"Well, you see, that's how it all turned out. Nobody disappeared. A small misunderstanding, nothing more," the Obersturmbannführer explained to one of the men. "I'll take it from here alone - I'll escort these two to Levetzowstraße. You know, to prevent that they get away from you again."

There was a delicate hint of mockery in his tone reflected in the amused twitch of the corners of his mouth and the twinkle in his eyes. What might have momentarily deprived another person of the aura of inhuman menace that surrounded these men made him seem, oddly enough, all the more frightening - more so than the scowling figures around us.

Levetzowstraße? What's there?

The tall man seemed quite satisfied with the outcome of the situation when he turned back to Leah and me and told us to get into the car. Resistlessly we obeyed, and for a moment, I allowed myself to feel relief at having escaped the steady rain.

"So now they get their own chauffeur for trying to escape," one of the men hissed, just loud enough for me to hear.

But I was not the only one who did.

The Obersturmbannführer must have heard it, too, because his expression instantly darkened to one that far surpassed the seriousness of the one on the propaganda posters. He stood up in front of the other.

"What did you say? Please repeat it, Herr Unterscharführer," he demanded dangerously quietly.

My attention was drawn from him to Leah, who had been staring silently until just now, as she barely audibly spoke up. "They knew."

Blinking in confusion, I looked at her. Who had known what?

"What are you talking about?"

Her pale lips trembled.

"Maminke and tate. They knew we had to get out of here," Leah whispered as she dug a piece of paper out of her coat pocket with clammy hands. "I found this in his desk."

The words that shone out at me on the crumpled letter refused to make sense. At least my mind refused to make sense of them. Emmerich Cohen, Rachela Cohen, née Abensztejn, Hanna, and Leah Cohen would have to leave their residence on October 17, 1941, to go to the Levetzowstraße synagogue. Enclosed was a list of items they were allowed to take with them. A glance at the date finally revealed the actions of our parents mercilessly - they could undoubtedly have found an opportunity to tell us about it, and yet they had preferred to conceal this news. Why?

As I lowered the typewritten page, my hands trembled.

"Why didn't they tell us?" asked Leah softly. Why didn't they try to stop it?, resonated unspoken in her voice. Of course, they couldn't. She understood that too. She just didn't want to accept that the safe protection of parents was a pure illusion, that even they couldn't stand against everything, weren't untouchable, and couldn't shield us from all dangers.

"I don't know." I wish I could have given her a better answer - one that wouldn't leave her even more unsettled in this frightening situation. But how, when I didn't understand it myself?

Was it possible to lie through silence?

The raised voice of the Obersturmbannführer made my eyes twitch back to him.

"If you want to accuse me of not acting by my position and question my decisions, you should be aware of the consequences."

"Yes, Herr Obersturmbannführer. It was certainly not my intention to -"

The higher-ranking man silenced him with a wave of his hand, as if he were shooing away an annoying insect, and granted the Gestapo official only an equally disdainful glance before he turned away without a word and got into the car.

The two of us remained silent for the rest of the drive, our thoughts unquestionably circling the same questions without coming to any conclusion. How could we understand that the place we had called home since birth suddenly no longer belonged to us, but an "Aryan" family, and that all this had already been clear to our parents?

Even the Obersturmbannführer remained silent, did not address me again, nor did he speak to the young uniformed driver - perhaps his adjutant - who mirrored his superior. Thus, the silence spread like a suffocating fog in the small room, making this ride even more unbearable for me.

The car stopped abruptly.

"Get out," the SS man ordered soberly, but still not rudely, before stepping out into the street himself.

"Come." Gently, I touched Leah on the arm and tried to put on an encouraging smile.

By now, the rain had stopped falling, which probably wouldn't last long. Not far from us, the synagogue loomed against the cloudy sky, disconcertingly somber.

"I think the ladies can manage the last bit on their own. You can't miss the emergency accommodation."

He twisted his lips into what could have been a charming smile to match his velvety tone, but together with the stern expression in his eyes seemed threatening. Yes, now I understood - for the first time.

Behind his bizarre politeness was hidden a simple message: I advise you not to run away this time because I see your every move. Was it a warning or a threat?

As if automatically, my lips parted, following the inner urge to say something that had unexpectedly taken possession of me. But I did not know what. Should I say goodbye? - Why should I? Should I thank him? For what even? That he let us pack our bags? - It was the least he could do after throwing us out of our house. That he had saved us? - That was just an assumption. That he had brought us here in a different way than the others would have done, in a downright friendly way? - Perhaps he sent us to our deaths with this.

There was nothing for which I could thank this man with certainty, for even if I did not know whether there was a spark of decency and kindness hiding under that uniform, he was one of those responsible for our misfortune.

My eyes searched his for an answer to that one question - and did not find it. Slowly, I closed my mouth again, nodded weakly, and turned to leave with Leah, hand in hand.

There was nothing left to say.

When I looked over my shoulder once more at the Obersturmbannführer, who would always remain nameless to me, he was still leaning against the car - a cigarette between his lips and his watchful gaze resting on me.

For a second, I felt reminded of my first day at school, when, just as now, I had paused at the gates of the building and squinted at my father, who had smiled and waved encouragingly at me from a distance. How absurd. Today no one assured me that nothing terrible was waiting for me behind these walls. And today I also knew that evil was not recognizable at first sight, but acted much more perfidiously than I had imagined as a little girl. Sometimes it hid behind a mask. One in which it perhaps even wanted to believe itself. Yes, the actual evil was frightening in its banality.

I had been to this synagogue once before, but this time it was no longer with my parents by my side; instead, it was Gestapo officers who flanked us at the entrance.

"The suitcases," one of them ordered soberly, eyeing me disparagingly.

My fingers tightened even more around the handle. What did he want with them?

"Give it to me!" His almost bored tone instantly shifted to a sharper one and had I not done as he asked, he probably would have rudely snatched my luggage from me. With a heavy heart, I handed over my last possession to the man with the coarse face, so that he could rummage through it carelessly, only to discover rather disappointedly that there was nothing of interest to him in it, so he threw it brusquely back at my feet. He did not find the ring and the necklace.

Hastily, I gathered up the few blouses that had fallen to the floor in the process, stuffed them back into the suitcase amid the unfriendly comments of the men, and locked it.

They took all her jewelry from an elderly lady who entered the building behind us.

"Erika will like this one," the quieter man announced with satisfaction. "I'll give it to her next week for our anniversary."

She didn't even protest, although she would have been well within her rights to do so. At least, in a righteous world, that's how it should have been. Silently she stood there while the men talked until she was impatiently sent on, but the elderly lady made little headway. She struggled with her suitcase, which didn't even look particularly heavy, and seemed as lost among all these people as I felt. Her hair, which must have been in place a short time ago, fell wetly around her face, and a small puddle formed under her dripping coat. Every movement seemed like a struggle. Was she here alone?

"Can I help you?" I asked cautiously.

A tired smile settled on her lips before she nodded.

I immediately grabbed her luggage while pushing Leah even closer to me with my other hand. I didn't want to lose sight of her here.

"Thank you. Your daughter?" The lady's gaze slid to Leah, and in another situation, I might have smirked at the fact that she thought I was old enough to have a fifteen-year-old daughter, even if Leah could have been considered younger.

"My sister."

"Oh, sorry. You know, I don't see very well anymore. I thought you were...well...older," she admitted apologetically. Once again, she looked back over her shoulder at the Gestapo officers, who were trying to get their hands on other people's property. This time it was a watch that seemed to please the roughneck.

"They have a lot of chutzpah to steal in front of everyone. And they even get away with it." Her voice was no louder than a whisper. "What did they take from you?"

"Nothing, fortunately."

"In my case, it was everything. The jewelry was heirlooms, you know. My family owned them for generations, and now-" the woman interrupted herself with a shake of her head, "They didn't even leave me my wedding ring. That's all I have left of my Karl. What times are we living in?" With each word, her voice became quieter, and, for a moment, she raised her eyes and looked at me with brown, glassy eyes.

The jewelry had been in her family for generations, and now it had ended up in the pockets of a Gestapo man who would adorn his wife with it at home, I thought, finishing her sentence.

What times are we living in that such a thing is possible?, I repeated silently, but I didn't know the answer. No one here did.

None of us could sleep for a second that night in the crowded synagogue. The question of what would become of us now plagued me too much. The countless gloomy rumors that spread among us did not quiet my worries, just like the fact that I had not been able to find my parents yet. If they were not here, then where? The Obersturmbannführer had told us that they had already come with them. Then why didn't I see them among the others? Were they fine?

Even if everything seemed to be well organized - I could even get some bandages for Leah's knee at the makeshift infirmary - the idea that all these people had lost their homes like us made me shudder. How could anyone believe in a better future under these circumstances?

The words of the elderly woman who had told us about her children and grandchildren who had left the country years ago echoed in my mind: "But you see, I couldn't go with them. An old tree just can't be replanted."

Sometimes even young trees took deep roots.

The next day our journey continued early, for children and the elderly on trucks, for most others on foot. Any protest that might have arisen in the crowd was stifled by the men who threateningly supervised the process. I searched among the people on the vehicles of the old lady with whom I had spoken yesterday, but it was impossible to discover her among so many. Finally, the order for us to start moving rang out.

The pouring rain from the day before had started again and was falling mercilessly on us. Exhausted, I was acutely aware of its cold and the weight of the suitcase. They made it difficult for me to walk through the familiar streets of Berlin, where we were even more unwanted than in previous years, indeed, downright outcasts. And they wanted everyone to see it, every single one of the people walking along Kurfürstendamm or looking out of the windows.

Their gazes were noticeably on me, burning through my coat and leaving behind the aching feeling of humiliation that I could not escape. I would have longed to know what feelings showed in their expressions. Satisfaction? Indifference? Pity? Terror in those who feared a similar fate? There may even be a familiar face among them. Someone I had once known, with whom I had been friends.

But I dared not look at them in the childish hope that they would not recognize me then either. Only the façades my eyes slid up briefly and lingered on a specific window. From it, I had been able to observe for the first time what was going on in this country. Perhaps - I hoped - someone was standing there at that moment, looking down on Kurfürstendamm and understanding too.

The next moment, however, my thoughts were already with the old owners of the apartment.

Elias. I wondered if he was all right.

I didn't even know where he was now. Conceivably, he was even part of the procession of people with bowed heads and drenched clothes that snaked through Berlin. Along with his parents, a mere few steps away. I could not say with certainty whether this idea calmed or frightened me a little. The only clear thing was that I could never have imagined that I would need Elias' cheeky remarks so much one day.

No, of course, I didn't wish him to be here. That would have been selfish. But the thought of being close to my friend - and that's all I needed, this illusion - seemed comforting.

While the constant rain slowly penetrated the fabric of my coat, I dared to let my gaze wander attentively, to memorize once again everything of the city where I had been born and raised because I would possibly never see it again. Among the last images of my home was the sight of the beautiful villas that lined up in Grunewald. But this had not been my home for a long time.

The blood-soaked flags on every corner, which had been dancing in the wind high above us for years, spoke of a dominion against which we could do nothing. Threatening and downright mocking, they shone down on us, the swastika in the middle - a constant reminder that the others were everything and we were nothing. They could do whatever they pleased, even if it was to deprive us of our homes, our entire homeland, and our freedom. Their will was done. For they were the state and the law - and we had been declared its enemy.

When we were exhibited like such in a triumphal procession, it was this glaring, disgusting red that lined it. And the sky over Berlin wept.

"Come on, hurry up, in you go!" the barking of an SS man reminded me that it was my turn to board the train waiting for us at Grunewald. The long queue in front of me had dissolved and the people distributed among the wagons, which appeared to be full to bursting. I was meanwhile struggling with both heavy suitcases and trying to help Leah climb the steps. The icy fabric against my body slowly became unbearable, and a dull ache spread through my muscles.

"Will you finally get in?" the voice beside me sounded once again, and I heard the ominous banging of a riding crop against a boot.

"Hanna?" I thought I heard a familiar voice that went through me. A slender figure emerged from the crowd of uniformed men. Under the peaked cap, I recognized brown eyes and a youthful face, which I knew almost exclusively smiling. Now the features, which had gained in sharpness and hardness, were cold, but his face fell as he looked up at me only a few steps away.

Everything about him seemed painfully foreign.

I felt a lump in my throat.

"Hanna, but -"

"Excuse me," I muttered hastily to the impatient SS man, tearing myself away from the sight of the younger man and hurrying into the crowded train car, clearly worn inside.

Outside, I thought I heard him call my name once again. But I did not look back.

"Are you acquainted with that filthy Jews, Feyl?" the older SS man snorted snidely, and I saw from one of the windows how he threw his half-smoked cigarette into the street and looked impatiently at his watch.

The other's lips pressed together in a thin line before forming a "No" inaudible to me. But though I tried hard not to look, I noticed how his eyes followed the train rolling away.

Closely pressed against me, Leah sat next to me. On the one hand, because she was afraid and cold, and on the other hand, because there was no more room between all the other Berliners who had been expelled from their city. Outside, the world passed me by almost surreally, so quickly had all this happened. Just a day ago, I had been sitting at the dining table with my parents in our living room in Wilmersdorf. Now I had nothing left of all that but the little I had been able to squeeze into my suitcase, my parents could be anywhere in the meantime, and we were hurtling through Germany by train, leaving our former lives behind us. Not even a day separated normality from chaos and uncertainty.

As the landscape turned into one increasingly foreign to me, children began to grow restless and wail, infants to cry, and the despair of mothers who could not calm them became more palpable, for they themselves did not even know when they would finally be released from this confined space.

"Where are we going?" a young woman asked anxiously, addressing the man next to her. Perhaps her husband or brother. Concern crossed her pretty face, hardening the pull around her lips and digging wrinkles into her forehead. It resonated even in her voice, though she obviously tried to hide it.

"I don't know exactly, towards the east. To Łódź they said, didn't they?" he answered after some hesitation.

"Do you think it's true that we can make a new life for ourselves there?"

A reassuring smile settled around the man's lips, and he gently squeezed her hand. "Whatever awaits us, we'll make the best of it, Miriam. You remember what your grandfather used to say: We Jews have never had it easy, and yet we have survived every suffering for centuries."

A sigh escaped Miriam. "Yes, that's what he said. But would he still think that now? They drove us out of our home. I'm glad Grandpa didn't have to go through that."

My gaze slid back to the horizon, which the sun, almost always obscured by clouds, was slowly approaching. We had been driving for hours, and there was no end in sight. Leah had already fallen asleep from exhaustion, and I didn't dare wake her. As long as she slept, at least she didn't have to worry, as I was doing now. But in the end, my fatigue defeated the fear and forced me into a doze.

The train stopped hours later in the middle of nowhere. In vain, my eyes searched for a sufficient clue without finding one. No houses, no people, not even a platform. As if we were stranded in a completely different world.

We had noticed that we had crossed the border into Poland, and we could not have gone much further in that time, but everything else remained a mystery to me. I tried to hide the burgeoning fear under a surface of confidence, which even withstood - had to - my terror about our future. For if I did not remain calm, who did?

Even the sign on the gate, which made it clear that no one was authorized to leave this place, sent a chill down my spine when we reached it.

Wohngebiet der Juden. Betreten verboten - Residential area of the Jews. No trespassing.

The watchtowers, which would surely not hesitate to use their weapons, demonstrated the strictness of those prohibitions. What I saw after passing the guarded passage were emaciated people in tattered clothes. Each of them was wearing the Star of David as if to humiliate them even more. It tore my heart to see among them children anxiously crowding to the side of the road or hiding behind their parents, whose looks betrayed that they themselves did not know whether their sons and daughters were actually safe there. 

Some were shaken now and then by a cough that ran through their bodies like a tremor, making them tremble like the last discolored leaves that still clung steadfastly to the branches of the trees while the cutting wind tore at them to separate them from them for good. This was not a place where people lived. It was one where they died.

A small boy crept past the guards with a hurried, fearful look, careful not to draw attention to himself. The fabric of his coat was already starting to become threadbare and punctured by small holes. The child's skin was unhealthily pale, as if colorless, only in his eyes was an almost feverish gleam that spoke of constant fear.

Awkwardly, he jostled me, frozen in his movement, and looked up at me, frightened. But he seemed to realize that there was no danger from me. I was one of them, just as trapped in this place as he was.

"Przepraszam." The apology was barely audible before he wanted to rush away again.

"Nie szkodzi. What's your name?" I asked quietly in Polish, the language that painfully reminded me of my mother.

"Pavel," he mumbled in reply, his arms wrapped tightly around his body.

"I'm Hanna." A small smile formed on my lips as I untied my scarf from my neck and wrapped it around his. "Not that you'll catch a cold."

He looked at me with wide eyes before the corners of his mouth lifted. When the voice of one of the guards sounded from further ahead, he was gone in such a flash that I could only look around in wonder. In the distance, I still recognized a tender child figure, which hurried to a woman and presented her the warm woolen scarf. I thought I saw a grateful smile on the mother's lips before the two disappeared around the next street corner.

I didn't care about the icy wind that was trying to drive the warmth out of my uncovered skin. I flipped up the collar of my coat and buried myself deeper into its fabric, knowing that it was a luxury for many here to be able to do such a thing.

"Do you think we have to live here?" asked Leah in shock.

"I don't know. But no matter what, we'll make it." I wanted to believe that myself.

In the unsettled crowd, my eyes searched for my parents - again without any success. Somewhat apart, men in SS uniforms were talking animatedly and pointing to some documents. For so long, we stood lost in the cold. Finally, they nodded to each other before we were divided up - some stayed, and the others, including Leah and me, had to come along. Whether this was a happy or a terrible coincidence, I didn't know. But could it get any worse than what we had just seen?

 Everything in me refused to believe that if only to continue encouraging myself and, by extension, Leah. In the end, I only wished to be relieved about leaving this place but could not - even less with the tightness around my heart that had formed the moment we had set foot on the train waiting at the same tracks. 

This time not old passenger cars, but plain wooden wagons without luggage compartments or even seats. They were usually used to transport goods or livestock - and an evil voice, more a dark foreboding, whispered in my ear that this could only mean that at that moment we were nothing else to the men in uniform. It grew louder the longer we were trapped in the cramped space.

With trembling hands, as quietly as possible so as not to wake Leah, I dug my little book and pen out of the case and began to write. After all, that had usually helped me to organize my thoughts and find peace again. But I could not write against this fear, just as a candle flame could not banish all shadows. It pushed them back a little, and as soon as it expired, I was left in the darkness again.

A jolt. We were steadily slowing down.

My restless fingers quickly scribbled a last word: Arrival?