The Horse Adjutant
Painting of German tanks on the move in Poland
to our home. The only thing close to war I heard was my mom screaming. Her water broke, and she gave birth to my baby brother, Naftali. He was born in September 1939. His birth should have been a time of great joy and celebration but was instead filled with dreadful anticipation. After a few days, the baby was settled, and we returned home. Luckily, we waited, because right before we left, something happened I will never forget. Directly in front of the farmhouse, on the highway about 200 yards away, my entire family and I stood dumbfounded as the largest military movement of people and machinery I have ever witnessed crossed our doorstep. I saw a parade of horses with men in full uniform flanked by single-seat motorcycles buzzing along. They were quickly followed by the clumsier heavy-duty military bikes with sidecars that could carry three soldiers. Those three soldiers stood out with red stripes emblazoned on their pants. Following up in the rear were two columns of foot soldiers and mules loaded with supplies. Hundreds of soldiers passed, all neatly dressed, each holding a rifle. The line stretched for miles. Everyone and everything was moving east, towards the new border with Russia. I’m glad we were not on the road when they descended like locusts. Within a few hours, the troops were out of sight. I didn’t know what to make of it.
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