“Would you be willing to take a Jewish mother and her baby into your home? They will almost certainly be arrested otherwise.”
Color drained from the man’s face. He took a step back from me. “Miss ten Boom! I do hope you’re not involved with any of this illegal concealment and undercover business. It’s just not safe! Think of your father! And your sister—she’s never been strong!”
On impulse I told the pastor to wait and ran upstairs. Betsie had put the newcomers in Willem’s old room, the farthest from windows on the street. I asked the mother’s permission to borrow the infant: the little thing weighed hardly anything in my arms.
Back in the dining room, I pulled back the coverlet from the baby’s face.
There was a long silence. The man bent forward, his hand in spite of himself reaching for the tiny fist curled around the blanket. For a moment I saw compassion and fear struggle in his face. Then he straightened. “No. Definitely not. We could lose our lives for that Jewish child!”
Unseen by either of us, Father had appeared in the doorway. “Give the child to me, Corrie,” he said.
Father held the baby close, his white beard brushed its cheek, looking into the little face with eyes as blue and innocent as the baby’s own. At last he looked up at the pastor. “You say we could lose our lives for this child. I would consider that the greatest honor that could come to my family.”
The pastor turned sharply on his heels and walked out of the room.
So we had to accept a bad solution to our problem. On the edge of Haarlem was a truck farm that hid refugees for short periods of time. It was not a good location, since the Gestapo had been there already. But there was nowhere else available on short notice. Two workers took the woman and child there that afternoon.
A few weeks later we heard that the farm had been raided. When the Gestapo came to the barn where the woman was hidden, not the baby but the mother began to shriek with hysteria. She, the baby, and her protectors were all taken. We never learned what happened to them.
(Corrie ten Boom, The Hiding Place. This was her conversation with a pastor, who had a comfortable home in the countryside.)
Color drained from the man’s face. He took a step back from me. “Miss ten Boom! I do hope you’re not involved with any of this illegal concealment and undercover business. It’s just not safe! Think of your father! And your sister—she’s never been strong!”
On impulse I told the pastor to wait and ran upstairs. Betsie had put the newcomers in Willem’s old room, the farthest from windows on the street. I asked the mother’s permission to borrow the infant: the little thing weighed hardly anything in my arms.
Back in the dining room, I pulled back the coverlet from the baby’s face.
There was a long silence. The man bent forward, his hand in spite of himself reaching for the tiny fist curled around the blanket. For a moment I saw compassion and fear struggle in his face. Then he straightened. “No. Definitely not. We could lose our lives for that Jewish child!”
Unseen by either of us, Father had appeared in the doorway. “Give the child to me, Corrie,” he said.
Father held the baby close, his white beard brushed its cheek, looking into the little face with eyes as blue and innocent as the baby’s own. At last he looked up at the pastor. “You say we could lose our lives for this child. I would consider that the greatest honor that could come to my family.”
The pastor turned sharply on his heels and walked out of the room.
So we had to accept a bad solution to our problem. On the edge of Haarlem was a truck farm that hid refugees for short periods of time. It was not a good location, since the Gestapo had been there already. But there was nowhere else available on short notice. Two workers took the woman and child there that afternoon.
A few weeks later we heard that the farm had been raided. When the Gestapo came to the barn where the woman was hidden, not the baby but the mother began to shriek with hysteria. She, the baby, and her protectors were all taken. We never learned what happened to them.
(Corrie ten Boom, The Hiding Place. This was her conversation with a pastor, who had a comfortable home in the countryside.)
When I was a child, Corrie ten Boom was one of my heroes. She was so thoroughly invested in saving Jews that her home--and even her own bedroom!--became a state-of-the-art hiding place. She gave every hour of her day so generously, but the only way to make her rescue operation safe was to build the main hiding place in her bedroom. She lived in downtown Haarlem, near the police headquarters.
Her house is now a museum, containing her family's story. The tour starts in her living room, where Corrie's grandfather started a meeting to pray for the Jews. He had no idea that his home would save 800 Jews from the Nazis, and provide food, clothing, and hope for thousands, while they were being systematically hunted by the occupying Nazi government in Holland.
After Mei Ying and I finished the tour, we prayed. I was overcome with emotion as I thought: "It all started with a prayer meeting."
Her house is now a museum, containing her family's story. The tour starts in her living room, where Corrie's grandfather started a meeting to pray for the Jews. He had no idea that his home would save 800 Jews from the Nazis, and provide food, clothing, and hope for thousands, while they were being systematically hunted by the occupying Nazi government in Holland.
After Mei Ying and I finished the tour, we prayed. I was overcome with emotion as I thought: "It all started with a prayer meeting."
