During WWII, my father’s family lived in exile on the Wipstraat in Antwerp,
Belgium.
When the German army invaded the country, my grandfather R’ Getzel
Beck Z”L (he lived and was Niftar in London in 1977) – who felt the wrath of
these murderers on his own skin before fleeing Vienna – decided to pack up and
leave immediately.
They packed their
meagre belongings and set out on foot, joining the masses that clogged
up the roads leading to the Belgian coast.
When they reached a waystation and my grandfather realised that they
would never make it, having to schlepp small children under the constant threat
of bombers flying overhead, he hailed a buggy pulled by horse and paid the driver
handsomely.
They were all settled - about ten souls in all, including his parents and siblings – when a Jewish
man appeared and offered his gold watch to the driver.
The coachman ordered all of our family off
and accepted the new ‘customer’ with his eleven family members – against the
protestations of my grandfather.
A
couple of hours later, when my grandfather succeeded in finding another wagon,
they were well on their way when the driver told him to make sure that no one
of the children look out of the wagon as there was an air raid not long before
and the sights would not be welcoming…
My grandfather did look and saw: a wagon
and horse with the driver and all its passengers lifelessly strewn about the
surrounding area, HaShem Yikom Domom.
Indeed, he recognised the ‘customer’ and his family as well as the wagon
driver who ordered him off, thereby saving his life as well as those of his
whole family!
