I followed the Jewish boy who walked through the war in a police officer's old shoes

We were slowly climbing a hill and breaking through the trees. A guide opened his compass.

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Here in the middle of the woods, off a path and without any reception, it was still the best way to orient yourself. On the sixth day of endless tramping, I felt exhausted and had a hard time overcoming that feeling. We still had the last 20 kilometres ahead of us.

I subconsciously touched the pocket on my backpack, where I had put the keys from my flat a week ago. I performed this ritual several times a day, most often when I got tired or sad. I touched the keys and I felt relieved. I had a home.

When I finish the journey, I told myself, I have a place to return to.

We were in the woods where a group of 12 people used to hide in the middle of a harsh winter. Did they have anything in their pocket to help them survive?