Free My Family for the War by Anne C. Voorhoeve

one noticed our trip. The only person who waved at our train was a round, good-natured bald man at the train station in Wannsee who had positioned himself under a lamp so that I would be able to see him. He was completely overwhelmed when children appeared at every window of the train rolling past, all of them leaning out, waving their arms and calling to him, “Good-bye! Good-bye, Uncle Erik!”
    When I woke up I noticed that we must be close to the Dutch border. There was no other way to explain the restlessness in the train. This was in the early hours of the morning, and a current of fear spread among the older children. “What if they send us back again?”
    With my eyes closed, I leaned back against the partition between the aisle and the compartment and listened to Greta and Vera whispering with each other. “We can’t move a muscle, that’s the most important thing! Just don’t even look at them when they come in.”
    “I’ve heard they make one of us from each compartment go with them for questioning,” Vera replied nervously.
    “Then hopefully they’ll take her there, with the cross,” Greta said spitefully.
    It took a moment before I realized she was talking about me. “Ziska is all right,” Vera offered, but her brief hesitation was unmistakable.
    “How do we know whether she’s even Jewish?” Greta retorted.
    “Jews aren’t the only ones on kindertransports. Some are children of communists, or resistance fighters who are stuck in prison.”
    “Well, I think they should only take Jews,” Greta grumbled.
    I opened my eyes. “I am Jewish,” I said angrily. “If you don’t believe it you can look in my passport.”
    I could tell that Greta had words on the tip of her tongue, but just then we felt it: The train was slowing down! None of us uttered a single word as we slowly rode into the lighted station, and the tall figures in brown and black uniforms that awaited us came into view. The stiff black caps bearing the death’s-head symbol of the SS glided past the window as if in slow motion. The train stopped with a screeching of brakes, lights went on, and we heard the heavy treads of boots in the aisles and the opening and closing of compartment doors. Strangely, there were no voices. It was ghostly—as if they made their way through an empty train.
    I was staring at the floor when the door next to me was opened abruptly. A pair of highly polished boots appeared, stood in place, and stopped moving. Several seconds passed. I looked up. The Nazi looked down at me—he had a face that looked like it was chiseled in stone—and made an impatient little gesture with his hand. Two of us at a time had to stay in the compartment while our suitcases were searched, while the others waited outside in the aisle. With stiff knees I squeezed myself past the giant, who practically filled the doorframe. A small, still crowd was already waiting outside the compartment doors. I could hear some of the children’s teeth chattering.
    “Stay calm,” said a boy next to me. “They’re just looking for anything valuable. They don’t care about us at all.”
    I looked sideways at him. He was big and strong, probably about the same age as Thomas, but he carried himself almost like an adult already. He noticed my glance and winked at me.
    All at once I felt better. “I have a necklace,” I whispered. “I hope they don’t take it away from me.”
    The boy whispered back, “You can have a diamond from me. If you put it in your suitcase, right on top, I can guarantee no one will notice your necklace!”
    As scared as I was, I had to laugh. The boy didn’t look like he had ever even been near a diamond. Lots of the children had been dressed in new clothes from head to toe for the trip, but he definitely wasn’t one of them. He was wearing a long, well-worn coat, and boots that had already been mended on the side.
    “You’re not from Berlin, are you?” I whispered. I couldn’t remember having seen him in