Escape

3 Escape

When I actually saw the plane, a KLM Dutch airliner, and boarded it, I think I was crying. The tension of the last 36 hours was just too much. But looking around at my fellow passengers and listening to their conversations, I realised that I was only one amongst many who were making their way to freedom, and everyone had a story to tell. On this plane were perhaps only half a dozen “genuine” travellers, all others were escaping from Eastern Europe. Nobody knew then the destiny that awaited the Jewish people, but all felt that they wanted to get as far away and as quickly as possible.
We landed in Amsterdam in the evening. When my turn came to be checked out, the immigration officer told me that I could not leave the airport since I had no visa. I argued that I did not want to stay in Holland, I wanted to go to Belgium, and showed him the visa to that country. Whereupon he pointed out that in order to go to the railway station, I would be on Dutch territory, and for that I needed a visa! I explained to him, as calmly as I could, that I needed to attend to an urgent family matter in Antwerp. Everything had been arranged in a hurry, and that is why I had overlooked the matter of a Dutch visa. He asked me to wait whilst he consulted his superior. After about a quarter of an hour, he returned, and with a big smile informed me, that he had managed to obtain a visa for 8 days for me. That would give me enough time, to enjoy a stay in his beautiful country. I thanked him profoundly, but explained that I could not possibly spare the time now, but hoped to return some time in the future!
By that time all other passengers had left, there was no bus or taxi available, and my train to Antwerp was leaving in less than an hour. I once again turned to the officer and asked him how I could get to the station. He told me to wait another few minutes until he finished his duty, and he would then take me personally to the station in his car. I
I was completely overwhelmed by his kindness - not only did he take me to the station, but he made sure that I had a seat and told the conductor of the train to assist me until we had crossed the Belgian border.
I must say, that throughout all these complicated formalities and all these hours of waiting in uncertainty, I was not really afraid. On the contrary, I was quite confident that I would reach my target, and, shortly after midnight, I arrived in Antwerp! Of course there was no-one awaiting me, as there had not been time or opportunity to let my brothers know of my “travel plans”. I said "my brothers" because, a few weeks earlier, Yoine had succeeded in crossing the German border in to Belgium, and was at that time staying with Philip. So I made my way on foot from the station to Philip's address, where I arrived in the early morning hours.

The concierge, who recognised me from a previous visit, (I visited Philip in 1936), let me in, and I went straight upstairs. As I came to the door, I heard them discussing whether I would succeed, and, as Philip knew that my passport expired that day, he didn't think that the chances were very great. I could not hold out any longer, so I just opened the door and said: “Here I am!”. This was all I managed to say, before we were all in each other's arms, full of excitement. It was 2 a.m., but we talked away the rest of that night.

Next day, relatives and friends came to welcome me - my arrival came as a surprise to all. Being in Belgium was wonderful, but what was I going to do there? A cousin, Yoine Licht, the son of Chaim Weisenberg [1], suggested that I learn diamond cutting, and he arranged for me to go to someone who was willing to teach me. I started the next day. I was put in a room with a diamond-cutting machine, and after watching my instructor for a few days, I started cutting the precious stones myself, naturally under his guidance. I made slow progress, but gained experience daily.
All went well, until, one day in April 1939, an inspector appeared, and caught me working without a work permit. Obviously I could not continue working in this place. But worse was to come. I received an order to leave the country as a punishment for working without a permit. I had no intention of waiting for deportation, so I looked around for a way out.
[1] In Poland, it was common practice for Jews to marry in a religious ceremony only, without any civil ceremony or formality. Consequently, the children of these marriages adopted the mother's maiden name.