But Aleksander was already asleep, his breath hitching as the shadows continued to eat away at his soul.
The next day, while snow drifted down and Aleksander went with Leib to check on some of the snare traps they’d set a half day’s walk from the encampment, Yona came aboveground with her axe, chopped a large chunk of frozen deadwood, and brought it back into her small zemlianka. She hadn’t whittled since she was a girl, desperate for company even if it came from imaginary creatures, but it came back to her in a flood. She could almost feel Jerusza’s hands wrapped around hers as she pulled out her knife and began to slowly, expertly shave away strips of wood, slicing with the grain. Next she made smaller cuts, slicing the knife gently toward her own heart until the basic shape was hewn, and then she smoothed the wood and refined it for the next few hours until she was satisfied with the result. While she waited for Aleksander to return, she went to the group’s larder, which was inside the largest zemlianka, and pulled out nine candles she had made that fall from nettle rope and gathered beeswax. Typically, the group saved the candles to usher in the Sabbath each Friday night, but there were enough to spare.
Back in her own zemlianka, Yona waited until Aleksander stepped through the door in a flurry of afternoon snow. She held up the object that had been a hunk of wood just hours before, and he stared at it, and then her, in disbelief. “You made a menorah?” he asked.
“I know it’s not the most important of the Jewish holidays,” she said. “But it means light in the darkness. The hope of a miracle. Deliverance from death. I thought that might mean something to everyone tonight.”
Aleksander nodded slowly, and without removing his coat, he crossed to her, examining the fluid wooden lines, the spaces for eight candles all in a row, the elevated holder in the center for the shamash, the helper candle.
He looked up, his eyes round with awe. “Yona, it’s perfect. I—I don’t know how to thank you.”
Fifteen minutes later, as the sun crept toward the horizon, the whole group gathered in the largest zemlianka, the one Moshe, Leon, Rosalia, Ruth, and the children shared. Yona was glad that they’d made the shelters larger than they needed, large enough to move around in; it made it possible to gather as a group, though there was little room to spare.
“Look what Yona has made,” Aleksander said, holding up the menorah for all of them to see. There were a few gasps among the group, and nervously, Yona pulled the candles from her pocket and placed them into the holders. “Light in the darkness,” Aleksander said, locking eyes with Yona. “The hope of a miracle.”
Several among the group murmured words of astonished gratitude, and then the sounds faded to a hush as Leon, the oldest among them, stepped forward to light the shamash in the stove, then used the shamash to light the first candle. Moshe recited the menorah blessing, honoring God for his commandments and for the miracles for their forefathers, for granting them life and sustaining them. But somehow, even as Yona gazed around at the bowed heads, the somber expressions of the other adults, her loneliness lingered, and so, too, did the sadness. It was hard to imagine a miracle here, when they’d all lost so much, when their very survival seemed more like a fluke than a part of God’s plan.
* * *
Two weeks into a frigid new year, the temperature rose by a few degrees, and what had been a blizzard of driving winds faded to a soft snowfall, the perfect weather to venture out in after nearly a month underground. Though the group still had a comfortable supply of dried chanterelles, smoked meats and fish, and berries, Yona was eager to check some of their animal snares and to show a few of the others how she fished in the winter, when the surfaces of the ponds were frozen solid. The snow was still falling enough to erase their tracks, but the day was temperate, which meant they’d be able to spend a few hours outside without freezing.
Rosalia agreed to patrol the camp’s perimeter while Aleksander offered to take Leib with him to visit the traps spread around the forest. Luba and Sulia volunteered to melt some snow and use tallow soap to wash some of the group’s clothing, while Moshe, Leon, and Oscher asked if they could come on Yona’s ice-fishing expedition.
The going was slow as they set out from the camp, trudging carefully toward a frozen marsh nearby. Oscher’s limp held them back, but Moshe lingered with him, offering his shoulder for support, while Leon walked a few paces ahead with Yona.
“We’re fortunate to know you, Yona,” Leon said after they had walked for a while in comfortable silence. He was a quiet man, a former teacher who spoke only when he had something important to say, who played his cards close to his chest. Yona respected that, respected the quiet, respected that he only used his voice when it mattered.