The Hidden Room

By William Durbin and Barbara Durbin

 

Could you survive in a cave...for a whole year?

That's the challenge facing fourteen-year-old Jacob. Set in Ukraine during the final months of World War II, THE HIDDEN ROOM is based on the true story of a Jewish family who escapes from the Nazis by taking refuge in a remote cave. Jacob adjusts to t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lake Vermilion Press
• Release date: Jun 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9780578399355

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

THE HIDDEN ROOM

Istare at Mama’s hand, which trembles below my brother’s chin. No one has said anything, but we all know why her hand is there. If Eli makes a sound, she’s ready to silence him before he can give us away. But Eli stays calm; I think he understands more than most four-year-olds.

From the hidden room in the hayloft of our neighbor’s barn, I hear brakes squeal. I hold my breath as a truck door slams in front of our home next door, and a voice shouts in German, Come out, Jüden schweine!

The crack of splintering wood tells me the Nazis have kicked in our unlocked front door. Boots pound across the floor. Furniture crashes. Glass shatters. I feel helpless, knowing our home is being destroyed while we can do nothing but hide.

Only moments later the soldiers shout behind our house. Rusty hinges creak as they throw open our root cellar door. Then everything goes quiet.

We wait in nervous silence. I pray that they’ve given up. But when I hear another voice—louder, closer—coming from the side yard, just beyond the barn wall: Come out! We know you are here!

A puff of air flutters my sister’s hair as the soldiers jerk the door open below us.

No one moves. My sister Rachel’s eyes widen with fear. Papa says that since I’m fourteen and the oldest, I need to show Rachel, who’s mature for nine, and Eli how to be brave. But I can’t help feeling small and afraid. We stand shoulder to shoulder behind the false wall that Papa and I finished building only last week. Thanks to a warning from our neighbor, Anna Koval, we had just enough time to hide before the Nazis arrived.

The late afternoon sun filters through the slats in the weathered siding of the barn, striping our faces with blurred lines of light and shadow. Flecks of dust float in the dry air, and familiar scents drift up: harness leather, hay and oats, sawdust, and manure.

When the Nazis step into the barn, their boots are quiet on the earthen floor. I imagine them spreading out below, searching every corner. The Koval’s plow horse, Pushkin, nickers nervously and stomps his hooves in the stall directly below us.

Eli’s mouth puckers like he’s ready to cry. But I signal him to keep quiet by pressing my index finger to my lips. Mama’s hand remains below his chin.

Though Eli is small for his age, he likes to be called big boy. If only he remembers Mama’s lessons. She and Rachel practiced with him over and over. Mama even made a game out of it. One finger to the lips means to stand stock-still and be silent.

Eli’s lower lip curls down. He looks at Papa and then me. His mouth begins to form my name, Jacob. But before he can speak, I shake my head again and try not to show how frightened I am.

Please don’t give us away.

I study everyone. Mama fights back tears. Under the brim of Papa’s faded, gray cap, sweat beads and drips down his forehead. I feel a dry tickle in the back of my throat, but I resist the urge to cough.

Without warning, a soldier kicks the stall beneath us. Pushkin snorts loudly at the sharp crack of wood, and Eli’s frown deepens.

Please don’t cry.

Now I hear boots climbing the ladder to the hayloft. A voice snarls, I smell a Jew!

Has someone tipped him off? Should we crouch in case he fires his gun through the door? We had stopped hiding in our root cellar when we heard the Nazis were randomly machine-gunning walls. I’m not sure this is any better.

Come out, little Jews. His tone is taunting now. I have a present for you.

The boots stop. Suddenly he shouts, Are you sleeping with your babies under the hay?

Rachel gasps and rocks backward.

Take that! And that! The Nazi grunts as I hear him plunge his bayonet into the hay pile.

Then the boots move forward again. I stand as still as a post, but I’m shaking inside. Will the soldier hear my heart beating? Has he noticed something that will give us away? Papa and I were careful to use weathered wood for the false wall, and we fitted the hinges out of sight.

The soldier is so close now that I hear him breathing behind me. I smell stale tobacco and boot polish. I wait for the tell-tale click of the safety on his rifle flicking off.

Trapped in our makeshift room, the air is hot and suffocating. Our faces are tight, except for Eli, who grins at a fleck of dust drifting past his nose. He crosses his eyes and looks like he is about to giggle.

Please don’t.

Just when I can’t stand it any longer, the Nazi’s boots turn and stomp back toward the ladder.

After he climbs down, I hear the soldiers chatting as they begin to leave the barn.

Only now do I dare take a deep breath, and I’m about to relax, when I notice that Rachel’s face is ashen. Suddenly her eyes go out of focus and her shoulders slump. Just before her legs give out, I drop to one knee and catch her in my arms.

I try to be quiet, but my elbow bumps the wall.

The soldiers below stop talking.

We all freeze.

My breath catches.

But Eli grins, thinking that Rachel and I are playing a game. He looks ready to shout, My turn, Jacob!

But I shake my head again and frown.

A voice below asks, "Vas ist das?"

No one answers.

We stand absolutely still, waiting for the boots to return.

Suddenly, from a corner of the barn, our cat Chekhov gives out a loud, cranky meow.

"Ein katze," the Nazis laugh.

Even as the sound of the boots fade, my heart keeps pounding. I watch Eli and hope that he stays still.

I imagine the soldiers glancing back at the barn as they walk away, looking for any clue and listening for the smallest sound that might reveal our hiding place.

None of us speak until we hear the truck engine rattle to life and the Nazis drive off.

Relieved, I offer a smile to Rachel, cradled in my arms, like a sleeping angel. A dark stain spreads on the front of her dress as she wets herself.

Suddenly Rachel blinks and her eyes flash open.

To keep from crying out, she bites her lower lip. I feel her muscles trembling.

It’s alright, I whisper, wishing I was telling the truth.

CHAPTER 2

THE NOTICE IN THE SQUARE

Rachel is pale and shaky when she finally stands and reaches for the door.

You shouldn’t. Not yet, I warn her. A soldier might be hiding in the yard, waiting for us to show ourselves.

Jacob is right, Papa nods, keeping his voice low.

But I need air! Rachel moans.

Just rest, dear, Mama says, pulling her close and stroking her long, brown hair. Rachel’s hair makes her look like she belongs to another family. The rest of us have black, curly hair—except for Papa, who is bald and always wears a cap.

Mama gazes at Papa with tired eyes and whispers, They’ve ruined our Passover again.

The Nazis take joy in tormenting us on our holy days.

But Papa was not always so distrustful of the Nazis. The evening we first heard that the Germans had invaded Ukraine, he said, Good news at long last!

How can you be so sure? Mama asked.

The Germans are a cultured people, Papa insisted. They would do us no harm.

Many Ukrainians shared Papa’s hope that the Germans would free us from Stalin, a Russian dictator who has imprisoned and killed millions of people. Some towns even greeted the Nazis with gifts of flowers, bread, and salt.

Mama remained doubtful.

When the lead German forces swept past our village, Papa became more impatient. Why do we have to live in such a remote valley without even a train station?

I count that as a blessing, Mama said.

Late that night I heard my parents arguing. Papa insisted the Germans would treat Ukraine better than Stalin had. But Mama said, I won’t be taken for a fool. Mama and Papa often teased each other when they disagreed, but on this night, the bitter tone in Papa’s voice scared me.

I felt I was being pulled in two directions at once. It made me nervous about what might be coming next.

Life for Jews in Ukraine has never been easy. Russian pogroms—organized massacres—had killed millions. And Stalin starved more Jews during a forced famine called the Holodomor.

It wasn’t until last fall, as the German army backtracked toward our village, that stories of Nazi arrests and mass murders reached us. They hinted that Hitler might be just as evil as Stalin.

Mama and I were both worried, but Papa dismissed these tales as gossip. He refused to change his mind, even after the Nazis took over our city hall and the local commander posted a threatening notice in the town square. The words—written in Ukrainian, Russian, and Yiddish—were chilling:

Jews of Shevchenko!

On Monday, October 2nd

you are required to report

to the synagogue

on Yarkov Street by 8:00 a.m.

Bring your documents, money,

valuables, and warm clothing.

Failure to appear

is punishable by death.

We must go to town as they ask, Papa said.

Go yourself, Mama replied, placing both hands on her hips. The children are staying here with me.

My family has never broken the law.

Mothers follow a higher law to protect their children. Mama is a half a head shorter than Papa, but when her mind is set, she seems to stare him down, eye-to-eye.

I keep telling you the Germans will do us no harm, he pleaded.

What about Babi Yar?

Rumors, Papa said.

According to a story Papa refused to believe, the Nazis had gunned down 30,000 Jews near Kiev and buried them in a pit. But since the Germans had taken away our radios and censored the newspapers, it was hard to know if that report was true.

Mama and Papa are so different, I wonder how they found each other. Papa is broad-shouldered and strong. His deep-set, brown eyes give him a stern look. He doesn’t like change. His job as a watchmaker is neat and ordered, and he enjoys spending hours by himself in his workshop. Papa’s favorite Yiddish word is bashert, which means something that is "destined to be."

Mama enjoys people. She’s warm and welcoming, a free spirit who loves variety and adores music and poetry. Her favorite saying is, One good heart can change the world. Though she’s as slender as a dancer, the wiry muscles in her arms stand out when she wrings the laundry or helps me chop wood. But the best thing about Mama is how she stays positive and encouraging.

When the Germans took control of our village, Mama became even more suspicious. The Nazis ordered all Jews to register their addresses and wear armbands with blue stars. Papa was ready to comply, but Mama stopped him and asked, Why would we make it so easy for them to find us?

On the morning we were supposed to report to the synagogue, Mama defied the Nazi order and stayed at home. Papa said, I’m not about to hide like a common thief. Yet Mama stood firm.

I hadn’t planned on saying anything. But I surprised myself and spoke to Papa in a tone I had never used before. Mama’s right.

What did you say? Papa demanded, glaring.

You should listen to Mama. I tried to steady my voice. We’ve heard enough to know the Germans can’t be trusted.

Papa sputtered, Never in all my days did I think my own son—

Before he could say more, I turned to Rachel and Eli. Hurry. We might not have much time. I felt terrible about disappointing Papa, but Mama and I led the way to our root cellar, where we hid for the rest of the day, listening for Nazi footsteps above.

Though Papa followed after us, he was so angry, he refused to speak to me through that long afternoon in the dark.

That evening, we heard our neighbor Anna Koval softly calling from outside. When Mama opened the door, Anna was relieved. I’m so glad you are still here! All of the Jews who went to the synagogue were loaded onto trucks and hauled away.

We’d heard stories of death camps in Poland where the Nazis were murdering thousands of Jews, but Papa had been sure it could never happen in Ukraine.

They took everyone? Papa asked, stunned.

Mrs. Koval nodded.

My eyes filled with tears.

Everyone meant my aunts and uncles and cousins—gone.

Everyone meant all my friends from school—including Sophie Lowenstein...

From then on, the Nazi policy was Judenfrei, or free of Jews. The Germans paid bounties to Ukrainians who turned in their Jewish neighbors. When they were discovered, Jews were shot on sight.

Papa was never the same after that day. He kept repeating, "It can’t have come to this. Not here. Not in Shevchenko."

Papa had been so blinded by his hatred of Stalin he’d never considered the Germans might be just as evil. He deeply regretted the decision he’d made last summer when he’d turned down a chance for us to escape to Tashkent with Mama’s brother.

Learning the truth about the Nazis shattered Papa’s self-confidence. Before the war, he enjoyed telling stories. He often teased Rachel and Eli about how he’d become bald. Sometimes he claimed he’d been scalped in a sword fight, other times that a fire-breathing dragon had sneezed and scorched his hair. Once he even said that a huge bird had yanked out his hair to make a nest. Eli’s eyes got big after each tale, but Rachel only smiled and said, Don’t be so silly, Papa.

These days, Papa doesn’t say much. Instead of being the family leader, he turns to Mama whenever an important decision comes up. What should we do, Ruth? he asks. Such a fool I’ve been. To think, I almost sent us to the slaughter.

To make up for his misjudgment, Papa has worked hard to find us hiding places. Along with the secret room in our root cellar, Papa and I tried making a bunker under our kitchen sink by digging a space beneath the floorboards, but we gave up when the sides of the hole caved in. Then I came up with a plan to dig a bigger hole in the woods, but that whole area flooded during a rainstorm.

After all our failed attempts, when the Nazis were nearby, we had no choice but to hide wherever we could. We spent many cold nights outside, trying to sleep huddled together behind a stone wall, crouched in a ditch, or out in the forest.

Mrs. Koval came to our rescue by letting us build a secret room in her barn loft. It took great courage for her to defy to her husband, who thinks it’s too risky to help Jews.

Mrs. Koval is the bravest person I