No one walking along Heerengracht Canal, Amsterdam, fortnight ago, would have bothered to look twice at No. 412. Four stories high, of dull sandstone, the modest building had no name plate by its door. Nor was there anything spectacular inside, just 30 quiet employes working amidst a lot of papers.
No one would have turned his head for a second look at four people and a rabbi waiting for a flowerless hearse in a small cemetery near Paris last week.
Yet those were the headquarters and that was the funeral of one of the...
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