Fifty-six years later, the nuns were confirmed as martyrs by Pope John Paul II, and they were beatified on March 5, 2000, which means that they are recognized by the Catholic Church as “blessed” and thus have the ability to intercede on behalf of individuals who pray in their name. “Before the war and during the occupation, they zealously served the inhabitants of Nowogródek, participating actively in pastoral care and education and engaging in various works of charity,” Pope John Paul said at the time of their beatification. “Their love for those among whom they fulfilled their mission took on special significance during the horror of the Nazi invasion. Together and unanimously, they offered their lives to God, asking in exchange that the lives of the mothers and fathers of families and that of the local pastor be spared. The Lord graciously accepted their sacrifice and, we believe, abundantly rewarded them in his glory.” Their feast day in the Catholic Church is celebrated each year on August 1—the anniversary of their death.
The nuns in The Forest of Vanishing Stars are not meant to represent the Martyrs of Nowogródek, whose story and deaths unfolded differently, but I hope their story serves as a reminder that even in moments of death and despair during the war, God was there—and that there were people from all walks of life standing up to injustice in the face of evil.
Another historical element I want to mention is the swamp where half of Yona’s group flees during Operation Hermann (the German incursion into the forest in the summer of 1943). In real life, the Bielski group escaped the German forces during the summer of 1943 in a similar way. They abandoned their camp and fled to a large swamp in the middle of the forest called Krasnaya Gorka, where they knew the Germans were unlikely to follow. As they trudged through the mud, they tied themselves together so they wouldn’t sink, and at night, they tethered themselves to trees so they wouldn’t drown. They ate mushrooms and berries, and flour made from tree bark, and they were near starvation when the Germans finally retreated, torching many villages behind them.
I tried to stay as accurate as possible in terms of the things the forest refugees would have eaten, the way they sheltered, the way they fought back. Any errors or omissions are my own.
* * *
I used what felt like a million nonfiction books in the research of this novel, including: Defiance (Nechama Tec), Fugitives of the Forest (Allan Levine), Polish Customs, Traditions & Folklore (Sophie Hodorowicz Knab), How to Eat in the Woods (Bradford Angier), Masters of Death (Richard Rhodes), Fighting Back (Harold Werner), Kabbalah: The Mystic Quest in Judaism (David Ariel), Do Not Go Gentle (Charles Gelman), Jack & Rochelle (Jack and Rochelle Sutin, with Lawrence Sutin), When Bad Things Happen to Good People (Harold Kushner), They Fought Back (Yuri Suhl), The Cruel Hunters (French L. MacLean), Kill or Get Killed (Col. Rex Applegate), Slavic Witchcraft (Natasha Helvin), Fairy Tales of the Russians and Other Slavs (Ace and Olga Pilkington), Survival Wisdom & Know-How (from the editors of Stackpole Books), Smithsonian WWII Map by Map, and Historical Atlas of the Holocaust (United States Holocaust Memorial Museum).
Perhaps one of the most helpful books I used was Naliboki Forest: Land, Wildlife and Human by Professor Vadim Sidorich, a zoologist and doctor of biology. But Vadim’s assistance went far beyond the sweeping book he authored; he also works as a Naliboki Forest ecotourism guide, and I reached out to him for help. He gave me detailed notes on many of the scenes in this book, and he answered every question I asked, bringing to life the flora and fauna of the Naliboki Forest the same way Aron Bielski brought to life for me the plight of Jewish refugees during the war. His help—and his willingness to answer even the most minutely detailed questions—was absolutely invaluable, and I could not have written this book without him, nor could I have written as accurately about the deep forest that held so many lives in its lush heart.
Vadim went so far as to trek into the depths of the forest to send me photos of abandoned World War I bunkers where my characters might have sheltered, hollowed-out oak trees large enough to hide multiple people, and molds my characters might have used to form mud bricks. Because of Vadim, I know things I would never have otherwise learned, such as the fact that during the war, the main varieties of mushrooms eaten by refugees included boletus, Russula, chanterelle, and honey fungus, and that half also ate sulphur shelf mushrooms. I know that if you’re building a roof for your dugout, you should either use oak bark from a dead tree or spruce bark from an old live tree, and that hedgehogs—a great source of food—are easiest to catch at twilight in the warm season and under big spruce trunk bases in the cold season. I know that the larvae of the May beetle were easy to find during the war and could be used for making fatty breads, and that refugees often collected and fried their larvae, too. Vadim was incredibly generous with his vast knowledge, and I will be forever grateful. If you are ever in Belarus and would like to see the forest for yourself, look no further than the Naust Eco Station, run by Vadim and his wife, Irina. You can find them online at www.wolfing.info, a site that also contains many photographs and articles. It’s a great resource if you’re interested in learning more about the terrain after reading this book.
If you’re wondering why the forest is referred to in the book as the Nalibocka, and in Vadim’s book (and in some of my notes here) as the Naliboki, it’s because the former is the Polish spelling, while the latter is the Belarusian (formerly “Belorussian”) spelling. When the events of the book took place, the forest was within Polish borders, and the forest was known by the Polish name; now, it lies within Belarus because of the shifting of national borders that took place during the twentieth century. Similarly, the city called Nowogródek (the Polish name) in the book is now called Navahrudak or Novogrudok. There are many other such instances, but in the book, I’ve tried to retain the Polish spellings wherever possible, since those would have been accurate in the 1940s.
For translation help, I’d like to thank German translator Jens, Russian/Belarusian translator Anna, and Yiddish translator Arik. I struggled the most with the Yiddish translations, because they involve transliteration (in this case from Hebrew letters to Roman letters), which is never a perfect art, but which was further complicated by regional dialects and the fact that Yiddish is largely a slang language. To that end, I also consulted Rebbetzin Hindel Levitin of the Chabad House Palm Beach, and my friend (and foreign rights agent) Heather Baror-Shapiro, as well as Shiri Shapira, who works as a Yiddish translator for Armchair Publishing, my beloved Israeli publishing house, and Shiri’s colleague Arun Schaechter Viswanath. In the end, the translations I used came mostly from Shiri and Arun, because they took into account the regional dialect and accent that best fit the story. All the aforementioned Yiddish speakers gave me invaluable input, and if I’ve slightly missed the mark, the error is mine—though I promise, it’s not for lack of trying. I had several sleepless nights, and one nightmare, worrying about just the three short Yiddish sentences in chapter 1! Rebbetzin Levitin also went out of her way to help with the accuracy of a few other passages, for which I am deeply grateful.
I also need to thank Tamara Vershitskaya, the researcher and curator of the Museum of Jewish Resistance in Novogrudok, who answered several questions for me, as well as my friend Pam Kancher, the executive director of the Holocaust Memorial Resource & Education Center in Maitland, Florida, who is always willing to provide help and answers when I need them. It means so much when people are willing to spend their time, energy, and resources lending a hand, and I appreciate it deeply.
* * *
When I talked to Aron Bielski, I asked him what he thought made ordinary men like him and his brothers rise up and do something so extraordinary. He was silent for a long time and then said softly, simply, “God.”
I was especially struck by that, because to hear Henryka and Aron tell it, there wasn’t much time for religious observance during those years in the forest; their focus had to be on survival. “You cannot do it; you have to go fight, you have to go for a food mission,” Henryka explained. “But there was a
rabbi who taught religion, and they celebrated high holidays, too. They celebrated the best they could.” Aron said he couldn’t recall if they even lit candles for Shabbat. “I don’t remember that,” he said. “But if you didn’t have a candle, you took a piece of wood.”
Even in the darkness, that light burned. God was with them all along, in the big moments and the small. I think they felt it then, and Aron still feels it now.
Today, eight decades after the Germans swept through Poland and took so many lives, Aron and Henryka are concerned about the way the world sometimes seems to be splintering once again. “We worry because of what’s going on in the world now with the hate between nations, between religions, between races,” Henryka said. Added Aron, “It was, it is, and it always will be.”
As for the message Aron would like to share with the world today? “Be nice if at all possible, and help always poorer and weaker individuals. Hopefully there will not be such a war again, although there is still too much hate, and you never know what the world will get.… We hope it will never happen again, but there is no guarantee.”
Let’s not forget the past. Let’s not forget the heroes who fought so that others could survive. Let’s not forget to be kind to our fellow man.
Be nice if at all possible. It’s such simple advice, but if we can all do that, every day, maybe we can be the change. Maybe we can stand together. Maybe we can build the world a better future. Here’s to lighting a candle, or a piece of wood, in the darkness—and to letting that light carry us through.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I wrote The Forest of Vanishing Stars entirely in 2020, the strangest year any of us could have imagined.
This could have been a year of sadness, and in many ways, it was. But for me, it also became a year defined by community. And at the heart of that community was Friends & Fiction, the Facebook group, live weekly show, and podcast I cofounded with Mary Kay Andrews, Kristy Woodson Harvey, Patti Callahan Henry, and Mary Alice Monroe in the first few weeks of the pandemic shutdown.
Our community has grown to tens of thousands since then, and every day it has brought me solace and a sense of belonging. Mary Kay, Kristy, Patti, and Mary Alice have become very dear friends of mine (we probably exchange about a hundred texts a day), as have Meg Walker (our managing director) and Shaun Hettinger (our audio/video guru). Each week, we’ve interviewed other authors (including Kristin Hannah, Delia Owens, Brit Bennett, Lisa See, and William Kent Krueger), and day after day, I’ve felt a little less alone. I’ve realized we’re all in the same boat. And I’ve found such comfort in being a part of a vibrant community of active, engaged, compassionate readers who are on our page all the time, giving each other advice, sharing their lives, and discussing the books they love.
I’d also like to thank our Friends & Fiction assistants, Rachel Jensen and Grace Walker; our book club leaders, Lisa Harrison and Brenda Gardner (and book club cofounder Michelle Marcus); our production company, Audivita Studios; and our many wonderful community members, including Annissa Joy Armstrong. (There are so many more of you to thank, too! Where would I even begin?) We appreciate all of you so very deeply. You changed the whole course of 2020 for all of the “Fab Five,” and we hope that, in some small way, we’ve made a difference in your lives, too.
Of course, as always, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Abby Zidle, who has been my trusted editor and cherished friend since 2011 (happy tenth, Abby!), and to Holly Root, the most wonderful and miraculous literary agent in the world. To Michelle Podberezniak (Gallery) and Kristin Dwyer (LEO PR): I could not ask for two better, kinder publicists or friends. And to Kathie Bennett (Magic Time Literary Publicity): I’m fairly certain you’ve cloned yourself, because I’m not sure how else you get so much done at once. You’re amazing! To Danielle Noe: Thanks a million for your friendship and marketing expertise. To all of you, thank you so much for being the dreamiest of dream teams; it’s an honor and privilege to work with you.
To my foreign rights agent, Heather Baror-Shapiro: You have changed my life in so many ways, and I’m endlessly grateful. To my film agent, Dana Spector: Thanks for all your guidance (and your over-the-weekend read of my script!) this year. I’m so lucky to work with both of you. This year also brought me two enormous, unexpected gifts in the form of Anna Gerb (one of the most generous, hardworking people I’ve ever met—you’re a true joy to work with) and Jonathan Baruch (with whom I bonded instantly), both of whom I’m now so honored to call friends.
To Jen Bergstrom: Can you believe I’ve been a Gallery author for a decade now? I couldn’t be prouder to work with you. One of the best things that 2020 showed me was that at Gallery, I’m part of a family in ways I couldn’t have imagined before this year. Jen, you—as well as Abby, Michelle, Jen Long, and Eliza Hanson—had my back every step of the way when we hit a pandemic-related shipping issue, and I’ll never forget the love and dedication I felt from all of you. Thanks also to Sara Quaranta, Molly Gregory, Sally Marvin, Anabel Jimenez, Lisa Litwack, Chelsea McGuckin, Nancy Tonik, proofreader Susan Bishansky, Wendy Sheanin and the rest of the incredible Simon & Schuster sales team, and, of course, Jonathan Karp. And thanks as well to my awesome team at S&S Canada, including Catherine Whiteside, Gregory Tilney, Adria Iwasutiak, Shara Alexa, and Felicia Quon. I smile every time I see one of your names in my in-box!
Last year, in The Book of Lost Names, I wrote a bit in my acknowledgments about the magic of books, and how booksellers and librarians can change lives. I had no idea when I penned those words—before the pandemic began—just how important that sentiment would become. When the world shut down in early 2020, so many bookstores and libraries were impacted, often devastatingly so; but still, countless bighearted booksellers and librarians stuck with it and found new and inventive ways to connect with readers. You were lifelines for all of us over the past year; we needed books more than ever to anchor us to the world outside our doors. You continued to get books into our hands, to send us on adventures in our own imaginations, and to give us a reason to connect with one another over stories we love.
A special thank-you to some of my other dearest writing friends: Linda Gerber, Alyson Noël, Allison van Diepen, Emily Wing Smith, Wendy Toliver, Kristina McMorris, Fiona Davis, Lauren Elkin, and Jay Asher. I was also so privileged to get to know so many other author friends better this year, including Susan Meissner, Kristin Hannah, Stephanie Dray, Melanie Benjamin, Nguyễn Phan Quế Mai, Heather Webb, Hazel Gaynor, Susan Elizabeth Phillips, Rachel McMillan, Julia Kelly, Alison Hammer, Christina Lauren, Kelly Rimmer, Lauren Willig, David James Poissant, Larry Loftis, Genevieve Graham, Caroline Leavitt, and more. I think it’s extraordinary, in a business that could be so competitive, that so many authors are kind, generous, and eager to lift each other up. As Mary Kay Andrews so often says, “A rising tide lifts all boats.” I’m so very honored to be sailing these waters with all of you.
A huge shout-out to all the bloggers, bookstagrammers, librarians, booksellers, reviewers, hosts, podcasters, and overall magic-makers who do such a wonderful job of celebrating the community of authors and booklovers—especially Ron Block, Laura Taylor, Lauren Zimmerman, Cathy Graham, Serena Wyckoff, Linda Kass, Melissa Amster, Kristy Barrett, Robin Kall, Susan McBeth, Robin Hoklotubbe, Andrea Peskind Katz, and more.
There’s a question we ask each week on Friends & Fiction: “What were the values around reading and writing in your childhood home, and how did that shape you into the writer you became?” So, as always, Mom (Carol Harmel), thanks for opening my world to books from a very early age and for letting me surround myself with words. Thank you, too, for all the times you patiently read my childhood scribbles or attentively watched the “plays” I wrote for my siblings to star in. And speaking of siblings, thanks to Karen and Dave (stars of those early, ridiculous plays!) and your families, and to Dad (Rick Harmel) and Janine, who are always so encouraging and enthusiastic about my books. Thanks to Wanda (who stepped up in a big way to help me out this year during some of my
craziest weeks!), Mark, and all the Troubas, Lietzes, and Riverses (the best in-laws anyone could possibly ask for) and to all the Sullivans (a special shout-out to Aunt Donna Foley, who made reading cool when I was a kid!) and Harmels (especially Courtney Harmel, who has given me a New York home-away-from-home for more than two decades). I truly hit the family jackpot with all of you.
The biggest thanks this year, though, goes to my husband, Jason, and my son, Noah. We kept Noah out of school because of the pandemic for most of 2020–21. I taught him at home, since there was no virtual pre-K option at his school, and that changed life enormously for all of us. Normally I work during Noah’s school hours, but since there no longer were any, and I was now working with him on a pre-K curriculum for at least two hours a day, our whole schedule changed. Jason, you stepped up to give me early mornings and weekends to write, and Noah, you were such a trouper during all the times I had to miss bedtime for online events, or had to take calls or Zoom meetings during our days together. I couldn’t have done any of this without the understanding and love of the two of you guys this year. Thanks for being the best husband and son I could possibly ask for. I love you both so deeply. And, Noah, I probably owe you lots of LEGOs.
The Forest of Vanishing Stars Page 32