Years ago, my father shared a poignant tale of his father, a grandfather I’d never had a chance to meet. That’s because, just a few weeks after the Nazis marched into Henry Eringer’s native Poland and started World War II in September 1939, he suffered a fatal heart attack. (I think the stress of having three sons of—and nearing—conscription age killed him.)
Through the 1920s and 1930s, my grandfather owned the Henry Eringer Travel Agency, situated on Broome Street in the heart of Manhattan’s Lower East Side.
With his wife, Sarah, Henry emigrated to the USA in 1913 on a ship from Antwerp, having traveled by ground from their birthplace in a region of eastern Poland that had been fraught with partitions by Russia.
During the 1930s, as the Nazis consolidated their political power in Germany and embarked on a campaign to strengthen their military might, Henry (according to my father) organized free passage to the USA for any Jews in Poland who desired to escape the fate my grandfather apparently foresaw. (I don’t know how many—if any—accepted his offer. But I do know that all those who did not accept the lifeline he extended perished at Auschwitz.)
At that time, due to restrictive new immigration laws that left the Statue of Liberty moot, it was no longer a simple affair to just board a ship, emigrate to America and take your chances at Ellis Island. Instead, formidable barriers had been constructed.
It was especially difficult for people of Jewish heritage to emigrate to the USA—or elsewhere.
So what was Henry actually up to?
I’d never given any thought this; to how my grandfather’s offer of free passage reconciled with laws prohibiting entry into the USA during a period beyond the era of “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…”.
Then late last month out of the blue, a nighttime dream emerged that shed surreal clarity on this mystery, and also marking the only time my grandfather has paid me a visit in a dream.
I found myself in his Broome Street office, enveloped in shadows, feeling his ephemeral presence. Although unseen, Henry’s soft-spoken words revealed the truth: This subterranean haven, dimly lit by a single lamp, furnished only with a desk and chair, was not merely a travel agency.
My grandfather confided that his travel agency was a cover for a daring charade conceived to clandestinely smuggle Jews from Europe to the United States. This office’s meager furnishings, he told me, made it easy for hasty departure if discovered.
Upon awakening, my first thought was WOW.
I was totally blown away by my grandfather’s visitation and revelation, honored that his spirit bridged the gap between generations, between dimensions, to share his secret.
I asked ChatGPT, a popular AI chatbot, to compose a poem about my dream.
A split-second later it obliged me with…
ECHOES OF A HERO’S GLOW
In shadows deep, in dreams I tread, A tale of yore, a bond widespread, With paternal kin, name carried strong, My grandfather's soul, echoing along.
In Broome Street's office, obscure abode, Manhattan's lower east, where stories unfold, Ephemeral presence, he lingers near, I feel his spirit, his whispers I hear.
A room below, a subterranean den, The past and present, they blend and bend, Through grated window, dim daylight streams, Revealing the past, like flickering dreams.
A single lamp, the feeble glow, Illumines secrets, kept below, A table plain, and chair for one, A smuggler's guise, where deeds were done.
My grandfather, brave, confides in me, His "travel agency" a guise, you see, A noble cover, a daring charade, To save the desperate, in darkness they wade.
Illegally smuggling, with hearts so bold, Jews from Europe, to freedom's threshold, A mission hidden, in shadows concealed, With lives at stake, the truth revealed.
In honor's embrace, I stand in awe, To dream of him, a vision I saw, A legacy of courage, love, and grace, He touched the lives of an oppressed race.
I'll cherish this dream, a cherished link, A bond across time, my heart does sink, For in this vision, I came to know, A grandfather's love, a hero's glow.