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family portrait that hung in the living room was attractive and expertly done.
    â€œI was thinking about our portrait and I was curious to see the other family photographs that the shopkeeper had lined up in the window.” Hana paced in Karl’s room as she recounted her story. “And that’s when I saw it.”
    In the center of this gallery, proudly displayed, was one large framed picture that made Hana’s blood run cold. It was an SS officer, no one that Hana recognized, but his uniform was unmistakable – particularly the swastika on his armband that radiated from the portrait.
    â€œI couldn’t believe my eyes,” continued Hana. “He was smiling in the picture, but all I saw was the Nazi insignia on his arm. I just glared at his face.” She stopped and faced her brother. “What are they doing proudly displaying this picture of a Nazi? Don’t they know what he is?”
    â€œWhat did you do?” asked Karl. He felt his own blood boil.
    Hana gazed calmly at her brother. “I looked around her to see if anyone was close by. Then I looked back at the photo of the SS officer and I spat directly at the shop window.” Hana finished her story. “That’s what I did!”
    Karl returned her gaze evenly and nodded his approval. “If I had been there, I would have done exactly the same thing, Hana,” he said. Meanwhile, in the Reiser household, more plans were being developed that would provide some safety for its members. Father Ferdinand Hrouda was a sympathetic priest in town. Victor knew this when he approached him to arrange for the priest to perform a Catholic marriage ceremony for Marie and himself. Notwithstanding his ongoing belief that Czech Jews were safe, Victor felt that Catholic marriage papers might provide some added protection in the event that they were targeted in any way. Father Hrouda obliged. He agreed to witness Victor and Marie’s vows in a private ceremony. He signed the marriage certificate and provided the family with false baptismal certificates. Armed with these papers, Victor and Marie returned home to show their children.
    â€œI always wanted to show your mother how much I loved her,” teased Victor. “I never imagined I would do it in a Catholic service. What would our rabbi think of this?”
    It’s so easy for father to joke , thought Karl. But he wondered if these papers would really do anything to protect the family. Were they being naive to think that a piece of paper would separate them from other Jewish families in Rakovník if the Nazis came looking? Sometimes, Karl dismissed these negative thoughts and, like his father, held fast to his belief that all would be well. But these moments of calm were followed by moments of utter anxiety. More and more, he was beginning to fear that Jewish identity was not merely about religious observance. He could no more divorce himself from his Jewish heritage than he could deny his red hair and freckles. His father could pretend that being Jewish was of lesser importance. He could proclaim their Czech nationalism; he could try to hide his family behind Catholic documents. But, at the end of the day, they were being targeted for their roots – their genetics – and theirs were clearly Jewish.
    Mother was not nearly as good-humored as Father. “There’s one more thing that I want you to do,” she insisted. “That villa in Prague that is owned by our friends, the Zelenkas – I want you to rent the downstairs flat from them.” Victor looked puzzled. “It will be a place to go if we need it,” she continued. “It will be easier for us to hide our identities in Prague amongst the masses.”
    Even with the Catholic papers in their possession, Marie’s mind was still focused on leaving Rakovník. She had not abandoned the plan of getting out of the country, but Prague would be the first step in her exit