Escape From Darkness

Thirteen-year-old Leo Goldberger and his family crouched in a cluster of bushes on the beach. It was a bitterly cold night, and they shivered in the damp chill. But no one complained. The Goldbergers dared not make a sound as they stared out at the dark water, waiting for the signal.

It was October 2, 1943, and the Goldbergers were fleeing Denmark, a country in northern Europe. Leo ached at the thought of leaving behind his friends, his school, his family’s cozy apartment. But Denmark had become a dangerous place for Jewish people like him and his family. And now Leo, his parents, and his three brothers were waiting for a boat that would smuggle them to nearby Sweden, where they would be safer.

As the minutes ticked by, Leo’s heart filled with almost unbearable fear. What if they got caught? They would be arrested—maybe even killed. Or what if the boat sank in the rough waves? What if the boat never came at all? 

But beneath Leo’s fear, another feeling was growing: anger.

Powerful, searing-hot anger. 

What have we ever done to be in hiding, to be escaping like criminals? he thought.

Leo had to push his fury aside, though, because just then, he saw a faint light blinking out on the water. 

This was the signal. 

The boat had arrived. 

Leo’s older brother grabbed the two suitcases the family had managed to take with them. Then they all waded into the icy black water, sending silent prayers out into the night.

Thirteen-year-old Leo Goldberger was with his family. They were hiding in a cluster of bushes on the beach. It was a cold night. They shivered, but no one complained. They dared not make a sound. They just stared out at the dark water, waiting for the signal.

It was October 2, 1943. The Goldbergers were fleeing Denmark, a country in northern Europe. Leo was sad to leave his friends, school, and home. But Leo and his family were Jewish. And Denmark had become a dangerous place for Jewish people. Now Leo, his parents, and his three brothers were waiting for a boat. It would smuggle them to nearby Sweden. They would be safer there.

The minutes ticked by. Leo’s heart filled with fear. What if they got caught? They would be arrested. They might be killed. What if the boat sank? Or what if it never came at all? 

But beneath Leo’s fear, another feeling was growing: anger.

Powerful, searing-hot anger. 

What have we ever done to be in hiding, to be escaping like criminals? he thought.

But Leo had to push his fury aside when he saw a light blinking out on the water. 

This was the signal. 

The boat had arrived. 

Leo’s older brother grabbed the family’s two suitcases. Then they all waded into the icy black water, sending silent prayers out into the night.

Only a few years earlier, Leo could never have imagined that one day he’d be forced to flee his home. Denmark was a small country—less than half the size of New York State. It had been a happy, peaceful place to grow up.

Leo and his family lived in the capital city of Copenhagen, in a beautiful neighborhood overlooking sparkling lakes. He spent his weekends playing soccer, hiking with his Boy Scout troop, and goofing around with his three brothers.

Leo’s father was a professional singer who led prayers at Copenhagen’s Great Synagogue, a place of worship for Jewish people in the city. The family’s life revolved around Jewish traditions and holidays, when friends would gather to share delicious feasts prepared by Leo’s mother. Around the time of Leo’s 13th birthday in June 1943, the family held a joyous celebration for his bar mitzvah, the Jewish ceremony that marks a boy’s transition from childhood to adulthood. He’d been showered with gifts, including a shiny police flashlight that was now his most prized possession.

Leo never felt unsafe being Jewish. Why would he? Jewish people had been living in Denmark for centuries. They were respected and treated just like any other citizens.

A few years earlier, Leo could not have imagined that one day he’d be fleeing his home. Denmark was a small country—not even half the size of New York State. It had been a happy, peaceful place to grow up.

Leo and his family lived in the capital city of Copenhagen. He spent his weekends playing soccer, hiking with his Boy Scout troop, and goofing around with his three brothers.

Leo’s father was a professional singer. He led prayers at Copenhagen’s Great Synagogue, a place of worship for Jewish people. The family’s life revolved around Jewish traditions and holidays. Around the time of Leo’s 13th birthday in June 1943, the family held a celebration for his bar mitzvah. That’s the Jewish ceremony that marks a boy’s transition from childhood to adulthood. Leo got many gifts. One gift was a police flashlight. Now it was his most prized possession.

Leo never felt unsafe being Jewish. Why would he? Jewish people had been living in Denmark for centuries. They were treated just like other citizens.

In many other European nations, however, this was not the case. 

Jewish people had always made up a small percentage of Europe’s population. Still, their beliefs and customs—the same ones that brought Leo and his family so much joy—were viewed as strange, even suspicious, by many other Europeans. 

Prejudice and hostility toward Jewish people, known as antisemitism, simmered for centuries. Then, in the 1930s, this prejudice boiled over into monstrous hatred and deadly violence. In 1933, a man named Adolf Hitler became the leader of Germany, a country south of Denmark. Hitler and his political party, the Nazis, held a racist view of the world. They saw anyone who was different from them as less than human—especially Jewish people. 

After Hitler rose to power, the Nazis began stripping Jewish people of their rights. They passed laws that forbade Jewish citizens from voting, owning property, and holding many jobs. Jewish people were banned from shops, restaurants, buses, and public parks. Jewish kids were kicked out of their schools. Even more horrific was the violence that erupted across Germany—Nazis and their supporters attacked Jewish people in the streets and burned their businesses and synagogues to the ground.

Soon the terror spread beyond Germany. Hitler intended to conquer Europe and build a massive empire based on his hateful ideas. By 1939, the Nazis had taken over nearby Austria and parts of Czechoslovakia. In September of that year, they invaded Poland. 

Leaders in many other countries knew that Hitler had to be stopped. Soon after the Nazi invasion of Poland, Great Britain and France declared war against Germany. (They would later be joined by other countries, including the United States.)

World War II—the deadliest conflict in history—had begun.

In many other European nations, however, this was not the case. 

Jewish people had always been a small part of Europe’s population. Still, their beliefs and customs were viewed as strange by many other Europeans. 

Prejudice and hostility toward Jewish people is called antisemitism. In Europe, it simmered for centuries. Then, in the 1930s, this prejudice boiled over into hatred and deadly violence. In 1933, a man named Adolf Hitler became the leader of Germany. It’s a country south of Denmark. Hitler’s political party was the Nazis. They held a racist view of the world. They saw anyone who was different from them as less than human—especially Jewish people. 

After Hitler rose to power, the Nazis began passing laws that took rights away from Jewish people. Jewish citizens could no longer vote, own property, and hold many jobs. Jewish people were banned from shops, restaurants, buses, and public parks. Jewish kids were kicked out of their schools. Even more horrific, Nazis and their supporters attacked Jewish people in the streets. They burned their businesses and synagogues to the ground.

Soon the terror spread beyond Germany. Hitler wanted to conquer Europe and build a massive empire based on his hateful ideas. By 1939, the Nazis had taken over nearby Austria and parts of Czechoslovakia. In September of that year, they invaded Poland. 

Leaders in many other countries wanted to stop Hitler. After the Nazis invaded Poland, Great Britain and France declared war against Germany. (Later, the United States and other countries joined the fight against Hitler.)

World War II had begun. It became the deadliest conflict in history.

As the years passed and the war dragged on, the fragile agreement between Denmark and Germany began to unravel. 

Most Danish people were strongly opposed to antisemitism and hated that the Nazis had taken over their peaceful country. Many began to find ways to fight back against their German occupiers. 

Though the Nazis had made it illegal for Danish newspapers to report on Germany’s crimes, some citizens printed secret newspapers to pass on information about Nazi atrocities. Others bombed factories and trains filled with German war supplies.

These acts of resistance infuriated the Nazis, and in August 1943, they seized control of the Danish government. 

All of a sudden, the Jewish citizens of Denmark were in great danger.

On September 29—the day before Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year—Leo and his family were at synagogue. The rabbi, the leader of the congregation, made a terrifying announcement. Jewish people were going to be rounded up and deported to concentration camps, he said. A German officer who disagreed with the decision had warned Danish leaders of the Nazis’ plans. Every Jewish person must go into hiding, the rabbi explained—immediately.

In a panic, the Goldbergers hurried home to pack. Leo hastily grabbed a few items of clothing and his beloved flashlight. But he and his family had no idea what to do next. 

Where could they hide? What would happen to them?

Years passed. The war dragged on. The fragile relationship between Denmark and Germany began to unravel. 

Most Danish people opposed antisemitism. They hated that the Nazis had taken over their country. Many began to fight back against their German occupiers. 

The Nazis had made it illegal for Danish newspapers to report on Germany’s crimes. But some citizens printed secret newspapers that told about Nazi atrocities. Others bombed factories and trains filled with German war supplies.

These acts of resistance angered the Nazis. In August 1943, they took control of the Danish government. 

Suddenly, the Jewish citizens of Denmark were in great danger.

On September 29, Leo and his family were at synagogue. It was the day before Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. The rabbi, the leader of the congregation, made a terrifying announcement. Jewish people were going to be rounded up and deported to concentration camps, he said. A German officer who disagreed with the decision had warned Danish leaders of the Nazis’ plans. Every Jewish person must go into hiding, the rabbi explained—immediately.

In a panic, the Goldbergers hurried home to pack. Leo grabbed a few items of clothing and his beloved flashlight. But he and his family had no idea what to do next. 

Where could they hide? What would happen to them?

Within hours of the rabbi’s warning, Leo and his family had made it to a friend’s home in the countryside, where they believed they would be safer. But they knew the only way to survive would be to escape Denmark entirely. And so, despite the risks, Leo’s father quickly returned to Copenhagen to make arrangements. 

There, by chance, he ran into a woman named Fanny Arnskov. The two had met at a charity fundraiser a few years earlier. Now Arnskov promised to help the Goldbergers escape.

Across Denmark, thousands of non-Jewish Danes like Arnskov were springing into action to protect their Jewish friends, neighbors, and colleagues. Families hid Jewish acquaintances in their attics. Churches and schools opened their doors to Jewish people seeking refuge. Doctors and nurses hid thousands of Jewish people in hospital beds, creating fake medical records to disguise the identities of their “patients.”

Yet it was clear that Jewish Danes could not stay hidden in such a small country for long. Their only hope was to escape to nearby Sweden, where the Nazis were not in control. Sweden was extremely close, just across a narrow body of water called Øresund—or, in English, the Sound. Many Danes began raising money and organizing to smuggle Jewish Danes across the water by boat.

Arnskov assured Leo’s father that she would take care of everything. She put him in touch with a church leader who arranged for a small fishing boat to ferry the Goldbergers across the water to Sweden. All they had to do was be at a certain spot on the shore at 10 o’clock on the night of October 2—and wait for a blinking light in the distance.

But within a few hours, Leo and his family had made it to a friend’s home. It was in the countryside. It was safer than being in the city. But they knew they would have to escape Denmark to be truly safe. And so, despite the risks, Leo’s father returned to Copenhagen to make arrangements. 

There, by chance, he ran into a woman named Fanny Arnskov. The two had met at a charity fundraiser a few years earlier. Now Arnskov promised to help the Goldbergers escape.

Across Denmark, thousands of non-Jewish Danes like Arnskov were trying to protect Jewish people. Families hid Jewish acquaintances in their attics. Churches and schools opened their doors to Jewish people seeking refuge. Doctors and nurses hid thousands of Jewish people in hospital beds. Fake medical records disguised the identities of the “patients.”

But Jewish Danes could not stay hidden in such a small country for long. Their only hope was to escape to nearby Sweden. The Nazis did not control Sweden. And it was just across a narrow body of water called Øresund—or, in English, the Sound. Many Danes began raising money and organizing to smuggle Jewish Danes across the water by boat.

Arnskov put Leo’s father in touch with a church leader who arranged for a small fishing boat to take the Goldbergers across the water to Sweden. But they had to be on the shore at 10 o’clock on the night of October 2—and wait for a blinking light in the distance.

And so, on that freezing autumn night, Leo and his family waded slowly through the frigid seawater toward the light. The waves crept higher and higher until they reached Leo’s chest. Beside him, his father held tightly to Leo’s two little brothers. Leo’s older brother, Milan, struggled to drag the family’s two suitcases through the water. The suitcases contained a few items of clothing, as well as important papers and beloved family photos—the family’s most precious possessions. As Milan moved deeper into the water, however, dragging the suitcases became impossible. Exhausted, he finally let them sink to the seafloor. 

At last, the family reached the tiny fishing boat. The fishermen guided them below deck, where about 20 other Jewish refugees were already hiding under grimy canvases. The stench of fish was overwhelming. Straining to see in the pitch darkness, Leo started to turn on his flashlight. But a fisherman quickly kicked it out of his hands, breaking it. Even a tiny flicker of light could put them at risk of being discovered. 

As the boat lurched through the choppy waves, Leo fought the urge to throw up. Then suddenly, they came to a stop. Leo heard voices and heavy footsteps coming from the deck above. German soldiers, he realized, were boarding the boat for inspection. 

He and the other refugees froze in silent terror. If they were caught, everyone aboard the boat—the families, the fishermen—would almost certainly be killed. Finally, after minutes that felt like hours, the soldiers left, having decided the boat was nothing more than a fishing vessel. 

The boat sailed on. And after two hours at sea, a string of bright lights appeared out of the darkness. The Swedish shore! The Goldbergers and the other refugee families broke into an elated cheer. 

They had made it. 

They were saved. 

And so, on that freezing night, Leo and his family waded slowly through the frigid seawater toward the light. The waves crept higher and higher. They reached Leo’s chest. His father held tightly to Leo’s two little brothers. Leo’s older brother, Milan, dragged the family’s two suitcases through the water. The suitcases contained a few items of clothing, as well as important papers and beloved family photos. As Milan moved deeper into the water, however, dragging the suitcases became impossible. Exhausted, he finally let them sink to the seafloor. 

At last, the family reached the tiny fishing boat. The fishermen guided them below deck. About 20 other Jewish refugees were already hiding there. The crowded space smelled of fish. It was very dark. Leo started to turn on his flashlight. But a fisherman kicked it out of his hands, breaking it. Even a tiny flicker of light could put them at risk of being discovered. 

The boat lurched through the choppy waves. Leo fought the urge to throw up. Suddenly, they came to a stop. Leo heard voices and heavy footsteps. German soldiers were boarding the boat for inspection. 

He and the other refugees froze in silent terror. If they were caught, everyone aboard the boat—the families, the fishermen—would likely be killed. Finally, the soldiers left. They had decided the boat was just a fishing vessel. 

The boat sailed on. After two hours at sea, a string of bright lights appeared out of the darkness. The Swedish shore! The Goldbergers and the other refugee families cheered. 

They had made it. 

They were saved.

Over the next month, hundreds of fishing boats made similar journeys across the stretch of sea between Denmark and Sweden. By early November, more than 7,220 Jewish Danes had been brought to safety. 

As for the Goldbergers, they lived safely in Sweden for a year and a half, until May 1945, when World War II finally ended in Europe. 

The family was filled with joy at the prospect of returning to Denmark, but the feeling was soon marred by impossible grief. 

During the long years of the war, news about what was happening across Nazi-occupied Europe was scattered. But after the war, the full scale of the horror of what had happened to Europe’s Jewish people finally came to light. The Nazis had murdered more than 6 million Jewish men, women, and children—two out of every three European Jewish people. Today this unspeakably evil chapter in history is known as the Holocaust. 

Amid such darkness, what happened in Denmark would come to seem even more miraculous. Thousands of people—from government leaders to schoolchildren—risked their own lives to save their Jewish countrymen and countrywomen. More than 98 percent of Jewish Danes survived the war thanks to what is now considered one of the greatest rescue operations in history.

Over the next month, hundreds of fishing boats made similar journeys to Sweden. By early November, more than 7,220 Jewish Danes had been brought to safety. 

As for the Goldbergers, they lived safely in Sweden for a year and a half, until May 1945. Then World War II finally ended in Europe. 

The family was filled with joy at the idea of returning to Denmark. But the feeling was soon marred by grief. 

During the war, news about what was happening across Nazi-occupied Europe was scattered. But after the war, the full scale of the horror of what had happened to Europe’s Jewish people came to light. The Nazis had murdered more than 6 million Jewish men, women, and children. That’s two out of every three European Jewish people. Today this unspeakably evil chapter in history is known as the Holocaust. 

Amid such darkness, what happened in Denmark seemed even more miraculous. Thousands of people—from government leaders to schoolchildren—risked their own lives to save Jewish people. More than 98 percent of Jewish Danes survived the war. The effort is now considered one of the greatest rescue operations in history.

As Europe began the long process of rebuilding, Leo, by then almost 15, and his family finally returned to Copenhagen. Yet when Leo was 17, he and his family would leave again—this time, for good. His father was offered an important position at a synagogue in Montreal, Canada.

After attending college in Canada, Leo eventually moved to New York City and became a professor of psychology at New York University. Inspired in part by his experiences during the Holocaust, he focused much of his work on resilience—how people cope with and overcome great difficulty. 

Today Leo Goldberger is 93 years old. When he looks back on the night of October 2, some 80 years ago, he can still feel the burning anger of being forced to leave his home. At the same time, he is filled with a sense of wonder at the people who helped him and thousands of others—and did so seemingly without a second thought.

“If you ask any Dane, they will tell you they just did it because it was the right thing to do,” he says. “Their deed remains a lesson of how we all ought to behave in the face of injustice and suffering.”

When Leo was almost 15, he and his family returned to Copenhagen. When Leo was 17, they would leave again—this time, for good. His father was offered an important position at a synagogue in Montreal, Canada.

After attending college in Canada, Leo moved to New York City. He became a professor of psychology at New York University. Inspired partly by his experiences during the Holocaust, he focused much of his work on resilience—how people cope with and overcome great difficulty. 

Today Leo Goldberger is 93 years old. When he looks back on the night of October 2, some 80 years ago, he can still feel the burning anger of being forced to leave his home. At the same time, he is filled with a sense of wonder at the people who helped him and thousands of others.

“If you ask any Dane, they will tell you they just did it because it was the right thing to do,” he says. “Their deed remains a lesson of how we all ought to behave in the face of injustice and suffering.”