“THE GREAT SYNAGOGUE was filled to capacity, but that was not atypical for Rosh Hashanah. Those Jews who were devout and attended services regularly, and those Jews who only came twice a year, all made it a point to be in temple on this High Holy Day. Pre-service conversations were lively in the sanctuary while people were taking their seats and exchanging wishes of Shanah Tovah and Happy New Year. In such a festive setting, it was impossible to imagine that some sick mind desired the total destruction of this community, or that there was a death warrant pending.
“Rabbi Melchior solemnly stepped up to the bimah and the sanctuary grew silent. He lit the holiday candles and, knowing what he knew, he paused to swallow hard before reciting the Shehecheyanu, the traditional prayer of thanks to God for watching over the congregants and enabling them to reach this season. Then he stopped.
“‘Ladies and gentlemen, my Jewish brothers and sisters, my Danish brothers and sisters, we have no time to continue prayers. I must make a sad and tragic announcement. It has come to my attention that the Nazi administration has called for a pogrom. We have learned from absolutely reliable sources that it is the secret intent of the Nazi administration to arrest every single Jew in Denmark and transport us to camps in Poland and Germany.’ He held his hand up to stifle the shrieks and shouts that ensued. He looked sternly at his congregants, many of whom were in denial and disbelief. ‘It is not a crazy rumor; it is a fact,’ he said. ‘They intend to come for you during the days of Rosh Hashanah when you are at home. You must all leave now, go to your homes and make immediate plans to hide and protect your families. They will come for you tomorrow. Do not be at home when they come.’ More shouts and shrieks, and the rabbi called for silence again. ‘We have also learned that Sweden has adopted a policy of sanctuary for all who can get there. Go now, protect your loved ones, and may God be with you.’
“At the same time as Rabbi Melchior was giving his address, Bishop Damgaard was preparing a pastoral letter in his office at the Marble Church. Copies of that letter would be rushed by theological students to every church in the diocese. Every bishop and every pastor was directed to read a copy of the pastoral letter during Sunday worship.
“I have committed to memory the content of the pastoral letter:
Because the persecution of Jews conflicts with the understanding of justice rooted in the Danish people and settled through centuries in our Danish Christian culture, irrespective of divergent religious opinions, we shall fight for the right of our Jewish brothers and sisters to keep the freedom that we ourselves value more highly than life.
“Christian churchgoers would be urged to give shelter, food, money and assistance to all Jews trying to escape the Germans. Though the pastoral letter was meant to be read during the upcoming Sunday service, its content was leaked out to the community. Within hours, Danish Christians were ready to help in any way they could.
“OUR FAMILY ARRIVED home from synagogue and immediately made plans to leave. ‘Where will we go?’ my mother asked. ‘We’re not taking that baby out into the sound on your raggedy fishing boat.’
“‘The objective is to get to Sweden,’ my father said, ‘but I agree, not in my boat. We will have to find a captain. I know many of them, but the harbor is controlled by the Germans at this time. The harbormaster answers to Admiral Wurmbach.’
“‘I have a suggestion,’ Lukas said. ‘Until you figure something else out, at least for the time being, why don’t we hide in the back room of the bookstore? It’s just a storeroom. No one knows it’s there. I can assure you that Germans don’t shop at a Danish bookstore. As long as I’ve been working there, I’ve never waited on a German customer. I’ll have Tommy bring our supplies and Isabel’s cradle in his truck.’
“My father smiled and patted Lukas on the shoulder. ‘Thank you, my son, that’s a fine idea.’
“We each packed a bag with essentials, and we left the house that night believing we would never return. On our walk to the bookstore, we noticed that the streets were busier than usual, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. People like us were leaving Copenhagen in the middle of the night by car, by bicycle, and on foot. When we turned the corner, a taxi driver saw us and pulled up alongside. ‘You don’t know me,’ he said, ‘but I would like to help you, if I could. Where are you headed?’ That was to be the most oft-repeated phrase in Denmark for the next week and a half.
“We arrived at the bookstore just before the hour of curfew. Lukas cleared out a section in the storeroom. There was a door to the back alley that locked from the inside and a door to the front of the store. During nonbusiness hours, Lukas kept the bookstore’s street door locked. It was our intent to stay hidden in that storeroom until my father could arrange passage to Sweden. Lukas and Tommy brought supplies later that night: extra clothes, shoes, bedding, Isabel’s bottles, formula and baby food. We thought we’d be okay for a little while. We were wrong.
“The next day was September 30, the first day of Rosh Hashanah and the first day of the Nazi pogrom. Lukas went out in the morning and came back with pastries, coffee and tea. He told us that the streets were filled with Gestapo and German trucks. ‘There are multiple men in plainclothes whom I have never seen before. Dozens of them. They are definitely Best’s legions. They’re walking in groups of three or four and knocking on the doors of houses and apartments. They have lists. They’re shouting out names.’
“‘Did you see them taking people into custody?’ my father asked.
“‘No, I did not. I see them knock on a door, shout out a name, no one answers and they leave. They are not breaking down the doors or destroying houses, but I have seen them try to force some locks.’
“‘Duckwitz told us that Best wanted the arrests to be conducted without damage or civil disturbance. He doesn’t want the world press to see upheaval in his “model cooperative protectorate.” Obviously, our people are hiding, but I don’t know how long they can hold out. They’ve got to get to Sweden somehow.’
“Lukas shook his head. ‘Right now, it would be pretty hard. There are Gestapo and soldiers everywhere.’
“‘How do they know who is Jewish?’ my mother said. ‘How do they have lists? There has never been any census that identified people by religion. Denmark never wanted to know how you worship or if you worship. Jews never had to register like they did in the other countries. There have never been any yellow armbands for Jews to wear, or Stars of David painted on store windows. How did the Nazis get the names and addresses of Jewish families?’
“My father shrugged. ‘The synagogue would have names and addresses in their files. I don’t know if Rabbi Melchior had a chance to destroy those files before the Gestapo entered his office.’
“Lukas sneered. ‘Not just the synagogue. Informers, that’s how they know. People like the Hendricksens. The Gestapo pays informers, although I think Ole and William Hendricksen would do it for free.’
“From our hiding spot in the back, we heard people come and go into the store all during the day, though Lukas said business was quieter than usual. Street traffic was minimal. It seemed that all Copenhagen was aware of some kind of nefarious activity and was staying off the streets. Lukas brought us lunch and dinner and the six of us spent the second night of the Jewish New Year in the storeroom of a bookstore.
“‘How long do you think it will be necessary to stay here?’ Grethe asked.
“‘Until I can get down to the harbor and talk to one of my friends,’ my father said. ‘Lukas will tell us when it is safe for me to leave.’
“‘That could be quite a while,’ I said.
“‘Well, at least we’ll have plenty to read,’ my mother responded, in one of her rare attempts at humor.
“On October 2, Lukas reported that the Gestapo was having very little success at ferreting out Jewish families. ‘There is far more Nazi activity on the streets today,’ he said when he returned with our lunches, ‘but I hear that they are not finding any Jews at home. They are all in hiding, just like we are. I saw Ole Hendricksen when I came out of the sandwich shop, but I don’t think he saw me.’
“Unfortunately, he did. Later that afternoon we heard the bell over the front door jingle and Lukas say loudly, ‘Ole Hendricksen, what are you doing in my store?’
“‘It’s not your store; it belongs to old man Finkel,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’m looking for a good book. You know, a book on places to hide.’
“‘Is that right? When did you learn to read? You’re not welcome in here, so get out and take your two friends with you.’
“Another voice was heard. ‘Lukas Holstrum, how nice to see you again,’ the voice said in a strong German accent. ‘Where is your wife and your Jewish family?’
“‘Far from here,’ Lukas said. ‘They left two days ago. They probably saw you coming to their house and scooted out the BACK DOOR. Why don’t you ask Ole? He and his sister Elizabeth seem to know everything.’
“My father looked at me and Grethe, nodded, and tilted his head toward the back door.
“‘I don’t have a sister Elizabeth,’ we heard Ole say. ‘What are you talking about?’
“After a moment we heard a man say, ‘What’s behind that door, the one in the corner?’
“‘Books, supplies, I don’t know,’ Lukas answered calmly. ‘Mr. Finkel keeps it locked. I don’t have a key.’
“Hearing all this, we grabbed the baby and as much as we could carry in our arms, quietly opened the back door and walked out into the alley. My father had absolutely no idea where we would go, but I did.