they had to move into a cramped, run-down apartment on Jozefinska Street with their cousins, the Herzlichs, twelve of them sharing four small rooms. Blum became what was known as a ferret inside the walls, taking out mail regularly and passing along family messages, even money for safekeeping, bringing in food and needed medicine, and even guns. His friend from the university, Jakob Epstein, grew up in that area and showed Blum all the underground sewers and tunnels, the doors between buildings no one knew, secret hiding places if they were chased, even the chasms deep underneath the synagogue and the passageways over the rooftops, until he knew them as well as any local thief. To be captured smuggling something in meant certain death as well as harsh repercussions for his family. Blumâs main asset was his innocent face and trusting way about him, masking an inner resolve.
Once, to avoid capture, he had to hide underneath the chassis of a German troop truck at the very moment a raid was under way and then roll out and duck behind trash cans as the truck pulled away, troops clinging to the side. Another time he was stopped outside the gate with packets of money and letters sewn into his rucksack and he produced a forged pass that said he was a worker at Struhl, a German sugar factory in the outside sector. âYou look a little young to be a worker.â The guard regarded him skeptically. âIâm not the manager,â Blum replied, never betraying his fear, âonly the floor sweeper.â They let him pass. And once he was shot at as he fled across a rooftop; fortunately his arm was merely grazed, a reminder of how real the danger was, though his mother treated it as if it was a mortal wound.
In the spring of 1943, the ghetto was closed for good and the treatment of Jews and his family worsened. A sense of uncertainty prevailed, rumors of executions in Lodz and Warsaw. Mass deportations to places unknown, where no one was ever heard from again. A perpetual sadness became etched into his fatherâs face. Everything his own father and he had built was now lost. All the government customers heâd had over the years, relationships with some of the wealthiest families in Krakow, who now wouldnât even return his letters. One day Blumâs friend Epstein was pulled from his apartment and taken away to Gestapo headquarters in the Dom Slaski. No one ever heard from him again. Blumâs mother pleaded for him to stop; it was only a matter of time for him, Nathan, to be caught. Soon after, Rabbi Morgenstern came to his father. Krakowâs main synagogue had an important Talmud dating back to the twelfth century, with a commentary written by a student of the venerable Maimonides himself. The holy tract had to survive at all costs, the elders of the temple agreed. And who was the best prepared to smuggle it out and deliver it for safekeeping into the right hands?
Blum.
He didnât want to leave, to abandon his parents and his sister, who had always been his closest friend. Rumors of mass deportations spread like wildfire through the ghetto. Who would watch out for his family? Who was better able to take care of them? Some of his friends spoke of remaining in the ghetto and putting up a fight.
But his father insisted that this Talmud was a treasure as great as in any synagogue in Europe. And what hope was there to remain here, except for Nathan to end up like his friend, Jakob, taken by the Gestapo. No doubt dead. It will happen one day for sure, he insisted to Blum. âThen where will your mother be?â Or to be taken off in one of the mass deportations. Then what had he gained by staying? âAt least this way there is hope.â The underground had a way of getting Blum north. First, on a milk truck; then up the Vistula on a barge to the port city of Gdynia; and then across the Baltic to Sweden on a freighter. It was a great honor, his father said, to be chosen for this. In the end
Once, to avoid capture, he had to hide underneath the chassis of a German troop truck at the very moment a raid was under way and then roll out and duck behind trash cans as the truck pulled away, troops clinging to the side. Another time he was stopped outside the gate with packets of money and letters sewn into his rucksack and he produced a forged pass that said he was a worker at Struhl, a German sugar factory in the outside sector. âYou look a little young to be a worker.â The guard regarded him skeptically. âIâm not the manager,â Blum replied, never betraying his fear, âonly the floor sweeper.â They let him pass. And once he was shot at as he fled across a rooftop; fortunately his arm was merely grazed, a reminder of how real the danger was, though his mother treated it as if it was a mortal wound.
In the spring of 1943, the ghetto was closed for good and the treatment of Jews and his family worsened. A sense of uncertainty prevailed, rumors of executions in Lodz and Warsaw. Mass deportations to places unknown, where no one was ever heard from again. A perpetual sadness became etched into his fatherâs face. Everything his own father and he had built was now lost. All the government customers heâd had over the years, relationships with some of the wealthiest families in Krakow, who now wouldnât even return his letters. One day Blumâs friend Epstein was pulled from his apartment and taken away to Gestapo headquarters in the Dom Slaski. No one ever heard from him again. Blumâs mother pleaded for him to stop; it was only a matter of time for him, Nathan, to be caught. Soon after, Rabbi Morgenstern came to his father. Krakowâs main synagogue had an important Talmud dating back to the twelfth century, with a commentary written by a student of the venerable Maimonides himself. The holy tract had to survive at all costs, the elders of the temple agreed. And who was the best prepared to smuggle it out and deliver it for safekeeping into the right hands?
Blum.
He didnât want to leave, to abandon his parents and his sister, who had always been his closest friend. Rumors of mass deportations spread like wildfire through the ghetto. Who would watch out for his family? Who was better able to take care of them? Some of his friends spoke of remaining in the ghetto and putting up a fight.
But his father insisted that this Talmud was a treasure as great as in any synagogue in Europe. And what hope was there to remain here, except for Nathan to end up like his friend, Jakob, taken by the Gestapo. No doubt dead. It will happen one day for sure, he insisted to Blum. âThen where will your mother be?â Or to be taken off in one of the mass deportations. Then what had he gained by staying? âAt least this way there is hope.â The underground had a way of getting Blum north. First, on a milk truck; then up the Vistula on a barge to the port city of Gdynia; and then across the Baltic to Sweden on a freighter. It was a great honor, his father said, to be chosen for this. In the end
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