Reb Shmuel nodded to his own wife and children to follow us into the washroom, too.

Quickly I gathered up Leiba and Yisroel and slid open the door of the long, narrow room that would be our hiding place. Mama followed with Miriam and Dovid right behind her. Reb Shmuel’s daughters and wife came next and closed the door behind them. We could hear Papa or Reb Shmuel stand up, and then a thud — the door of the bedroom opening up to block the entrance and hide us.

“Mama,” Leiba began to whine almost the moment silence had fallen, “I’m hungry.”

“Hush, Leiba,” Mama quieted her, gathering Leiba up in her arms and planting her on her lap.

Yisroel, too, began to cry, and I rocked him gently until his eyes closed and he fell asleep.

It was only a few moments later, just after I had laid him down on a blanket on the floor, that the pounding began. The pounding of the footsteps of what sounded like a hundred men running up the steps. And then banging, again and again, as if someone was trying to break down the door. My heart was pounding fast, and I grabbed Mama’s hand in a tight squeeze. Her usually warm, soft hand was sweaty and clammy and I held it tight, not sure who needed it more — me or her.

We could hear the banging, but so far it seemed that the bed and tables were holding the door closed, keeping the mob out. I tried to daven but my lips seemed frozen in terror, so I just kept thinking in my head, Hashem, please save us, Hashem please save us. Next to me, I could hear Dovid mumbling the words of Tehillim. They had never seemed so important, somehow.

And then, suddenly, we could hear the sound of glass breaking.

“No!” Papa yelled, his voice reverberating through the room.

And then Reb Shmuel’s voice, softer, gentler, “Please. No. What have we ever done to you? Don’t—”

I hugged Leiba close to me, tight, and put my hands over her ears, but really, I wanted to put my hands over my own ears. To cover my ears so I could not hear the sounds of banging and climbing on the other side of the door. Somehow, they must have broken through the door. Somehow, they were inside. I tried not to think about Papa. About Reb Shmuel. Their voices were silent — what had happened to them?

And then the banging stopped. The room fell silent and we could hear nothing.

“Are they gone?” Mama whispered to Reb Shmuel’s wife.

“I think so,” she whispered back, “I’m going out to see what happened.”

“I’m coming,” Mama responded, getting to her feet.

“Me too,” insisted Dovid, “you might need my help. Who knows what they did to Papa?”

I looked from one person to the next, my heart still beating quickly in my chest. Did they want me to come too? I couldn’t. I didn’t want to see. Who knew what was on the other side?

“Elka.” Mama turned to me, her hand on the doorknob. “I need you to stay here with the children. Will you be okay?”

I nodded quickly, and turned to grab Miriam’s hand. We’d be here together. We’d be fine.

They slipped through the door, closing it behind them and hiding the entrance to the room we were in.

“Yosef,” I could hear Mama say, and then, “Dovid. Come help me. We’ll bring him into the bedroom.” Then the sound of moving furniture, of dragging, and quiet. They were probably trying to dress Papa’s wounds. Oh, how I wanted to help, but at the same time I couldn’t imagine seeing Papa looking like… however he must have looked. It was a good thing Yisroel began to cry just then because it kept me from imagining Papa’s wounds. Instead, I lifted Yisroel up and rocked him until he quieted down.

“No! Rivka, they’re back,” I heard Reb Shmuel’s wife scream, and then the sounds of more climbing and banging. The Arabs must be back to finish off the rest of us. And Dovid and Mama were out there, too. I wanted to cry, my fear pulling at me, begging me to break down into tears. But I couldn’t. Instead, I pulled Leiba and Miriam and Reb Shmuel’s youngest daughter close to me and held them tight.

“Shhh,” I whispered to them. They must be quiet. They must. Without thinking, I began to whisper a story to them, hoping to keep them from hearing the frightening sounds outside our door. I needed to keep them from crying out in fear or screaming for Mama and giving away our hiding place.

Miriam, calm, sweet Miriam, was holding my hand so tight it was turning white, but I didn’t want to make her let go. And besides, I needed her as much as she needed me. We sat there, clutching each other and taking turns trying to remember stories from the parshah, stories Papa had told us about the Alter, even making up stories about what life must be like far away in distant places, until the sounds of the Arabs screaming and banging, of Mama and Dovid and Reb Shmuel’s wife crying and begging turned to silence. And then we told some more stories as the quiet fell around us, until I heard Mama’s voice.

“Elka,” her voice came through the door, weak and far, but alive and clear. “Elka. They’ve gone. Please come out — I need some help.”

I left the children with Miriam and stood up, afraid of what I would see on the other side of the door. But it couldn’t be that bad, I tried to reassure myself as I turned the door handle, if Mama could call out to me. Mama, at least, must be okay.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 910)