The Horse Adjutant a selection to send people to a camp nearby called, Szebnie. Tarnow was becoming overcrowded again, and they wanted to make room by taking some people to other camps. When the Jewish police were given the order to round up people, they could not find Moshe. Sol was hiding him in his apartment. When the coast was clear, Moshe went back to work and, of course, started doing exactly the same thing: Driving the Gestapo and going to the market. Again, the Jewish police were frustrated, forced to accept the situation. Moshe was a big help to the ghetto. So little was coming in, and so many people were starving. He was taking big risks. Three weeks later, more people were needed for another work camp called Rymanow. This time the Jewish police went directly to Sol and said, “If you don’t give up Moshe, we will take you instead.” Moshe heard, and voluntarily turned himself in. He couldn’t let anything happen to Sol. He was gone by the afternoon. There was nothing to take with him and little reason to say goodbye. We were all in dire straits. That day I be- came the driver of my own rig, Moshe’s Carriage Number 7, with the majestic gelding Maciek as my steed. Now, instead of hiding when the Gestapo would come randomly come into the ghetto with their trucks, I would collect my horse and carriage and fall into line, a kind of horse taxi, ready to serve. Around me, everyone scattered in fear. The streets soon emptied except for eight young ghetto boys with their horses and carriages, all at the ready. I owe my life to Maciek and that coach with the brass lamps. Sol trained me well. I remember my first meeting with SS Hauptsturmführer Kommandant Hermann Blache. The first thing he said to me as he inspected my fine horse and carriage was, “You don’t look Jewish?” I acknowledged without embellishment, “Yes, sir.” It struck me how politely he spoke to me. He was in a good mood. Right away he gave me a nickname, Junge (Young Boy). Then he said, “If you need any rations for the horse they will be available through the Jewish Committee.” From that point forward I became the commandant’s preferred driver, and he would ask for me frequently by my nickname. I drove him many places in and out of the ghetto. I gained a small measure of freedom in doing this. I saw the town of Tarnow and found a way to sell things, like shoes and clothing, in exchange for food. Back in the ghetto, food was more valuable than gold. The Gestapo did not try and stop these transgressions. I couldn’t do it in front of them, but there was always some extra time between trips.
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