet curfew, so there are still a few citizens roaming the streets. As the formidable building comes into sight, my three friends disperse, so if one of us is caught, we won't be connected with the others. The prison is square, and has four tall, stone walls. From planning, I know cells line the inside perimeter, with an open area in the center, which is used for exercising prisoners and conducting executions. They call it exercising, but it really is just running them ragged until they have no more energy to try and escape.

Taking a deep breath, I step up to the officer guarding the front. I realize I am clutching  the bag I am using to deliver the letter, in my hands and relax my grip. The Nazi lifts his head to look at me. 

“Yes?” he sneers. The man looks to be about forty years of age, with his black hair speckled with gray. I look up at him. He is at least a head taller than me.

Clearing my throat, I stutter, “I would like to visit Herr Zelman. I have a f-few blankets that some ladies at the church knitted for him.” The man gestures for me to hand him the bag. I pass it over, trying to keep my hands steady. Please God don't let him notice the hidden pocket. The officer grunts and hands me back my sack. “Heil Hitler!”

Holding back a grimace, I nod. “Heil Hitler.” Hastily, I make my way to Herr Zelman’s cell.

“Hello. My name is Elza. Symeon sent me with some blankets.” At the sound of my voice, Herr Zelman lifts his head to gaze at me. He is an old man. His hair is gray and wrinkles have formed on his face after years of smiling before the war.

“Symeon sent you?” he asks.

“Yes.” I say in a hushed tone as I begin handing him blankets. “And I believe you have something for me too.” Once all the blankets are gone, Herr Zelman glances around and hands me a crumpled white envelope. I swiftly pocket it in the now empty bag. The prisoner grins and I finally understand the ray of hope I bring to people. As I make my way out of the building, I smile to myself. If I had looked back, I may have noticed the suspecting way the officer up front was watching me.

When I get back to the church, I hurriedly crawl into bed before Izaak gets suspicious. The last thing I remember thinking was that I should roll over and check on Izaak, but sleep quickly overtook me. I was woken by frantic shouts. I glance outside to see Nazis everywhere. They outnumber the resistance two to one, but they have weapons. Without taking my eyes off the scene, I reach over to wake Izaak. But my hands only touch the open air. I turn, and stare in horror at Izaak's empty bed, mentally slapping myself for not checking on him earlier.

Racing outside, I scream Izaak’s name. The only sound I can hear is my own rapidly beating heart. Everything else is drowned out. The screams, gunshots, and pounding footsteps are all gone. Where is he? Turning around, I see the man who checked my bag at the prison walking toward me with a wicked grin plastered on his face. I try to run, but my feet won't budge. I try to scream, but my throat is tied. Tears stream down my face as he lifts the butt of his gun. Then, everything goes black.

When I regain consciousness, whispering voices surround me. I try to open my eyes, but they are too heavy. I drift in and out of sleep, until I wake up fully. Through my closed eyes, I can tell it is bright out. I lift my eyelids to see an elderly woman smiling down at me. Her hair, which is worn in two braids, is long and gray. Wrinkles line her eyes and mouth from smiling. 

“Good morning, child. I am Ita.” she whispers. For some reason, it feels as if she is yelling. I try to sit up, but I immediately lay back down with a pounding head.

“Where am I? What happened?” I inquire. I am still wearing the clothes I was wearing when the officer caught me, but now, there is a yellow star stitched onto the sleeve of my green blouse. I finger it as I listen to Ita.

“We are in the Krakow concentration camp. They brought you here yesterday.” she replied regretfully. 

All at once, everything comes rushing back to me. I feel tears welling up in my eyes as I remember looking for my brother when the prison guard found me. I gingerly reach up and stroke the side of my face. Wincing as pain shoots through my head, I touch the deep cut, which the officer made when he jammed his gun into my skull. “Was anybody else brought here with me?”

“No. I’m sorry. My guess is they brought everybody to different locations so you would have no contact with each other. That’s what they did to my family two years ago. “

“You’ve been here for two years!?”

“Yes, but before that, before they even discovered I was a Jew, I was held in a POW camp. I don’t know if my husband is dead or alive.”

“A POW camp? What’s that?”

“POW stands for Prisoner of War. My husband and I stood up against some Nazis, so we were brought there. I was barely there for a week before I was sent here. It’s only a few miles away.”

“Maybe that’s where my brother, Izaak, is! He looks more Polish than me, so the Nazis could have mistaken him for one!”

“Your brother!? I’m sorry my dear, but you will most likely never see him again until this war is over.” Ita says. Then, under her breath, “If that day ever comes.”

Dong. Dong. Dong. 

“That’s the dinner bell. We better go if we want to eat.” I get up and follow Ita out the door. Stepping out onto the street, I stare in disbelief at the scene before me, every bone in my body aching to go back to the safehouse I had woken up in. People line the streets. Some are alive. Some aren’t. I choke back a sob as I walk past weeping kids lying next to their parents. Their faces are grimy and full of dirt. I force myself not to look as Ita leads me to a gray, patched tent, which people are crowded around.

 The flaps of the tent swing open and everybody rushes inside. I keep a hand on Ita’s shoulder so I won’t get lost. Slowly, the large mass of people becomes more organized — with some “help” from Nazis — and I find myself in a twisted, jumbled line. It creeps up to the back of the tent, where I see a few potatoes and loaves of bread. After what feels like hours, Ita and I make it to the front of the line. 

“Names?” the soldier asked, bored. 

“Ida and Elza.” Ita responds before I can open my mouth. The man hands us each a  potato and half a loaf of bread to share. 

When we exit the tent, I send a questioning look toward Ita. “Why did you tell that man your name was Ida?” I ask.

“Ida is my Polish name. By not sounding Jewish, we got this.” She said as she held up the loaf of bread. 

I pondered this for a few moments before saying, “My Jewish name is Aliza. My maman gave me the name Elza right before she died a few months ago.” 

We step inside our bunkhouse and I lay down on my stiff mattress, preparing myself for the day to come. From what I’d seen so far, I wasn’t very excited.

I have been in the camp for two weeks now. Everyday is pretty much the same. Wake up, roll call — to make sure nobody ran, which I doubt anybody can — eat, work, sleep. Every month, the new prisoners get their jobs. Some prisoners stay in camp and others are brought to mines and such for the day. Ita is a seamstress for the Nazis, and the past weeks I have been helping her out. Today I get my assignment. I am hoping to work with Ita as a seamstress. I walk to the food tent with a small group of others who are also receiving their work. 

“Tattooers: 334 and 854.” The officer announces. All us new prisoners are standing in a line as the Nazi reads off our assigned jobs. “Buriers: 345, 364, and 074.” That is the most dreaded job. They have to collect all the dead bodies and bury them. Nobody wants it. I feel bad for the three who received it. “Seamstresses,” Please, Please, Please! “234 and 275.” I try not to look disappointed. “Trench diggers: 573, 675, and 983.” I look up at my number - 675. Everybody receives one when they arrive. I was unconscious, but Ita informed me later it was tattooed on my forearm. Diggers are one of the only ones allowed to leave camp. The other two selected with me are boys. I know Malachi a little, but Abraham got here just two days ago. “You will report here tomorrow after first meal to receive your instructions.”

The next day, I snarf down my breakfast and head to the tent again. I learn I will leave after first meal, each morning, and travel to a nearby, hopefully (in the German’s case) future battlefield. We will dig in the designated spots until it is time for second meal. Then, we will go back to camp and eat there. Malachi, Abraham, and I hop on the rickety trailer with the other diggers. The ride is short, and we soon arrive at the open field. There is a pile of shovels, which are being picked up by others. I follow their example and start to walk toward the pile. 

“You! Girl! Where do you think you’re going?” I turn to see a young man sneering at me.

I lower my eyes. “Forgive me! I was going to grab a shovel.”

“You do not get a shovel until we know you won’t run off with it. For now, you will use your hands. Right over there, start digging. Same goes for you two.” He gestures to the boys behind me.

I nod and walk over to the rocky spot the man indicated. Kneeling down, I lift my hands and start digging.

I have been at this for four hours. No breaks. My hands, along with the boys, are torn and bloody. But any time we slow down, the Nazi who had yelled at us comes over and kicks our backs. I sigh. We have barely made a dent in the ground. Finally, the time comes where we are allowed to leave. I hop back on the bus, which is what everybody calls it, even though it is a small cart led by an old, worn horse, and try not to fall asleep on the ride back. 

The first few weeks of being a digger are the same as that first day. Now, my hands, which have grown accustomed to the rough work, are tough and calloused. Today, when I arrive at the site, Abraham, Malachi and I are provided with a small handheld shovel. I don't yet get the large shovels the senior diggers use, but at least they trust me enough to have this. I don’t have to use my hands anymore, which is a relief. 

I spend a few days with the shovel before it happens. I am standing in line, waiting for the bus ride home so I can get rid of the hunger, which gnaws at my stomach, when I see something shiny in the ground beneath my feet. Using my toe, I rub off some of the dirt to reveal a small shovel similar to the one I use. Every day before we go back, the Nazis count the tools to make sure we haven’t taken any, but this one looks like it's been here for a long time. I feel bad thinking about what happened to the prisoners when this one went missing. I dig around it with my foot a little longer, then hastily bend down and pretend to scratch my foot. What I’m really doing is shoving the spade up my sleeve. Hoping nobody saw me, I stand back up and position myself in a way the shovel is against my body so the bump is not visible. My heart beating rapidly, I climb aboard the bus.

 When we get back to camp, I hurry back to my bunk. Earlier, I had stumbled across a floorboard that was loose. It would be the perfect place to hide my new forbidden treasure. I carefully yank at the loose board until it comes off. Tucking the shovel in, I place the board back on and stand to admire my work. You would have to look really closely and notice the gaps between the planks to tell it ever came off.

I jump at the sound of a door opening and quickly stand up. My heart relaxes as Ita walks in. “Are you ready to go child?”

“Yes.” I respond as Ita and I make our way to the main tent. I don’t know why I’m not telling her about my discovery, I just have a feeling I should wait. What if I get in trouble for it? I don’t want her to as well.

The next day, I get up early and grab my shovel. Shoving it up my sleeve, I head over to a part of the camp where I know Nazis rarely visit. Checking to make sure no one is near, I pick a spot near the fence and start digging. When I hear the bell, I hurry back to my bunkhouse, hide the spade, and head over to first meal. I do the same that night. It becomes part of my routine and the hole gets bigger and bigger. I think Ita is getting suspicious, but so far, she has said nothing.

Soon, my hole starts to become a tunnel. I think about telling Ita about it, or the boys, who have become close friends, but decide against it. I constantly think about that tunnel and what would happen if it is discovered. I also remember how it seemed so hard that first day when it felt as if I had barely made a dent. When I finish it, I am going to bring Ita and the boys out, and go find Izaak. I dream about it almost every day, but I am especially dreamy today. Maybe that’s why I don’t notice the man. When I get to the tunnel, I dig, like usual. When the meal bell dings, I hide my shovel, eat, and head off to the bus. 

That night, I walk over to my escape. It is almost done. When I draw nearer however, I slow down. Something is wrong, I can feel it. Peeking around a building at my work site, I stifle a gasp of horror. There are five Nazis surrounding my tunnel. They must have followed me this morning and now are waiting for me to come back. I turn and stumble my way back to the bunkhouse, throwing myself onto my mattress. I cry and cry — silently of course — until I can’t cry anymore. Then, I fall asleep.

I am woken in the middle of the night by a sharp rapping at the door. I groggily sit up, but before I can get out of bed, a Nazi storms in. He immediately spots me and yanks me out of bed by the wrist. Yanking it around, he double checks my number, then grins wickedly. “You’re coming with me.”

I think about fighting him, but then I see the rifle strapped across his back. My face pales as the man drags me outside and onto a waiting bus. He shoves me onto the cold, wet ground and sneers at me. The cart jerks forward with a gesture from the Nazi.

“Gunther, take us to the pre-execution camp.” I had heard of these camps, of course. They are the places Jews go before their execution. From what I’d heard, there is a rare chance of you even getting one meal a day. You sleep on the floor and mice infect the sheds, which are used as bunkhouses. There is disease everywhere, and most people don’t make it to their execution. “Gunther, guess what this girl did. She dug under one of our fences! Now she will pay with two months before we relieve her of her misery.” 

Relieve me!? Is that what they call putting me in a gas chamber and having me slowly consume the toxic fumes? Is that what they call tying me to a chair, then having ten men, at once, shoot me till I am dead?  Is what they call “experimenting,” seeing how long I can survive in frozen water, or under reduced air pressure? I don’t think so. I know the truth. Relieving means killing.

The man keeps talking about how miserable the camp is going to be. I know they think it is dishonorable to talk directly to a Jew, so he acts like he is talking to Gunther, when he really is trying to get me to understand his point. 

The long ride is miserable. It is cold and pouring rain, which makes my nose runny. But any time I sniff in, the guard kicks me. Each time, I try not to glare at him. I’m glad he isn’t looking at me. If he did, he would see resistance in my eyes. It is like fire. Whenever I think about what these monsters have done to us, the flames grow, threatening to spill out. It is all I can do to hold them down. I want to scream with the unfairness of it all.

So I don’t burst, I distract my mind with thoughts of Ita. I pray they don’t hurt her in any way. She was so kind to me and it pains me to think of her waking up and not knowing where I have gone. She will worry, I know she will. Then, I think of the boys. If they get blamed for helping me sneak the shovel into camp, I could never forgive myself.

After about an hour of driving, we arrive in a city, which is unknown to me. The Nazi yanks me out of the bus and shoves me down the road, where I can see the looming walls of the pre-execution camp. I stumble on a rock and the Nazi yells at me. “Move faster, Jew!” He spits out the last word like it is poisonous. I take a deep breath to control my temper, and keep walking. 

Arriving at the camp, the man throws me towards the soldiers at the gates. “I got another troublemaker for ya. This one was trying to escape by digging a hole under the fences with a spade she had stolen from her work site. Good luck with her.” Then, he is gone. I am left in the hands of the two smirking guards at the gate.

They shove me into the camp and shut the doors behind me. I can hear them laughing as I make my way down the dirty road. I walk over to a Nazi in the main tent. “Excuse me, sir, but do you know of a bunkhouse with a spot for me?”

The man looks up and nods with a wicked sneer. “Oh, yes. There are many. How about you take old Kara’s bed. She died yesterday, so right now, it is of no use.” He cackles wildly and points to a creaky shed with holes in the walls. I swear I can hear the squeaks of mice from all the way over here.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You won't be thanking me for long!” he grunts. 

Wow. This place is really creepy at night. I make my way over to my new home, open the door, and lay on an empty spot on the floor. It is hard and when I wake up, my whole body aches. I wait for the familiar gongs of the meal bell, but they never come. Then I remember why. People only get one meal here. And it will come around noon. I sigh and make my way out the door. Might as well explore.

The sun blinds me the first few seconds I am outside. The sight is even worse than at the other camp. Dead bodies are piled along the streets. Children are crying and coughing up blood. I jump at a scream that comes from the other side of the camp. Blinking, I trudge through the grime on the street to the main tent because the clock near the tent says it is almost noon. The bells will go off any minute.

I stumble on a large rock and look up just in time to see a young boy enter the tent. Could it be!? I sprint forward into the tent and search for the boy I just saw. Yes! It’s him! Izaak! He is standing at the end of the line and hasn’t noticed me yet. So I won’t draw attention to myself, I slowly make my way over, and stand in line behind him. It is all I can do not to squeeze him.

We lumber our way to the front of the line and collect our food. It is just a measly bowl of broth with a few potato chunks. No bread. I chase after Izaak before he can disappear again.

“Izaak!” I shout. He whips around, and once he sees me, a smile lights upon his face. I run over to him and wrap him in a great hug. Stepping back, I wipe off the tears, which are cascading down my face, and take a closer look at him. He has grown taller in the past few months, but is also much more skinny from the small food rations.

“Oh Izaak! I’m so glad I found you! How are you? How long have you been here? What happened that night they caught us? Are you okay?” A million questions pour out of my mouth as I smile at him. 

He puts a hand on my arm. “Slow down, slow down!” He says laughing. “I’m okay, hungry but okay. I’ll tell you everything but we need to get somewhere safe first.” He grabs my hand and leads me over to a broken down shed. Once we are in there, I plop down on one of the many dusty hay bales. Izaak sits across from me.

“Wow. I don’t even know where to start.” He shifts in his seat. “Well, the night the Nazis found us, I woke in the middle of the night and you weren’t there. I got up to look for you. Nobody else was awake. On my way back, a Nazi snuck up from behind me and tried to grab me, so I kicked him and ran. Right into another officer.”

“Oh, Izaak,” I whisper.

“He knocked me out and the next thing I could remember was waking up here. In this barn. Perec then showed me around the place and explained how things worked.”

“Perec? Who’s Perec?”

“Perec is the man who rescued me. He told me like everyone else, I have one more offense against me until I’m on the next train to my death.” Then, in hushed tones, “He’s the leader of the resistance here.”

I gasp. “There’s a resistance? In this place? How?”

Izaak glances at me. “Let me finish my story.” 

I guiltily smile. “Sorry.” I have a tendency to interrupt.

“The next morning, during roll call, I told them my name was Ichaak. They quickly found out I was Jewish, so I remained in this horrible place. The only good part about being here is I get to help fight. But Elza, you can’t tell anyone about this. We meet every night around midnight, when the guards are switching. I’ll bring you tonight.”

“Oh, Izaak, why did you tell them your name? I have learned by now never to tell anyone my name. I’ve seen too much.”

“I wasn’t thinking. I don’t like hiding who I truly am.”

“Sometimes it’s the only way to stay alive.” I said, a little harsher than I meant. “Sorry. It’s just that now that I’ve found you, I can't imagine losing you again. Please be more careful.”

 He nods. “Now, I’ll pick you up at midnight. Be ready.”

I nod, smile, and give him one more hug before I leave the shed and make my way back to my bunk house. I spend the rest of the day getting to know my bunkmates. It takes a little coaxing to get them to talk, but once I do, they share everything, but in hushed tones.

There is Ada, who goes by Adela. Her family was undercover as Polish and hid other Jews in their house. They were at it for a whole year before they were found out. Chana and Liba are sisters who were hiding in a house. Germans broke down the door and they were taken, but not before putting up a big fight, which is how they got here. They go by Anna and Lebia. Lastly, Reuma (Ruma), was taken from her parents who were discovered to be working for the resistance. One day, they never came home, and later that night, Nazis stormed into her house and brought her here, even though she insisted she had no idea her parents were a part of anything. 

By the time night had come, I had become good friends with all of my bunkmates. I layed in bed and waited for midnight to come.

Rap, rap, rap, came the quiet knock at the door. I quickly got up, staying as quiet as I could so as not to wake my new friends, and skunk out the door to find Izaak waiting for me. He put a finger to his lips, signaling me to be quiet, and led me to the old shack.

We enter, and I am amazed to see people packed inside. They all look up as we walk inside and it immediately becomes quiet. I am surprised to see Ruma sitting on one of the hay bales. The space is illuminated by a single lantern, casting shifting shadows on the walls. A man stands up and introduces himself. He looks to be in his mid-sixties.

“My name is Perec. Ichaak here has told us much about you.”

Icaak? They know his real name? I glance at my brother before responding, “My name is Elza.”

“What is your true name? We don’t have to be afraid or hide who we are here. It’s safe.” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” I say while wringing my hands, “but I have heard and seen too much to expose myself to that level.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Elza. Maybe when this is all over, things can go back to normal, and you can have pride in who you are. You should not be ashamed of who God made you to be.” I nod. “Well, let’s start this meeting.”

During the meeting, we talk about events of the day, members both lost and added, and future acts of resistance. I leave feeling energized and amazed that people have the courage to resist, even in this frightening place.

Every other night, the group meets in that worn shed. We gain members and lose. We fight and hope. We resist. I have gotten to know Ruma very well, and when no one is around we talk about the resistance. I tell her my stories, and she tells me hers. At first, I was amazed, because her parents are now prisoners since they were part of a resistance, so I assumed she would want nothing to do with it. But I found her reasons were good. She wants to continue with her parents' dream. She wants to see it fulfilled and Hitler off the throne.

I glance over at her now, and smile, thinking of all the things she has told me and how our hopes for this world are so similar. We are silently making our way to our meeting place. Dark clouds cover the moon, so the only source of light are the evermoving flames of the lanterns. We creep to the shed and enter, arriving to a packed room of people, young and old. Perec must have important news. He hinted at it two nights ago, and everyone there probably told everyone they know.

Ruma and I take a seat next to Izaak and wait patiently for the meeting to start. Soon enough, Perec stands.

“Welcome, friends! As you all probably already know, I have big news for tonight. The rumors you have heard lately are true.” We all know what he is talking about. The camp had been buzzing for the past few days with rumors that the prisoners at the Warsaw concentration camp had rebelled, and now are fighting. And they are all true! I lean forward. I am so absorbed in what he is saying, I don’t see Ruma leaving.

“Since our friends at Warsaw are fighting, the Nazis’ attention will be directed there. They will never see us coming. Now is a better time than ever to fight!” He throws a fist in the air. “Now, who’s with me?” Cheers of approval rise up from around the circle. “Then I guess it’s decided. Next meeting, we will—”

Perec is interrupted by a loud bang. I jerk my head to the door. Or where the door should have been. Now, there are Nazis. A lot of them. 

One steps forward and grins mockingly. I take him to be their leader. “What do we have here?” Like he doesn’t already know. “It looks like some pigs, who are out after curfew! No, wait! Even better, those pigs are planning an act of resistance against their ruler! And what do we do with pigs who break the rules? We kill them!”

At those last words, he steps out of the way to allow the other officers a way in. They swarm, grabbing anyone they can. I reach for Izaak. Our fingers touch for a second before we are ripped away from each other.

“No!” I scream. I can’t lose him again. Before I can do anything though, I am forced down on my knees. Within a matter of minutes, the entire group is down on the ground, with our hands and feet bound. I am ashamed of thinking, just a few minutes ago, we had a chance. We look so small and feeble now. 

“I would like you all to thank the one who turned you in. She has been very kind to us.” I gape at the girl who walks in. The fear that fills me quickly turns to anger at Ruma, who had filled my head with her stories of wanting to help the resistance, and now she is standing with a Nazi. She makes eye contact with me and I am surprised to see tears in her eyes. Serves her right. I hope she feels guilty for what she did the rest of her life. I glare at her.

The Nazi says something and I tear my eyes from my so-called “friend” to look at him. “And guess what? She will be joining you in the grave!”

Ruma whips around to look at him. “But you promised if I turned them in, you would release me and my parents.”

“Did you really believe I would keep that promise? I never even meant it in the first place!” He uses his rifle to whack the back of Ruma’s knees, forcing her to kneel. “The train to the execution site leaves tomorrow morning. We begin our walk now. Stand,” he commands.

We walk single file to waiting horses. The officers mount and make us continue our walk. Anytime we slow down, kicks to the back are our reward. These cause us to stumble, which infuriates our mounted captors even more. It is a miserable walk, but eventually, we arrive at the train depot. We are pushed to the back of the train, and the Nazis leave us there, walking to the first class cars, where they will surely enjoy the luxury on our long ride to the other side of Poland. This is part of the torture. Not providing any water or food, forcing us to be stuffed together in just two small cars, and putting us in the dirtiest, grossest cars. 

A single officer stands outside, guarding us. I make my way over to Izaak and embrace him in a hug. “What are we gonna do, Elza?”

“I don’t think there is anything we can do buddy. But we might as well sleep so we can get some strength before . . . Well, you know.” I run out of words to say, so Izaak and I lean against the wall and close our eyes.

We are somewhere near the border when I startle awake as a hand is laid on my shoulder. I look over to see Ruma’s tear-stained face. All the anger I had suppressed comes bubbling back up at the sight of her. “Get away from me you traitor.” My voice wakes Izaak and he turns to watch us.

My words hurt her, but I don’t take them back. “It’s true.” she says. “I am a traitor. But you would have done the same thing if you were in my shoes. I had a chance to rescue my parents. I think you would have taken that opportunity if you could too, no matter the cost.” 

I lower my eyes because it’s true. I would do anything to go back and save them. “I’m sorry Ruma.”

“Reuma. My name is Reuma. If I am going to die in an hour, I want to be known as who I truly am.”

“Me too.” Izaak enters the conversation. “I’m done hiding. If I am going to be leaving, I don’t want to be ashamed of who I am anymore. I will die with pride.”

I lean back and ponder this for a minute. “I don’t know. We may receive a quicker or less painful death.” They both look at me. “I mean, think about it. If they believe we are trying to be like them, they might feel proud that we would look up to them and be kinder.”

Ruma suddenly stood up. “No! Elza, or whatever your actual name is, you will never get the chance to be who you truly are because of me. And you can’t keep living in fear! So here’s what you’re gonna do.”

The plan she whispered to Izaak and I was completely insane. “No! Reuma, that’s crazy! I can’t let you do it!”

“It might be the only way. I couldn’t live with myself if I knew there was something I could do to help my best friend, the one who I’d betrayed, and I didn’t do it. Now is the best time. You know that.”

Tears in my eyes, I reach over and hug her. “Thank you, Reuma.”

She nods. “Now go!”

Izaak pulls me up and we push our way to the back of the car. Reuma goes in the opposite direction. She nods at me and puts all her weight against the door with the officer on the other side. Taking a deep breath, I step out onto the small deck on the back of the train, Izaak right on my heels. The Nazi sees us and starts pushing on the door, but Reuma holds it in place. 

I stare at the ground rushing beneath me. “You ready?” I ask Izaak. “Three.”

“Two.”

“One!” I shout. I jump off to the side and as I land, I roll to soften the impact. But it still knocks the breath out of me and I struggle to get up. Once I do, I see Izaak has done the same.

“That way!” I point to the direction of the border, which Reuma informed me is just a few miles away. We break out into a sprint. Silence fills the air around us as we run, which is fine with me. I think about the huge sacrifice Reuma made for us. There will not be a day that goes by where I don’t think about it and how she saved our lives. I also think about what she and Izaak said. How they don’t want to hide who they are anymore. They don’t want to be ashamed. The more I think about it, the more the tears come. By the time we reach the border, I have cried myself out, and dried tears streak my face.

I take Izaak’s hand and together we step across the small creek, which marks the border of Poland. There is a small town in the distance, and we make our way towards it. I don’t know what to do after this. We have no money, and no where to stay. Maybe we can find somewhere that needs weeks done, and in return, we are fed and sheltered.

We run into someone who is looking for exactly that on the way there. “Are you kids lost?” He asks.

“No, but we’re looking for somewhere with food and shelter in return for work.”

“I can help with that.” The man smiles and I know we will be okay. “What are your names?”

I hesitate for a second, thinking about Reuma. Then, making my decision, I look up, fire in my eyes. “My name is Aliza.”