The Hiding Place

“Chaim. Over here.”

Rivka took his hand and led him to the wall behind the bimah, the altar. She stopped, studying the stone as if it were a page she had read before.

“It’s somewhere here.”

She raised her hands and began to feel along the wall. Slowly. Carefully. The wood was old and uneven. Her fingers moved until they found it—a seam, thin but deliberate.

“The light fixture,” she said. “On the right.”

She pressed it inward.

Just like Papa described.

The thick wooden wall responded with a low creak. Then it shifted. A narrow opening appeared—a secret door.

Beyond it, old stone steps descended into darkness.

“Let’s go.”

They stepped through. The door swung shut behind them with a heavy sound that echoed longer than it should have.

“Rivka… I’m scared.”

She squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, Chaim. I’m right here.”

They went down slowly, one step at a time, feeling their way in the dark.

Far ahead, a light.

“What is this place?” Chaim asked.

A narrow stone hallway stretched before them, underground. Cold air. Stone on all sides.

“Okay,” Rivka said quietly. “Let’s walk to the light.”

They reached it at last. Beside it stood a wooden door.

A room.

It felt like an enclosed old city street—narrow, with stone floor, stone walls, and a stone ceiling. One light hung above, steady and dim.

“Let’s go inside.”

They stepped in.

It was a small apartment. No windows. A kitchen. Beds. A single lamp casting soft light.

“Rivka… what is this place?”

She looked around once more before answering.

“Ich weiß nicht,” she whispered.
“But it's home. For now.”

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Aaron Rose is a software engineer and technology writer at tech-reader.blog and aaronrose.blog.