Number the Stars

Annemarie Johansen is a ten-year-old girl living in Denmark in Number the Stars. Her coming-of-age journey unfolds against the backdrop of the Nazi occupation of Copenhagen in 1943. At the beginning of the novel, she is carefree, racing with her little sister Kirsti and her friend Ellen through the streets—until they are confronted by a pair of German soldiers, marking the start of a year filled with danger. Annemarie is brave but not foolhardy; her courage is put to the test in various ways: she convincingly lies to soldiers searching her apartment for Ellen, processes the devastating news about her sister Lise's death, and ultimately makes a daring midnight journey through a dark forest to deliver an important packet to Uncle Henrik's boat.

This pivotal task truly shapes her character. When soldiers stop her along the way, she remembers her father's advice and pretends to be a simple, scatterbrained child—hiding the life-saving handkerchief packet under a lunch cloth in her basket. Her act works, allowing the Rosen family to escape to Sweden. Annemarie's journey takes her from innocence to grief and fear, ultimately leading to a hard-earned bravery. She learns to differentiate between "fairy-tale" courage and genuine courage—acting despite her fear rather than being free of it. Her most treasured symbol of determination is the Star of David necklace she keeps for Ellen, promising to wear it herself until Ellen can safely come back and reclaim it. Loyal, empathetic, and quietly resolute, Annemarie embodies the novel's message that ordinary people can choose to act with moral courage, even in the face of extraordinary peril.

Ellen Rosen is Annemarie Johansen's Jewish best friend, and her danger fuels the novel's main moral dilemma. At ten years old, with dark hair, she is passionately devoted to acting—a love that shows itself early on as she and Annemarie practice fairy-tale roles on their street in Copenhagen. However, her role changes drastically the night the Nazis come to arrest her family: she hides in the Johansen apartment, sharing Annemarie's bed and pretending to be a third daughter of the Johansens. When a German soldier shines a lamp on her dark hair and demands an explanation, Papa calmly presents old photographs of Lise as a baby, diffusing the tension. In this moment, Ellen is terrified but remains silent, fully trusting the Johansens—a scene that highlights both her vulnerability and quiet bravery.

Ellen's journey revolves around displacement and survival rather than taking action. She is separated from her parents and sheltered at Uncle Henrik's farmhouse, all under the guise of a fictional "funeral." Eventually, she and her family are smuggled across the sound to Sweden. Throughout her ordeal, she remains warm and emotionally open, balancing Annemarie's more introspective courage. Her love of storytelling reflects the novel's use of fairy-tale elements to cope with historical horrors. By the end, Ellen is safe but gone—her bittersweet departure to Sweden leaves Annemarie with only the Star of David necklace as a symbol of their friendship and a promise that one day the war will come to an end.

Kirsti Johansen is the youngest of the Johansen sisters—just five years old, fearless, and blissfully unaware of the true dangers posed by the Nazi occupation. She primarily provides comic relief and dramatic irony: having grown up completely under German rule, she sees soldiers, rationing, and closed shops as just part of everyday life. This innocence starkly contrasts with the horror that the older characters must hide. In an early scene, she boldly scolds a German soldier on the street for touching her braids, an act of defiance that terrifies Annemarie and Mama, yet Kirsti does it without a hint of fear. She longs for a pair of shiny black shoes she sees in a shop window, not realizing they’re made of fish skin—a small but significant detail reflecting wartime scarcity. When Ellen stays with the Johansens, Kirsti accepts her presence in the bed without question, her innocence lending the family's cover story a natural, childlike credibility. At Uncle Henrik's farm, she wears the funeral wreath as a crown, transforming a solemn and dangerous gathering into an unintentional game. Kirsti doesn’t go through a traditional growth arc; instead, she serves as a living symbol of lost childhood normalcy and acts as a narrative foil to Annemarie, whose every brave decision stands out even more against her little sister's oblivious joy. Her chatter, tantrums, and laughter remind readers—and Annemarie—of what truly deserves protection.

Lise Johansen is the oldest daughter in the Johansen family, but she never appears alive in the present timeline of the novel; she was killed by Nazi soldiers two years before the story begins after she and Peter Nielsen joined the Danish Resistance. Still, her presence is felt throughout every chapter. The empty bed she once shared with Ellen Rosen during the German occupation becomes a poignant symbol of both loss and refuge. Her pink bridesmaid dress, carefully stored in a trunk, is later used as a burial shroud for a Resistance packet, illustrating how her memory continues to protect others, even after her death.

Lise's story unfolds in pieces: at first, she is mourned as a victim of an "accident," but near the novel's conclusion, Annemarie discovers the truth—that Lise was intentionally run down by German soldiers due to her Resistance efforts. This revelation transforms Lise from a passive martyr into a courageous figure, deepening the novel's themes of sacrifice and everyday heroism.

Her main qualities—bravery, idealism, and love—are seen entirely through the memories of others. Mama's quiet sorrow, Papa's restrained pride, and Peter's heartbroken loyalty all reveal who Lise was. For Annemarie, Lise serves as a moral compass: when Annemarie needs to find courage on the dark path to Uncle Henrik's boat, she consciously invokes her sister's spirit. In this way, Lise transcends her absence, becoming the novel's strongest testament that resisting injustice is worth any sacrifice.

Mama Johansen serves as the emotional and moral anchor of the Johansen family in Lois Lowry's Number the Stars. Set in Copenhagen during the Nazi occupation in 1943, she is a middle-aged Danish mother whose quiet bravery is central to the story's act of resistance. From the very beginning, Mama exudes calm authority—she scolds Annemarie and Ellen for playing in the street while also protecting them from the soldiers they just encountered. One of her most crucial moments comes when German soldiers knock on their apartment door in the middle of the night, questioning why there are three daughters instead of two. Mama stands firm, asserting that Ellen is simply her child, buying the family precious seconds until Papa produces the fabricated baby photograph.

Mama's character develops further at Uncle Henrik's farmhouse in Gilleleje. She organizes a fake "funeral" for Great-Aunt Birte—a person who doesn't exist—to provide cover for the Jewish families waiting to escape to Sweden. When Annemarie discovers the truth, Mama calmly explains that lying to protect the innocent isn't a sin. Her physical bravery peaks when she trips in the dark field after leading the Rosens to Henrik's boat, injuring her ankle yet managing to drag herself back to the farmhouse alone to avoid jeopardizing the mission. This injury, endured silently, captures her defining qualities: selfless perseverance, practical courage, and a steadfast commitment to safeguarding her children and those she cares for. She embodies the novel's theme of ordinary heroism.

Mr. Rosen is Ellen's father and one of the Jewish adults whose life is directly threatened by the Nazi occupation of Copenhagen in Lois Lowry's Number the Stars. Although he appears in only a handful of scenes, his presence grounds the novel's tension. We first see him when he and Mrs. Rosen quietly leave Ellen in the care of the Johansen family for the night, a moment filled with unspoken fear as German soldiers are rounding up Jewish families. His calm, dignified demeanor in this scene shows him as a man who hides his fear for his daughter's sake.

Mr. Rosen's journey is one of forced displacement and survival. He and Mrs. Rosen escape Copenhagen ahead of the Nazis and eventually end up in Uncle Henrik's fishing village, where Peter Nielsen and the Johansen family help smuggle them—along with other Jewish neighbors—across the sea to Sweden. He is among the passengers hidden in Henrik's boat, symbolizing the many real Danish Jews who relied on the bravery of their non-Jewish neighbors.

His key traits include quiet dignity, protective fatherhood, and a restrained stoicism that keeps him from burdening others with his sorrow. His most emotionally impactful moment occurs near the end of the novel when Annemarie learns that the Rosens have reached safety in Sweden; the relief felt on his behalf highlights the novel's moral message. Mr. Rosen also serves a symbolic role: the packet of handkerchiefs he accidentally leaves behind—which Annemarie must deliver—drives the climactic plot, making his forgetfulness a turning point for the story's resolution.

Mrs. Rosen is Ellen's mother and a significant character in Lois Lowry's Number the Stars. She reflects the struggles of Copenhagen's Jewish community during the Nazi occupation, showcasing a blend of quiet dignity and maternal anxiety. At the beginning of the novel, she is a comforting presence in the Johansen apartment building, living just above the Johansens. However, when the Nazis start rounding up Danish Jews on the eve of Rosh Hashanah, Mrs. Rosen and her husband must escape under the cover of darkness, leaving Ellen with the Johansens for her protection. This heartbreaking separation highlights the fear gripping the community.

Mrs. Rosen later appears at Uncle Henrik's farmhouse, where a staged "funeral" serves as a front for smuggling Jewish families to Sweden. The atmosphere is tense; she has to hold back her instinct to comfort or openly acknowledge her daughter, fearing the plan might be uncovered. During a brutal late-night search by German soldiers, Mrs. Rosen stands frozen and silent, her fear palpable even as she maintains her composure.

Her journey is one of forced inaction turned into survival: she cannot confront the soldiers, cannot openly care for Ellen, and cannot dictate her own fate. Yet, her bravery lies in enduring these limitations without breaking. By the end of the novel, she has safely reached Sweden, and Annemarie's act of returning Ellen's Star of David necklace represents the hope for the Rosens' eventual homecoming. Mrs. Rosen embodies the personal toll of persecution and the resilience needed just to endure it.

Papa Johansen is the quiet, steady head of the Johansen family in Lois Lowry's Number the Stars, which takes place during the Nazi occupation of Denmark in 1943. While he has fewer scenes than Mama, his presence is vital in grounding the family's moral courage. A thoughtful and principled man, Papa chooses resistance over compliance, welcoming Ellen Rosen into his home without a second thought when the Nazis start rounding up Jews in Copenhagen. When a German soldier questions why there are three daughters instead of two, Papa calmly presents a baby photo of the fair-haired Lise and claims Ellen is his child — a lie told with unwavering composure that ultimately saves Ellen's life and showcases his ability for protective deception under intense pressure.

Papa's journey is one of quiet endurance. He has already faced the loss of his eldest daughter Lise, who was killed by the Nazis, yet he channels his grief into purposeful action instead of succumbing to despair. He trusts Peter Nielsen, Lise's former fiancé, as a Resistance operative and supports Mama's risky journey to Uncle Henrik's farm. Papa stays in Copenhagen during the climactic escape, reinforcing his role as a pillar on the home front rather than a field operative.

Key traits include a measured calm, dry wit, and an unshakeable sense of ethics. He demonstrates to Annemarie — and the reader — that bravery isn't about being free of fear but about choosing to act rightly in spite of it. His quiet heroism contributes significantly to the novel's emotional weight.

Peter Nielsen is a young Danish Resistance fighter in Lois Lowry's Number the Stars. He's introduced as the former fiancé of Lise, the Johansens' eldest daughter, who was killed by the Nazis before the story begins. Heartbroken over Lise's death, Peter channels his grief into perilous underground activities, becoming a crucial operative in helping Danish Jews escape to Sweden in October 1943.

Peter makes his first appearance when he visits the Johansen apartment, bringing illegal Resistance newspapers and gifts for the girls, presenting himself as a warm and familiar presence. His true role becomes clear during a pivotal gathering at Uncle Henrik's farmhouse, where he leads a solemn, coded "funeral" service that hides the Rosens and other Jewish families before their journey across the sea. He reads from Psalms to soothe the frightened group, showing both spiritual calm and tactical poise under pressure.

Most importantly, Peter administers the vital anesthetic to the Rosens' dog and later ensures that the escape packet—containing the special substance that masks the Jews' scent from Nazi dogs—reaches Uncle Henrik's boat on time. He guides the Rosens and others down to the harbor in the darkness, risking capture with each step.

In the epilogue, Annemarie discovers that Peter was captured, tried, and executed by the Germans—shot publicly in the town square. Papa shares that Peter wrote a letter before his death, expressing his willingness to die for Denmark and his love for Lise. This posthumous revelation redefines Peter as a tragic hero, with his quiet bravery and loyalty at the heart of the novel's moral message.

The German Soldier is not a specific individual but a recurring, composite figure representing Nazi occupation in Lois Lowry's Number the Stars. He appears at several key moments that heighten the novel's tension. Early on, a soldier confronts Annemarie and Ellen in the street, demanding to know why they are running—this brief but chilling encounter establishes the constant danger of occupation. The most significant moment occurs when soldiers bang on the Johansen apartment door in the middle of the night, insisting on seeing the "dark-haired" girl (Ellen), who stands out from the blond Johansen children. Papa's quick thinking with a family photo defuses the situation, but the soldier's cold, invasive scrutiny makes the stakes starkly clear. Later, at the harbor road, a soldier halts Annemarie as she rushes to deliver an important packet to Uncle Henrik's boat, grabbing her basket and roughly handling the handkerchief inside—unwittingly activating the very item meant to thwart his dogs. Throughout these scenes, the soldier represents the dehumanizing force of state power: he is physically intimidating, contemptuous, and indifferent to the humanity of those he questions. He does not experience any growth or development; his flatness is intentional, contrasting sharply with the well-developed Danish characters to highlight the moral stakes of resistance. He serves as the novel's main antagonistic force, embodying the threat that makes every act of courage by the Johansen family and the Rosens significant.

Uncle Henrik is Mama Johansen's brother, a fisherman who lives along the Danish coast near Gilleleje. His home becomes the center of a bold rescue mission to smuggle Danish Jews to Sweden in 1943. Steady, quietly courageous, and deeply principled, Henrik embodies the quiet heroism that Lois Lowry highlights throughout the novel. He lives alone in a simple house by the harbor, and his fishing boat, the Ingeborg, serves as the literal vessel of salvation for the Rosens and many other Jewish families.

Henrik's character evolves from a warm but secondary figure—the beloved uncle Annemarie visits during summer—to the moral and logistical backbone of the escape plan. He organizes a fake "funeral" for Great-aunt Birte (a fictional character) to bring the refugees together under the guise of mourning, showcasing his ability to deceive for a just cause. When Annemarie asks him if it's easier to be brave when you don't know everything, Henrik's honest, gentle response—that it’s better not to know too much—becomes one of the novel's key philosophical insights and enriches Annemarie's understanding of adult courage.

His composure is put to the test when German soldiers show up at the house and question the mourners; Henrik’s careful planning holds strong. He entrusts Annemarie with the crucial packet containing the handkerchief that can neutralize the Nazi dogs, placing a life-or-death task in the hands of a child—an act that underscores the novel's theme that ordinary people, even children, can perform remarkable acts of bravery.

In Number the Stars, Lois Lowry portrays courage not as the absence of fear but as action taken in its presence. This idea is introduced early when Annemarie's father recounts the tale of the Danish king riding alone through Copenhagen every morning — a silent act of defiance that shows bravery as a choice available to everyday people, not just soldiers or heroes.

Annemarie exemplifies this incremental courage. When Nazi soldiers stop her and Ellen in the middle of the night, Annemarie's heart races, yet she keeps her voice steady, allowing Ellen to pass as her sister. The image of her trembling hands held still speaks volumes, illustrating that courage is about maintaining calm despite inner terror.

The climax of the novel sharpens this concept. Annemarie must carry an important packet through dark woods to the harbor, alone, while evading German patrols and their dogs. She recalls her uncle's advice: pretend to be a silly, empty-headed girl. This strategy itself reflects courage — using vulnerability as a cover, turning the soldiers' disdain into a tool. When the dogs sniff the packet and she stands her ground, the moment is intensely tense because readers grasp what she risks.

Even minor characters enrich this theme. After injuring her ankle in the dark field, Annemarie's mother drags herself back to the farmhouse instead of calling for help that could jeopardize the hidden Jewish families. Here, courage is communal and subtle — woven into the fabric of everyday Danish life as the only moral response to occupation.

In Number the Stars, Lois Lowry portrays family not just as a fixed unit defined by blood ties but as a moral commitment that evolves when under pressure. The Johansen family illustrates this concept early on: Mama and Papa communicate with Annemarie and little Kirsti using calm, thoughtful honesty, tailored to what each child can handle. This approach creates a family culture where protection and truth exist side by side rather than in conflict. When Ellen Rosen needs to pretend to be a third Johansen daughter overnight, the parents’ careful deception—and the risks they willingly take—show that their protective instinct reaches out as soon as someone vulnerable appears at the door.

The fiction of Ellen as a daughter is quickly put to the test when German soldiers arrive and demand to see the children. Papa's steady presentation of an old photograph and his quiet assertion that the dark-haired girl is simply his daughter who resembles a different branch of the family illustrate how family loyalty acts as a form of physical bravery: a story whispered in the dark that could have deadly consequences.

Annemarie's own journey adds depth to this theme. She is asked to deliver an important packet to her Uncle Henrik's boat without knowing its full significance—this moment reduces family trust to its most basic form. She complies not because she comprehends everything, but because her understanding of family relationships has taught her that the adults around her deserve that trust.

Mama's injury on the dark path to the harbor, along with Annemarie's lonely trek to fulfill the mission, reframes family as something children can actively nurture, rather than simply inherit. By the end of the novel, family emerges as the main framework through which ordinary people demonstrate extraordinary moral courage.

In Lois Lowry's Number the Stars, freedom is not just a lofty idea; it's something that manifests through urgent, everyday acts of concealment and bravery. Set in Nazi-occupied Copenhagen in 1943, the novel illustrates the Danish Jews' loss of freedom in very tangible ways right from the start. Annemarie and Ellen can no longer run freely down the street without being halted by German soldiers, a stark reminder of how political oppression can invade personal lives.

The theme of hiding propels the story forward. When Ellen Johansen has to pretend to be Annemarie's sister for a night, her Star of David necklace becomes a symbol of danger — the very object that could expose her and must therefore be hidden. The moment when a soldier pulls Ellen's hair to compare it with a family photograph sharply underscores how freedom has been reduced to the precarious question of whether a lie will hold up.

The Rosens' escape to Sweden forms the climax of the novel, and Lowry highlights that freedom is not something passively received; it is actively delivered by ordinary people. Annemarie's daring run through the dark woods to deliver a vital packet to her uncle — without knowing its contents, only aware that it is important — redefines freedom as something carried from one person to another. The packet, which later turns out to contain a chemical that disguises human scent from trained dogs, is a quietly heartbreaking detail: even the act of fleeing demands that people erase traces of their own existence.

By the end, when the war concludes and Annemarie hopes to return Ellen's necklace, freedom is seen as something that has been restored rather than merely achieved — delicate, personal, and something owed.

In Number the Stars, Lois Lowry portrays friendship not as a cozy connection but as a moral obligation — one that continually urges Annemarie Johansen to choose bravery over safety for the sake of Kirsti's sister, Ellen Rosen.

The weight of this friendship becomes evident during the German soldiers' search of their apartment. As Ellen sleeps in Annemarie's bed, the soldiers question why a dark-haired girl is with the blonde Johansens. Annemarie's father presents a photo of his three daughters — a lie that protects Ellen at significant risk to the entire family. Annemarie doesn’t orchestrate this rescue; instead, she remains perfectly still, knowing that any sign of fear on her face could jeopardize it. Her stillness is a conscious act of friendship, as meaningful as any deliberate action.

Later, when Annemarie must deliver a vital packet to Henrik's boat through the dark woods alone, the mission centers entirely on ensuring Ellen's family can escape. Lowry captures the journey through Annemarie's thoughts: she calms herself by picturing herself as a character in a fairy tale, brave out of necessity. The packet — a handkerchief treated with a substance that prevents dogs from tracking — is something Annemarie doesn’t fully grasp, yet she runs anyway. Here, friendship functions like a form of faith: taking action for someone else's life without needing to understand every detail.

The novel concludes with Annemarie holding onto Ellen's Star of David necklace until her friend can return to reclaim it — a small, patient gesture that redefines friendship as a promise maintained across an uncertain future rather than just a feeling to be enjoyed in the moment.

In Lois Lowry's Number the Stars, good and evil aren't just abstract moral concepts; they manifest through real, physical choices made during an occupation. The story grounds evil most vividly in the Nazi soldiers who arrive at the Johansen apartment late at night, demanding to know why so many people are gathered. Their torchlight sweeping over terrified faces turns an ordinary space into one of intimidation, and their cold, clipped questions reveal how bureaucratic power can turn the everyday into a weapon.

In contrast to this institutional evil, goodness emerges quietly and comes at a significant personal cost. Annemarie's father stages a fake funeral to hide the gathering of Jewish families waiting to escape, and this deception only works because each family member convincingly portrays their grief — here, goodness involves lying, which complicates any straightforward moral assessment. Mama's nighttime return from the harbor, during which she breaks her ankle on the dark path and drags herself home without alerting the soldiers, portrays courage not as grand heroism but as stubborn, painful endurance.

The handkerchief subplot crystallizes the theme most clearly: Peter smuggles a chemically treated cloth that neutralizes the dogs' ability to scent the hidden Jews, and Annemarie has to run it to the harbor by herself. The task is simple — just a small piece of fabric — yet it carries the full moral weight of the rescue. Lowry emphasizes that evil is organized and armed, while goodness is improvised, fragile, and relies on children carrying handkerchiefs through the dark.

In Number the Stars, Lois Lowry presents identity as something that can be hidden, acted out, or given up when under threat — and the novel explores this pressure through a series of carefully crafted moments of disguise and revelation.

The most direct example occurs when Annemarie's family helps Ellen Johansen sneak past a Nazi checkpoint by claiming she is their third daughter. When soldiers insist on seeing the girls' faces in the dimly lit bedroom, Annemarie's father shows them a baby picture to "prove" Ellen is part of the family. The photograph is effective not because it truly represents the situation, but because the soldiers buy into the story that goes along with it — here, identity becomes a document, a performance, a negotiated fiction.

Lowry deepens this concept by giving Annemarie a persistent internal struggle regarding courage: she questions whether she could be brave if it really came down to it. This question finds its answer when she takes the important packet to Henrik's boat and has to confront soldiers alone on her way. She adopts the persona of a careless, scatter-brained girl delivering her uncle's lunch — a character starkly different from her usual careful self. The disguise succeeds, but it also reveals a truth: she realizes she can be that brave, indicating that her performed identity and her true self come together.

Ellen's Star of David necklace serves as the novel's key symbol of identity. Annemarie clutches it in her fist when soldiers arrive, and later keeps it safe for Ellen, promising to return it when the war ends. The necklace signifies Jewish identity as something that must be concealed to survive yet cannot be forsaken — a tension the novel addresses without easy solutions, allowing the clasping of that necklace at the end to represent a quiet, hard-won restoration.

In Number the Stars, Lois Lowry illustrates the impact of war not through scenes of violent battle, but by depicting the gradual decline of everyday life under Nazi occupation. The novel starts with a powerful scene: Annemarie and Kirsti encounter German soldiers on a Copenhagen street corner, a situation that has become so routine that the girls instinctively know to steer clear of certain paths. Here, the war's impact is not marked by explosive destruction but by the quiet loss of childhood freedom—the simple act of running home now tinged with fear.

The closure of the Hirsch family's button shop signifies a more subtle kind of devastation. When Annemarie's Jewish friend Ellen and her family are forced to vanish overnight, Lowry reveals how occupation dismantles community, erasing familiar faces from the fabric of daily life. The vacant shop becomes a symbol of absence—representing what war takes away that cannot be measured or publicly mourned.

The Johansen family's apartment, now filled with the Rosens hiding in plain sight, turns their home into a stage for danger. Each knock at the door, each soldier's flashlight scanning the room, carries a heavy sense of threat. Lowry allows the reader to feel how war intrudes upon personal life, transforming a home into a space of practiced lies and held breaths.

Peter Nielsen's journey—from Annemarie's future brother-in-law to Resistance fighter and eventually to executed prisoner—condenses the human cost of war into a single life story. His death, revealed quietly toward the end of the novel through Papa's explanation, highlights that the consequences of war extend beyond the fighting. The conflict may end, but the grief lingers. Annemarie's final moment of holding Ellen's Star of David necklace reaffirms that survival is never straightforward; it is always shadowed by the loss of what, and who, is no longer there.