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Meiatgeok asncrdewI’medtoutpalhlyisexfahcaeusinted.i”sgust and waved goodbye to 8
Leib“Ay. long journey? I assume that you are engaged in border
“B’eszmrausgHglaisnhgemanId’llthbee ibnafcokrmsoatoino,n” htheapt rIomhaivsedt,oaso theer wtriullckhelp
begyaonumnooveingd.. e borders are mere fabrications of human design,
and there is moral justi cation in invalidating them. You have
nothing to fear.”
Leiby smiled. e man’s naivete amused him. He had no need
for moral justi cation in order to feel totally at peace with the
forgery of documents and the smuggling of Jewish refugees
whose lives were at risk if they stayed in Poland.
“Tomorrow I have a meeting scheduled with the Jewish
Historical Committee, here in Lodz,” the professor revealed.
“Would you like to join me there? I feel duty bound to tell the
world about Poland’s rich Jewish history, so that the facts will
be recorded for the next generations.”
Leiby didn’t respond. He had no desire to spend his time in a
room crammed with dusty tomes and historical volumes, bored
out of his wits. He’d far rather spend his spare time, if he had
any, in a leisurely walk through one of the city’s lush parks.
e professor’s face fell at Leiby’s unenthusiastic response.
“I’ll go with you,” Leiby promised, feeling sorry for the man.
“ e Jewish Historical Committee of Poland,” the modest sign
on the neglected, disintegrating building informed them. e
building’s old-fashioned arched windows and crumbling walls
emphasized the lack of interest that the postwar public had in
its activities.
e professor strode con dently into the building, enriching
Leiby’s knowledge with tidbits of history as he walked. Leiby