city directories. They located the architectural firm that built the house. They managed to find a few former neighbors, quite old by now. In the thirties, a doctor owned this building. His name was Bund. Well-to-do. Large family. Seven children. They lived on the second and third stories of the building. Bund had his offices on the first floor. He kept his records and supplies in the basement.”
Misha’s shoulders sagged as he continued.
“The war started. And in 1942—the Holocaust. From files ourinvestigators found, carefully hidden beneath the basement floor, they learned that many of the doctor’s patients were Jewish. Beyond that—and this reaffirms my belief in humanity, a belief sorely tested from time to time—the records made clear that even after the war began, after the
Holocaust
began, he continued to treat his Jewish patients. It’s astonishing. He truly believed in his Hippocratic oath. Our good doctor continued to care for his Jewish patients till the day the SS came to take him and his family away to the concentration camp at Mauthausen.”
Saul felt a chill.
“But Dr. Bund did more than administer medicine to his Jewish patients,” Misha said. “He actually
hid
the sickest ones, those whose weakened condition would have meant automatic execution instead of forced labor. Bund”—Misha glanced toward the ceiling—“the unnameable loves you.”
“Hid them?” Erika whispered.
“In the basement. The way the house was set up, Bund had a stairway down from his bedroom to his clinic on the first floor. He never had to pass his patients in the waiting room as he entered his office. He merely admitted them to his sanctum. But as long as he had a stairway through a door in back, from his office to his apartment, why not continue the stairs all the way to the basement? He wouldn’t have to go through the waiting room to reach his records and his medications below him. Efficient, direct, simple.”
“And”—Erika shook her head—“in the end, it killed him.”
“At the height of the pogrom, conscience-torn between his need to survive and his oath to heal, he built a partition across his basement. The front half, reached from an alternate and obvious door at the bottom of the outside stairs, was cluttered with boxes of records and supplies. Bund knew that the SS, prigs at heart, wouldn’t dirty their uniforms to wade through the boxes, finally reach the partition, and test it. How could the so-called Elite Guard have strutted in front of the populace with dust stains on their shirts? For a time, that logic saved the doctor’s life. Meanwhile, after dinner every evening, the doctor wentdown to the
back
half of his basement where, hidden by the partition, he took care of his Jewish patients. I don’t know what medical horrors faced him, or how the SS learned his secret, but I
do
know he saved at least a dozen Jewish lives, men and women who somehow found ways to leave Europe, before he and his family were arrested. That’s the point. Not only Bund. But also his family. His wife and children. They
all
accepted the risk. They chose to reject the obscenity of their nation’s politics. They sacrificed themselves for us.”
“But how do you know?”
“Because our investigators were able to find two Jews in Israel, now elderly, who in those days were hidden downstairs. To use Christian terminology, the doctor was a saint.”
“Then maybe there’s hope,” Saul said.
“Or maybe not. After all, he was killed,” Misha said.
“My point exactly. He died for
us,”
Saul said. “So there
is
hope.”
His eyes sad, Misha nodded. “We don’t know if Joseph chose to live here because of the house’s association with the Jewish cause or if he selected this apartment at random. If it
was
at random, there’s no way to tell how he learned about that stairway behind his bedroom—because the SS sealed both that entrance and the one from the office down on the first floor. They removed the
Misha’s shoulders sagged as he continued.
“The war started. And in 1942—the Holocaust. From files ourinvestigators found, carefully hidden beneath the basement floor, they learned that many of the doctor’s patients were Jewish. Beyond that—and this reaffirms my belief in humanity, a belief sorely tested from time to time—the records made clear that even after the war began, after the
Holocaust
began, he continued to treat his Jewish patients. It’s astonishing. He truly believed in his Hippocratic oath. Our good doctor continued to care for his Jewish patients till the day the SS came to take him and his family away to the concentration camp at Mauthausen.”
Saul felt a chill.
“But Dr. Bund did more than administer medicine to his Jewish patients,” Misha said. “He actually
hid
the sickest ones, those whose weakened condition would have meant automatic execution instead of forced labor. Bund”—Misha glanced toward the ceiling—“the unnameable loves you.”
“Hid them?” Erika whispered.
“In the basement. The way the house was set up, Bund had a stairway down from his bedroom to his clinic on the first floor. He never had to pass his patients in the waiting room as he entered his office. He merely admitted them to his sanctum. But as long as he had a stairway through a door in back, from his office to his apartment, why not continue the stairs all the way to the basement? He wouldn’t have to go through the waiting room to reach his records and his medications below him. Efficient, direct, simple.”
“And”—Erika shook her head—“in the end, it killed him.”
“At the height of the pogrom, conscience-torn between his need to survive and his oath to heal, he built a partition across his basement. The front half, reached from an alternate and obvious door at the bottom of the outside stairs, was cluttered with boxes of records and supplies. Bund knew that the SS, prigs at heart, wouldn’t dirty their uniforms to wade through the boxes, finally reach the partition, and test it. How could the so-called Elite Guard have strutted in front of the populace with dust stains on their shirts? For a time, that logic saved the doctor’s life. Meanwhile, after dinner every evening, the doctor wentdown to the
back
half of his basement where, hidden by the partition, he took care of his Jewish patients. I don’t know what medical horrors faced him, or how the SS learned his secret, but I
do
know he saved at least a dozen Jewish lives, men and women who somehow found ways to leave Europe, before he and his family were arrested. That’s the point. Not only Bund. But also his family. His wife and children. They
all
accepted the risk. They chose to reject the obscenity of their nation’s politics. They sacrificed themselves for us.”
“But how do you know?”
“Because our investigators were able to find two Jews in Israel, now elderly, who in those days were hidden downstairs. To use Christian terminology, the doctor was a saint.”
“Then maybe there’s hope,” Saul said.
“Or maybe not. After all, he was killed,” Misha said.
“My point exactly. He died for
us,”
Saul said. “So there
is
hope.”
His eyes sad, Misha nodded. “We don’t know if Joseph chose to live here because of the house’s association with the Jewish cause or if he selected this apartment at random. If it
was
at random, there’s no way to tell how he learned about that stairway behind his bedroom—because the SS sealed both that entrance and the one from the office down on the first floor. They removed the
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