To my two daughters Michelle and Lesley and to my brothers Carl, Richard and David and their wives, and my sister Ruth and her family for their continual love and support of my efforts on behalf of Raoul Wallenberg.

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Acknowledgments

None of my rescue efforts could have been accomplished alone. I would like to thank the late Congressman Tom Lantos and his dynamic and supportive wife Annette whose strong encouragement has been a constant source of strength throughout this endeavor.

I would also like to thank my young colleague Jason Webster for his bravery and dedication to this cause with hopes that he continues to follow in my work in human rights.

And with appreciation to Patricia Pawlowski who has persevered with me in getting this book published so that all may know the truth about Raoul Wallenberg and his fate. Finally, my thanks to Terri Wilson and Judy Novak for their careful and patient assistance in editing this book.

Sincere thanks also to the Simon Wiesenthal Foundation and its leaders Rabbi Abraham Cooper and Marvin Hier who helped to raise Twenty Five Thousand Dollars to help cover part of the expenses. No legal fees were ever paid. I did all of my work pro bono for twenty-seven years. I want to thank President William J. Clinton for meeting with me at the White House and encouraging me to continue my work. President Clinton took a note to Premier Boris Yeltsin seeking Wallenberg’s release in December of 1993. My thanks to the Mossad Intelligence Agency of Israel for mounting a raid on a Dacha near to Moscow in a valiant effort to rescue Wallenberg. They came within a hair’s breadth of rescuing our hero. Finally, my thanks to my Germantown Friends School classmate and personal hero David Meredith Evans who, as the United States Ambassador to the Soviet Union, took a trip to Kazan Hospital on the Volga River five hundred miles from Moscow and met with Raoul Wallenberg in 1998. David Evans was the last person to see Raoul Wallenberg alive.

Publisher’s Note

Whatever Happened to Raoul Wallenberg is a book based on the author’s efforts to free Raoul Wallenberg from Soviet imprisonment. This book includes historical events related to Raoul Wallenberg, and personal experiences from the author’s life. The names of some individuals involved in the book have been changed to protect their identities and the author’s fight for Raoul. There are those that believe that Raoul Wallenberg died in a Soviet prison in 1947. The author’s investigations over the years have found a great deal of evidence that he lived many years after that time, and the author personally believes that he may still be alive. Some of the author’s findings and assertions have come under attack by individuals and organizations from the Soviet Union/Russia, members of various Wallenberg groups, and the Wallenberg family itself. The author stands by the words in this book and his recollections of the events in his battle for Raoul. The views expressed here are solely those of the author and do not reflect the opinions of The Educational Publisher.

The Educational Publisher

The Author, Morris H. Wolff

Raoul Wallenberg at his desk at the Swedish Embassy, November 26, 1944. The calendar served to conceal a wall safe where the “Brezhnev Diamonds” were kept, according to his photographer Thomas Veres.

Author’s Note

I was retained in March of 1983 by the Wallenberg family to sue the Soviet Union in an effort to rescue Holocaust hero Raoul Wallenberg from Lubyanka Prison in Moscow. I was filled with dreams, hope and optimism. I was hopeful I would win the case and that the doors of the prison in Moscow, where Raoul had languished for 39 years under brutal conditions, would open and Wallenberg would be set free—an innocent man whose only “crime” was rescuing 100,000 Budapest Jews then headed towards the Nazi gas chambers at Auschwitz.

I nurtured dreams that one day Raoul and I, as “brothers in arms,” would sit on the back of an open Lincoln Continental convertible and share a ticker tape parade down 5^th Avenue in New York with grateful survivors and other Americans cheering him “Home.” That was my dream. I held on to it through the long years of litigation and rescue efforts. I served pro bono. I never accepted money for this privilege of walking through the corridors of 20^thcentury history as legal counsel for this great man. I became his voice in the courtroom and his quiet conscience in this world. My work led to the NBC TV series on Wallenberg starring Richard Chamberlain. From there a new awareness of Wallenberg developed.

Wallenberg was made an American citizen on August 5, 1981 at age sixty nine by President Ronald Reagan who said: “I hope the granting of citizenship to Raoul Wallenberg will hasten the day of his release, and that one day soon he will sit beneath the trees planted in his honor at Yad Vashem on the Avenue of the Righteous Gentiles in Jerusalem.” The President went on to say to Wallenberg’s brother, Guy Von Dardel, “Mister Von Dardel, we’re going to do everything in our power so that your brother can sit beneath the shade of those trees and enjoy the respect and love that so many hold for him.” (See Reagan letter at the back of this book).

I used Wallenberg’s status as an American citizen, and other valid US laws, to win a precedent setting lawsuit in federal court in Washington, DC on October 18, 1985. Judge Barrington Parker, outraged by the Soviet misbehavior in kidnapping Wallenberg from Debrecen, Hungary on January 17, 1945, and holding him for 39 brutal years, ordered the Soviets to immediately release Wallenberg and to pay damages of 39 million dollars—the one million for each year of lonely captivity, which I had requested. It was a courtroom triumph. I was making plans to go to Moscow to bring Wallenberg home. (See Judge Parker’s opinion at the back of this book).

You, as the reader of this book, will learn first-hand how governments often work at odds with their best intentions. Sometimes work done in secret is ill advised. Men working at the highest levels for President Reagan, including Fred Fielding, his White House Counsel, and John G. Roberts his White House Assistant Counsel (now Chief Justice of The United States Supreme Court), have done our nation a great disservice. They covered up their own effort to sabotage my effort to rescue Wallenberg by failing to answer my letter to the President. I had asked the President, by hand delivered letter on November 11, 1983, to use his executive powers and his commitment to Wallenberg to demand his release. President Reagan carefully read my letter that was hand delivered by Faith R. Whittlesey, Assistant to the President for Public Liaison, and my personal friend from Philadelphia. The President wanted to follow my advice and demand the release of Wallenberg—but his aides countermanded the President’s directive.

President Reagan had the moral power and the legal duty, under the US Hostages Act (22 US Code 1732) to issue an ultimatum and demand that the Soviet Union release Wallenberg. Supreme Court Chief Justice Roberts, then a White House lawyer, when specifically asked by the President for his candid legal advice, told Reagan:

“Mr. President you have not only the power but the duty under this law, as Morris Wolff has suggested, to demand the release of prisoner Wallenberg, now a US citizen.”

Roberts, as White House lawyer acknowledged this awesome power and the correctness of my legal position. He should have used his courage to tell the president to do the right thing. In his memo to the President he states: “The federal law, Title 22 USC. 1732 by its terms, impose an explicit duty on the President. The duty to demand the release of a citizen and to take action is triggered, if he is being held by the foreign power (USSR) in violation of the rights of American citizenship.”

Roberts was obligated to follow the courage of his convictions. But he failed miserably. Wallenberg could have been brought forward from solitary confinement of thirty-seven years and become a free man in November of 1983.

Raoul Wallenberg was only 73, in good health and alive, as you will learn in this book. But a small group of people in the White House and the State Department pressured Roberts and turned his courage to cowardice. These bad influences included State Department Legal Adviser, Dan McGovern who wanted to “refrigerate” Wallenberg. Thus, in a curious 180 degree turn, Roberts contradicted his memo to President Reagan and curiously stated:

“I nonetheless recommend a reply to Wallenberg family lawyer Morris Wolff essentially dodging the question of the applicability of 22 USC. 1732.”

This critical White House memo was buried in the White House archives and later at the Reagan Library. It did not surface until John Roberts’ confirmation hearing for appointment as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. I never even received a courtesy letter answering my letter to the President. It was too hot to handle. Some very sensitive negotiations with the Russians were taking place in November of 1985, at the time of my letter to Reagan. This was during the height of the Cold War. Reliable sources at the State Department kept me informed that my effort to rescue Wallenberg was being stymied by the US Department of State, which unfortunately had a record of insensitivity regarding matters involving the Holocaust. My 1983 letter to the President, and the internal secret White House staff reply, suggesting a “dodging of the issue,” were not uncovered until the hearings of Justice Roberts in June of 2005. Mr. Roberts was being interviewed and questioned by the Senate on his qualifications as Chief Justice of the US Supreme Court. The Roberts/Fielding memo was discovered in the basement of the Reagan Library in California by an astute and professional journalist, E.J. Kessler, an investigative reporter with the Jewish Forward, a highly respect weekly newspaper.

Kessler called me long distance in Zurich, Switzerland in June of 2005. He came at me with a barrage of questions. He asked, “Do you know that your letter demanding action by President Reagan to gain Wallenberg’s release was buried? It has now curiously surfaced, after being hidden for twenty years in papers at the Reagan Library. I was digging through them looking for evidence of courage and good character prior to the Roberts confirmation hearings. Can you confirm the contents of your letter and the Justice Roberts memo to Reagan on Wallenberg? Are you the Mr. Morris Wolff who wrote to the President? Do you plan to come back and testify at the Roberts’ confirmation hearing? I hope you will!”

I was on assignment on an international law matter in Zurich. I often traveled in my international law practice. He asked me for my comment.

I was in a state of shock about this discovery. Yet, as I sat there having a coffee at an outdoor café in Zurich, I gathered my thoughts and replied.

“I never knew what happened to my letter to President Reagan. I simply went on with my pursuit of Wallenberg’s freedom and wrote and filed my lawsuit suing the Soviets for his release. That lawsuit would not have been necessary had the President done the right thing in November of 1983 when he first read my letter. He should have taken action right away to demand the immediate release of Wallenberg under the existing law which I carefully quoted in my letter.” I paused and drank some coffee and thought about his question on testifying.

I then replied,” I will come back to testify. I will return. I plan to come back to my law office in Washington DC, and will now advance my schedule to return tomorrow. I want to know why Roberts did what he did.”

I was amazed. Until that moment I had not been able to connect the dots. Roberts had endorsed and then jettisoned my November 11, 1983 letter to the President. He had countermanded Reagan’s directive to answer me and to write a letter to the Soviets demanding the release of Wallenberg. Roberts through inaction and indifference had unwittingly signed Wallenberg’s “death warrant”.

This was Wallenberg’s chance for liberation and freedom. Had Roberts and Fielding given the President encouragement and a strong and well-deserved green light—a ‘do what you can do Mr. President to gain release’ plea—Wallenberg would have been freed. The Russians at that moment were very sensitive to demands coming from the United States. They would have released Wallenberg, I am certain. Instead, the President’s key advisors kept the President in the dark and thus guaranteed Wallenberg’s continuing in custody. For inexplicable reasons they countermanded the President’s first impulse and his directive to seek freedom for Raoul Wallenberg. They were insubordinate. They went against his instruction. Pressured by the State Department Legal Counsel, Dan McGovern, they developed a plan of do nothing inaction. They effectively destroyed my letter. But they did not destroy Roberts’ self-damaging letter of advice. I never knew why I did not receive a reply. And now I knew why, . . twenty years later.

I called Senator Arlen Specter, who was then Chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee. I asked to testify at the Roberts’ confirmation hearing, and to find out why the Wallenberg scandal took place. Arlen Specter remains a close personal friend. He was a powerful United States Senator who grilled and destroyed Robert Bork as a Supreme Court candidate in the Senate confirmation hearings a few years earlier. I was hoping he would give Roberts a similar open and honest grilling. I had the fodder for his efforts but this was a new Specter. He and his clever associate David Brog knew I would be a hostile, but candid and honest witness. By now, thanks to Republican politics, Arlen owed his Senate Judiciary leadership position to Senator Orrin Hatch of Utah, a strong supporter of Roberts’ candidacy. Hatch had stepped aside as Chairman of the Judiciary Committee and allowed Arlen to take his place. Arlen did not want me to testify. He knew I would expose Roberts and his peculiar White House behavior concerning Raoul Wallenberg. This would have a profound effect on the Jewish voters in Pennsylvania who were a mainstay of Arlen’s coalition of support. He was not about to sully his image in the Jewish community. He knew in advance what I would ask Roberts and what Roberts would be obligated to say. It was already in the Jewish Forward article in which I had publicly labeled Roberts’ actions as “cowardly.”

Arlen knows my fighting nature and my ideals. We are good friends. We both graduated with honors from the Yale Law School. He swore me in as Chief Assistant District Attorney of Philadelphia before Judge Sloan when Arlen was District Attorney in 1965. Arlen has always been very supportive and respectful, including his full endorsement when I ran for the State Senate of Pennsylvania in 1970. He campaigned for me. He and his wife Joan attended my engagement party in March of 1965 and my wedding on May 15, 1965. I served him and the people of Philadelphia effectively, with honor and distinction. I told Arlen, “I want to ask Roberts if he might have any information on the whereabouts of Raoul Wallenberg today. Roberts had access to State Department intelligence and to top secret CIA reports. I wanted to question Roberts on matters of courage, integrity and character. I want him to tell the public what he knew about the Wallenberg matter and why he did not encourage President Reagan to use the law I placed in front of him to rescue Wallenberg.” I also wanted to ask Roberts whether as Chief Justice he would be willing to hear the Wallenberg case directly in the Supreme Court since the court has original jurisdiction in matters concerning Ambassadors. I was never given that opportunity. His assistant, David Brog, blocked my access to the panel, by delay after delay, claiming in phone call after phone call: “We are looking for the perfect spot on a panel for you to testify.” That spot never materialized. David and Arlen called back a few days later:

“Morris, I’d like to invite you to testify on a panel. We have searched for the right panel, but we could not find one.”

“That is just nonsense,” I replied. “I believe you can find a five minute spot. Where there’s a will, there’s a way! Politics puts pressure on us all. It depends on how you respond.”

I believed that my country would do everything possible to help achieve justice and to rescue Wallenberg. He was our de facto American diplomat—financed by the US Treasury, asked to act for our government in a time of tragic need. He was our diplomat in everything but his clothing. Our United States War Refugee Board went to Sweden and seduced Wallenberg to serve. They wined and dined him in a series of fancy dinners at the Bellsmanor restaurant in Stockholm, Sweden. We drafted him. We promised to cover for him and not leave him hanging out to dry. And yet for thirty-nine years—the number of years in Soviet custody when I answered the call—that is exactly what we did. Our State Department abandoned him in January of 1945 and allowed him to waste away in a Soviet jail. It was our duty to bring him home, and we failed. He is not merely a hero of Sweden and the United States but of the whole world — a man whose deeds speak volumes for his suffering, silent voice. He answered the call to end the suffering of others, and ironically was forced to suffer himself.

I hope this book will open the eyes of many people around the world, and be read especially by young people—our future leaders and decision makers. These will be men and women who never knew the Holocaust or World War II. It will be picked up and perused by good people who love to read of heroes. “It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness,” and that is what I have done as his torchbearer in the 27 years of effort I have put pro bono into the law case and my subsequent international efforts to rescue Wallenberg. I sued in US federal court and I won the lawsuit. I met with Presidents. I went to Israel and enlisted the Mossad Intelligence agency to implement a daring mission behind enemy lines in Russia to rescue Wallenberg. They almost succeeded. Israel is the only nation to ever make a true effort to rescue him.

Only Tom Lantos and a few good lawyers and courageous members of Congress, not the State Department, and not the White House, have worked with me for his release. And of course Judge Parker, who wrote a great and historic human rights opinion, which should have been taken by the President and presented to Premier Andropov and the Soviets in Reykavik at his summit meeting in the winter of 1985 where President Reagan first identified and excoriated the USSR as “the evil empire.”

I write this book for the next generation of volunteers and political activists. I encourage you to step forward. Our young people need to rattle our government to do the right thing. Do something heroic with your life. Emulate the “can do”, altruistic and courageous approach of Wallenberg. Give up your headsets, your video games, your material life, and your BlackBerries. Go into schools, go into neighborhoods, go to the Peace Corps, and go to Africa and micro-finance women to start their own businesses. Serve and care about people the way Wallenberg cared. Give up cynicism and nihilism. Be pro-active. You can make a difference in the World.

And remember Dante’s admonition in The Inferno: … “that the hottest rim of Hell is reserved for those who in a moment of Moral Crisis suspended Judgment.”

Reader’s Praise

“I could not put this book down from start to finish. The readers will find compassion, intrigue, excitement, and truth all woven into a vital story. Morris Wolff uses his superb story telling ability to take you into his life experiences as he confronts the Soviet Union and wins. You will witness first hand his efforts to peel back the dark side of humanity in his numerous attempts to achieve Wallenberg’s deserved freedom.”

Sherry Wilson

Language Arts Teacher

Pioneer Central School District

Yorkshire, NY

“I loved this book. It’s a riveting tale of human connections, legal creativity, diplomatic secrets, weird coincidences. Read if you hate lawyers, read if you like lawyers; it will influence your world-view, wherever you are. The book’s lively tone and conversational narrative inspires, informs and entertains.”

“Great for book clubs. Eminently readable, wide-ranging, mesmerizing. Dogged detective work and creative lawyering. Intrigue, real-life mystery, a secret international rescue raid. Shows how one man can make a difference: First the Swede Wallenberg—who engineers the rescue of some 100,000 Jews from Budapest at the end of World War II. Then, American attorney now author Morris Wolff— who engineers a “legal rescue” (and more) of the mysteriously-disappeared hero. Two “profiles in courage.”

“Mr. Wolff tells of his conversations with well-known powerful public figures, some of whose decisions about Wallenberg will shock us. Mr. Wolff unflinchingly reveals how the mighty can fail us, but how good people appear amazingly and unexpectedly to answer calls to duty, rising to the occasion in surprising ways. As a reader, I am stimulated to want to learn more about human nature (good and bad), decision-making among the great nations, and how people of good will can use law to better protect individuals wrongfully spirited away.”

Jody P. Williams, of Daytona Beach and Boston

Retired teacher and lawyer.

Story of a Hero for All Time written by a Hero for Our Time

“Raoul Wallenberg, 32 years old, left his home and wealthy family in Stockholm, Sweden in 1944 on a mission financed by the United States to save Jews from the Nazis in Budapest, Hungary. The Russians kidnapped him in January, 1945 and held Wallenberg for decades in Russian prisons. No one tried to gain his release, not his family, the Swedish Government, or the United States Government.”

“Until in 1983, at the request of Wallenberg's brother, a young lawyer in Philadelphia, Morris Wolff, took on the case pro bono. After winning a lawsuit in US Federal Court against the Russian Government demanding damages and Wallenberg's release, his mission was frustrated and Wallenberg was never released. Many people are to be admired for their work on Wallenberg's behalf, and many to be reviled for their indifference or obstructions.”

“Were this book just a brilliant thriller by Ben Macintyre or Alan Furst perhaps a happier ending could have been contrived. But this masterpiece is the work of Morris Wolff himself. Wolff's story of trying to free Wallenberg. So the outcome is dictated by history, not fiction. This is a true work of the soul written by a tenacious advocate: a testament to a truly wonderful person, as shown by excerpts from Raoul Wallenberg's own personal diary from June 1944.”

Jim Magid

New York, NY

Amherst College

Classmate-Class of '58

“I have just finished reading your excellent book, the paperback version. You have achieved a marvellous level of research and writing. You have reason to be proud of your literary and legal effort. Congratulations and best wishes on its success.”

Henry S. Bromley III

Germantown Friends School

Classmate-Class of '54

Foreword

By Tom Lantos

As a freshman member of the US Congress in 1981, I was proud to introduce legislation making Holocaust hero Raoul Wallenberg an honorary US citizen. My wife, Annette, and I were both ultimately saved by Wallenberg’s valiant efforts in Hungary, and we have dedicated a good part of our lives both to preserving this hero’s story and to finding out what became of him after World War II. This has been a long and trying road, but we have been fortunate to meet many fascinating and devoted Wallenberg historians along the way. Morris Wolff is one of the most distinguished among them.

In April of 1983, Morris came to Washington DC to meet with Annette and me regarding the fate of Raoul Wallenberg. His intent was to file a lawsuit against the Soviet Union seeking Wallenberg’s immediate release. I invited him to testify before the House Foreign Affairs Committee, providing a platform to tell the Congress and the world of his plans. After his testimony, Morris received unanimous support from our committee and from Senator Claiborne Pell, then Chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee.

Morris filed his complaint with the US District Court in February 1984. Then he and I appeared together on national television to explain the purpose of the lawsuit: Raoul Wallenberg was an innocent man who had been wrongfully imprisoned for nearly 40 years; he deserved to be freed and he deserved compensation for this egregious wrongdoing.

In this book, Morris has woven an intricate story that not only tells of Wallenberg’s heroic efforts, but also includes personal accounts of those who knew Wallenberg, along with new information about the involvement of the US, Swedish, and Soviet governments.

This book will surely strike a chord with many audiences, ranging from students just learning about Holocaust history to historians interested in more deeply examining the roles of Holocaust heroes like Wallenberg. They will come away from this story with a greater understanding and more profound appreciation for a man who personified the idea that we truly are our brother’s keepers. Raoul Wallenberg’s story as a hero and humanitarian deserves to be told, and Morris Wolff has done so with dedication and skill.

Washington, DC

July 2007

Judge Barrington Parker Jr.’s Judicial Opinion

GUY VON DARDEL, on his own behalf and on behalf of his half brother, RAOUL WALLENBERG, and SVEN HAGSTROMER, Legal Guardian of RAOUL WALLENBERG, on Behalf of RAOUL WALLENBERG, Plaintiffs, v. UNION OF SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS, Defendant

Civil Action No. 84-0353

UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT FOR THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA

623 F. Supp. 246; 1985 US Dist. LEXIS 14886

October 15, 1985

Ruling and Conclusion

In many ways, this action is without precedent in the history of actions against foreign sovereigns. It involves actions, which the Soviet Union has already admitted were unlawful. It involves a gross violation of the personal immunity of a diplomat, one of the oldest and most universally recognized principles of international law. Furthermore, this action involves a deliberate default by a defendant, which has repeatedly demonstrated its familiarity with the proper means for raising a defense of sovereign immunity under the Foreign Sovereign Immunities Act.

There can be little, if any, doubt that both subject matter and personal jurisdiction are conferred through that Act. Whatever sovereign immunity the defendant might have had, is, by the terms of the Act, subject to international [**53] agreements to which the United States was a party when the FSIA was enacted in 1976, which prohibit defendant’s actions regarding Mr. Wallenberg.

Additionally, this Court determines that no applicable statute of limitations has begun to run against plaintiff’s claims. Because Mr. Wallenberg is still being unlawfully held by the defendants, or alternatively, he is dead, the statute is tolled by the “discovery rule” and/or the law on tolling applicable when one party has fraudulently concealed facts.

For all of these reasons, default judgment is here by entered against the defendant.

Raoul Wallenberg’s Personal Diary

Early June 1945. Stockholm Sweden (recovered Wallenberg Diary)

I am Raoul Wallenberg, 32 years of age and I am leaving in a few days to Budapest, Hungary to save the Jews. I have accepted this rescue assignment from the US government. This diary is for my personal use and confidential. If something happens to me I ask the finder to deliver it to Lars Berg at the Swedish Embassy in Budapest or return it to my brother Guy Von Dardel in Stockholm Sweden. I know I am headed into danger and may not return.

The “offer” from the US War Refugee Board of their Treasury Department was formally presented to me last night at Bellsmanor Restaurant here in Sweden following several days of discussion. I will have unlimited funds to bribe the Horthy government officials to let the Jews remain in Budapest. My formal post: Secretary of the Legation of Sweden in Budapest, but working undercover directly for the US Government. I am to report directly to Cordell Hull Secretary of State, and to have the first $100,000 placed on my Stockholm Enskilda Bank account prior to departure. I can request, actually demand more money as needed for the success of my “save the Jews” mission. I hammered out the terms of my agreement last night. Ambassador Pehle, head of the USA War Refugee Board has promised to arrange my rescue when I fall into enemy hands. I do not believe them. But I now have no choice. I have accepted the assignment.

I will work with leaders of the Budapest underground in devising safe house and other schemes for saving the Jews and Gypsies of the city. Those Jews in the countryside have been destroyed, or shipped off to labor camps where they are gassed and die. This is Hitler’s final country to dominate. Poland, Italy, Austria, Czechoslovakia and the rest of Europe has been conquered and made “Juden frei.”(Clean of Jews)

I am 32. I hate standing by and having to watch the suffering and injustice visited on innocent people. No one here in Sweden, including my own family seems to care. They just want to make money. Feed the German war machine. They want to grow the Enskilda family bank with the sale of Swedish ball bearings and steel proceeds.

At age 26 I spent a summer in Haifa working in a Bank, sent there by my grandfather Gustav for “training.” That was 1936 and Palestine was becoming a haven for refugees. With my lawyer friend, Moshe Landau, I went in the evening to watch the rusty, poor excuse for boats land and off load the poor Jews, with burlap bags, stuffed with their pathetic life possessions on their backs, disembark from ships in Haifa. They were escaping death, Hitler and Europe. They were in rags and hungry. I vowed that day to do something about it. Now is my rare and welcomed chance.

Now it is June 1944 and the situation for the very survival of the Jewish people and their civilization is much worse. Millions have died in the death camps, along the country roads and in large pits in the forests and no one raises a finger or shouts, “This is wrong. Stop it?” I have met three times with Ivar Olsen, the War Refugee Board representative here in Stockholm. We have had several dinners together. He is candid and honest with me. He says that Henry Morgenthau, the Jewish Secretary of Treasury, has pressured and pushed FDR to finally do something about the plight of the Jews in Europe. It is election year in America and FDR wants the Jewish vote in New York City.

This War Refugee Board, as they call the Genocide Prevention Program, should have been formed when the first Jews were taken away in 1933. Or at the latest, in 1938 when “Kristallnacht” first hit Germany with the destruction of the windows of all the Jewish shops. What were the Americans thinking? What were they waiting for?

Two nights ago on June 2, 1944 I was officially selected for this mission. I leave on June 6 stopping in Berlin on my way to Budapest. There I will visit with my uncle, the Swedish Ambassador to Germany. He says he is neutral and above the battle. He has written to my mother Maj to caution me to stay home and not to accept the assignment. His neutrality is a joke. He is the chief merchant, handling the sale of Swedish steel—Wallenberg family steel—to the Germans to make German tanks and parts for airplanes. My highly esteemed Wallenberg family is profiteering from the War!

June 4, 1944, My departure day

My beloved mother, Maj, and my brother, Guy, take me to the train station in Stockholm for my departure. I have my old tan raincoat, a knapsack, a change of clothes, and two loaded pistols, which I am taking for my own protection. My mother pleads one last time trying to talk me out of the mission. “Raoul, you are so handsome and so young. Why are you going? Can’t you find something here at home? You have so much to live for here. Play polo, go out with your girl friends Viveca and Ingrid. There will be summer parties. You have friends, parties and dances. And you have your favorite ladies. They adore you, two young and beautiful movie starlets Ingrid Bergman and Viveca Lindfors. They are clamoring for your attention. Aren’t they and me and your brother and sister enough for you? Will you leave all this just to go to Budapest and save strangers, and probably get yourself killed?” My mother was prescient and clear. She knew the risk, but she also knew that once I made up my mind I would do it. She cries on my shoulder. I hold her close and comfort her. “Mama, I will be all right. I promise that I will write to you every day. I will not take chances. I promise you I will be home soon, and no later than Christmas. The war will be over. I promise”.

June 4, 1944. On the train to Berlin.

I am on my way to Budapest. The train takes me first to Berlin. I have second thoughts about my mission now that I am away from my home and family in neutral Sweden. Soon I will journey into enemy territory in northern Germany. Soldiers will soon take over this train and occupy the cars, drinking and shouting to one another in the rough manner. Some of them will stare at my outfit, the slouch brown hat and the raincoat and ask if I am a war correspondent. But that is later. First stop Berlin, where I will be reunited with my sister Nina. I miss her gentle soul. She is like my mother, loyal, kind and caring.

June 5, 1944 Arrival in Berlin.

I am met at the train station by my sister Nina and her husband Nils Lagergren, who is assigned to work at the Swedish Embassy with my Uncle. Nils Lagergren is a lawyer, a stuff shirt who would never risk his life or choose what I am doing. He is stiff, rude and curt, and tries to tell me to have lunch with them and then get back on the train and go home. We have lunch on the Kurfurstendam and then I say goodbye and I walk to the Swedish Embassy, near to the ruins of the Reichstag. I am to be “briefed” by my uncle. I hate him. I hate what he is doing. He is helping the German war effort, up to his greedy armpits in war profits. That’s why the Nazis tolerate him here.

I want to meet with him anyway. I can glean from him real news on how the war is going. I know the Germans are now suffering terrible losses in Russia and in France, and now are losing. I still want details on their operations in Budapest, and whether the Germans might be pulling out soon or entrenching. My uncle is on the inside, a favorite of the Germans. He has no scruples. Money, profit and parties are everything for him. He also hates the Jews.

June 5, 1944. Afternoon, with my uncle in Berlin

I enter the ivory white, high ceiling, ornate Swedish Embassy office at 3PM. He leaves me waiting, cooling my heels for a full half hour for no reason. He wants to show his colleagues who is boss, and that I am just a nephew; a person of little importance. He is fully aware that I want to take the night train to Budapest to start my work. I finally am ushered into his office at 3:45. He makes all kinds of excuses for the delay, asking, “How is your Mom? And your brother and sister?” Immediately he barrages me with questions; “Why are you going, what do you hope to accomplish? Are you to be the savior of the Jews?” He sneers at me, “Why don’t you turn around and go home. This is not a game. It is being played on the bigger stage of life or death!’’

I tell him that I am fully aware of the danger, and that “I plan to return home by Christmas with the War over. It matters. I have something I must do. These are innocent people who have done no harm. They deserve their life,” We argue back and forth, trading invectives. After fifteen minutes of locking horns I storm out. I do not have time to waste debating the issues. I am leaving tonight for Budapest. He is part of the enemy.

June 7, 1944, Budapest Station

The train rattles on through the night. I see the lights of little towns, sleepy villages, huge fields of wheat, passing thru one sign says “City of Debrecen, 70 miles to Budapest.” I open the paper map. I am sitting in the aisle outside the passenger cabin. I have taken an earlier train. No reservation. No seats left. I put my finger on Debrecen and trace my finger down the paper southeast to Budapest, the city on two sides of the Danube. I check my knapsack. Two pistols and a raincoat.

We arrive in the early morning before dawn, at the station at 6 AM. There are large yellow boxcars on the next track. I can distinctly hear the moaning and crying of people locked inside. Little children are screaming. Hands and fingers are thrust thru the slats of the boxcars, dropping paper notes down thru the slats to the ground. I get off and run over towards the departing train gather the scraps. “Remember me,” one says. I am Lena Goldsmith. I live with my children and husband at Number 10 Alloi St. My children are with me. I do not know where is my husband. If you find him send him here. I need him.”

These pathetic brief, hurriedly written scraps of paper, hand written victim notes make me sick in my stomach. Innocent families being pulled apart. One day living as a family, children coming home from school and playing in the back yard, living on a quiet street. Daddy going to work and coming home to read an evening paper. Mother cleaning the kitchen and preparing dinner. The next day the family pulled apart, some going to Oswiecism (Auschwitz) others to Dachau for “medical experiments”. No explanation.

I have no time to waste. I must get to the Embassy and start my work. I hail a cab and am taken across the bridge over the Danube and from Buda up to Pest where I meet my new diplomatic team. Lars Berg is there along with several others. I have known Lars from before, at school. He will be my guide in these first few days.

Author’s Note: The Wallenberg diary was found among his personal papers at the Swedish Embassy in Budapest at the end of the War.

Part I: Meeting Raoul Wallenberg

March 5, 1983

Philadelphia

The telephone rang in the darkness of a Saturday morning at my country home in Chestnut Hill, Philadelphia well before sunrise. After several rings, I woke up; clients would sometimes call at odd hours, when crises arose. It was 4 A.M. “Who could be calling at this hour?” I muttered to myself.

The first birds of morning—a mourning dove and a cardinal were singing in the darkness just outside my bedroom window. The soft pink flower of the mimosa tree moved gently in the breeze.

“May I speak with Professor Morris Wolff, please?”

“This is Professor Wolff speaking.”

It was a rude interruption of a good night’s sleep. My wife rolled over and muttered, “Who can that be calling?” She yawned and went back to sleep. I turned on the beam light, which focused only on my side of the bed and quickly grabbed a pen and a yellow pad of paper. I knew it must be a new client, or a client in trouble. At first the voice seemed gruff and arrogant, as if anyone had the right to call at four in the morning. But, as we spoke the man calmed down. It was a warm and soothing voice despite the early hour. There was music to it and a feeling of respect. It was a cultured and distinctive voice, reminding me of my dear friend in Germany, Ernst Voigt, who had been my “boss” during the summer of 1959, when I worked as an exchange student in Cologne at the Chamber of Commerce. It was also a bit imperious and condescending, especially calling at this early hour.

“Morris Wolff, this is Guy Von Dardel. I am the brother of Raoul Wallenberg.”

“I know who you are. I was expecting your call at my office earlier this week. Professor D’Amato warned me that you would call.”

I had been expecting this call, but was surprised that it hadn’t come to my office during normal hours of the week, instead of interrupting a peaceful Saturday morning at home.

“Professor D’Amato, of the Northwestern Law School, called and briefed me on your complex legal matter. Your brother is the famous diplomat Raoul Wallenberg, and you have located him alive somewhere in the Soviet Gulag? I understand he has been salted away alive like the Count of Monte Cristo and has miraculously survived for thirty-nine years. Is that right?”

“Yes, thirty-nine miserable years, and now proof that he is alive has been brought to us.”

“By whom?”

“By a prisoner recently set free by the Russians who shared a jail cell. He is known as the “Swede from Budapest.” It is for sure my brother. I am certain from the details and things these men have told me. He may not have long to live. Will you help us?”

Those were the magic words, the hook – “Will you help us?”

I put the phone back close to my mouth, “Of course, I will try to help you. I will do anything I can to get your brave brother released. But how can I assist? What can I do from here in the USA? This matter is between Sweden and the USSR. Your parents should have bribed the Russians years ago and brought him home. Why haven’t Swedish lawyers helped you? Why me all the way over here in Philadelphia 39 years after the crime? And why did your wealthy family leave him to rot?” I was getting angry at the inaction of the family. I tend to be blunt where injustice is involved.

There was silence on the other end. “Some of my relatives never wanted him out. They did not want him released. They realized he would rat on them; tell of their complicity with the Nazis in selling Swedish steel for German tanks and pocketing the huge profits.”

“The matter is quite complicated, Mr. Von Dardel, yes?”

“Yes, it is very complicated. But he is alive. And we want him home. Will you help us? A lawsuit demanding his release. We want you to sue the Russians. We are told you are smart, gutsy and Jewish – the man for this assignment.”

“We will see,” I responded. “My colleague Tony D’Amato has briefed me about your tragic situation. I will do what I can, and if I can help you, I will.”

Professor D’Amato and I were colleagues and friends. I used his textbook on International law in my class. We both had been searching for a major human rights case to bring in our US federal court to test the limits of US jurisdiction, that is, to see how far a US Court would go to grant monetary relief and hold a foreign nation liable for violating the rights of its citizens or foreigners. I met Tony the year before at a piano playing of Cole Porter’s “Night and Day,” while playing hooky from a law lecture at the International Law Society meetings in DC.

He listened to my keynote address, and then Tony got up and left, walked down the hall to the grand ballroom and started playing the piano. I did not yet know him in person, only his famous and worthwhile book on international law. But I left the lecture a few minutes later, as fate would have it, heard the music, entered the starlit ballroom, sat down next to him and started singing. Our friendship started in song and ended up as partners in mounting the famous and historic Wallenberg lawsuit in federal court.

“So you were the famous keynote speaker, invited to address a crowd of smart lawyers and scholars from around the world.” Tony chided as he riffed some notes. “I like your topic of going after rogue nations like Chile in a US Court. Maybe we can find a case and do it together, make some good legal noise, and walk together as famous jurists in the corridors of history, a team like Justices Holmes and Brandeis. Wolff and D’Amato. I can see our names in lights!” Tony could poke fun at himself and others.

I had just returned from an American Bar Association assignment in Chile. I had been sent to investigate and report back on the torture and killings in the Santiago soccer stadium where hundreds of Chileans had been shot and mangled by Pinochet and his henchmen. It was a dangerous assignment. Chilean police followed me at every stage. My report went first to the ABA and with its unanimous endorsement forwarded to Congress. It led to Senate hearings and the passage of punitive new trade laws prohibiting the import of Chilean grapes to the United States. This was the first time the Congress asserted new laws and economic punishment for the violation of basic human rights.

My topic for the ABA and the American Society of International Lawyers—a crowd of about 200—was “What US laws can we creatively use to bring human rights violators in foreign countries in front of a US federal court in order to punish them severely?” I advocated bringing Pinochet, who like Eichmann was drugged and brought to Israel to stand trial and be executed for the genocide of the Jews—to stand trial in a US federal court and receive severe punishment for his barbaric acts of sending Chilean children to Buenos Aires –”los desparacidos,” and then killing their parents in front of cheering crowds at the football stadium.

My audience of corporate and international lawyers was visibly shocked. This would be a major new reach of jurisdiction—a grab for judicial power to solve and eliminate human rights violations occurring anywhere in the world.

Some were intrigued by my novel and radical ideas for poking my unwelcomed nose into human rights violations occurring in other nations. Others were concerned that foreign governments might do the same if one of our presidents or vice presidents were traveling abroad—a complex issue in light of the US government’s later behavior at Guantanamo, Abu Gharib and earlier in Vietnam.

Pinochet’s brutal and murderous treatment of innocent Chilean mothers and children went unpunished. He, as dictator, decided there would be no freedom of the press or any other human rights in Chile. The courts were officially closed. I actually saw the huge black chain and large padlock on the front door of the Supreme Court building in Santiago.

I wanted to sue Pinochet, extradite him to the United States and put him away in a US jail. A radical idea at the time. But something like it had been done a few years earlier in the US federal court in Pena Irala. In that case a sadistic police chief, Pena Irala, killed the fifteen year old son of a popular newspaper publisher in Asuncion, Paraguay in an effort to stifle government criticism. The body of the boy, Jose Filartiga, was thrown on the front lawn of his home. Pena Irala fled to New York, thinking he would be safe from retaliation. The parents caught up with him and had him detained by INS immigration in New York. Pena Irala, the killer of the fifteen year old boy, was tried in New York Federal District Court. Judge Kaufman found him liable for damages to the family, and subject to imprisonment under the US Alien Tort Claims Act of 1790, one of the first laws advocated by Thomas Jefferson. My thoughts were not radical or far-fetched. “We can do this,” I told the audience. “It is just a matter of looking at history, and America’s early commitment to prosecuting violation of human rights no matter where in the world they occurred. I am waiting for the right case and cause. It will come to me one day.”

My talk was entitled “The Prospect of Suing Foreign Governments for Human Rights Misdeeds”. It could have been called “Let’s Stop the Public Killings and Hangings at the Stadium in Santiago by Suing Pinochet and his Henchmen in a US Federal Court.” My long trip, commissioned by the American Bar Association, had left me shaken. I became devoted to the cause of locking up Pinochet, another Hitler on a slightly smaller scale. One night I had a private dinner in the home of two grieving parents whose three sons were gunned down in the streets of Santiago during a political demonstration against the Pinochet regime. The faces of the three young martyrs were painted on a large mural on the side of a three-story building, looming just outside the window of their home, as if to haunt them for the next ten years. After dinner, they showed me photos of eight other “disappeared children.” The brutal tyrant in Chile must be stopped by his arrest, drugged and taken on a plane to New York, and then “found” by chance within the US jurisdiction. It was good enough for Eichmann; and it would be good enough for Pinochet.

Pinochet had abolished the Rule of Law. We had to stop him. I went for a dangerous two weeks with my colleague Juan Lareda Esq. of Philadelphia. We slept with the doors double locked and went everywhere with a bodyguard. He served as co-counsel and translator and helped me write the report to the US Congress which led the censure of the Pinochet government and a temporary suspension of grape imports to Philadelphia, a lucrative export trade for Chile.

Our report was carefully studied. Decisive action by Congress was taken. Laws were passed creating an economic boycott of Chilean imports until such time as corrections in government policy were made. In my speech I suggested a novel, new and different approach altogether—not government trade regulation but a grass roots citizen initiative: “Let’s get a brave group of bright lawyers together—maybe eight or nine—and sue Mr. Tyrant Pinochet in a US court. We have no jurisdiction to bring legal action in a foreign country, not even if the people of that country are being tortured and killed by the thousands by the devil himself. Why not bring the devil/bastard here and hold him accountable for the torture he inflicted on his countrymen as a violation of international and US law?”

Preposterous, was what some of my colleagues thought of the idea. I am devoted to being provocative. I believe the law can be used courageously and creatively to achieve new precedents. We need not merely rely on the available cases and statutes. New frontiers of legal possibility can be created as I eventually accomplished for Wallenberg. Today it is used on a daily basis to protect the human rights of the underprivileged and less powerful.

It was 1983, and it would ultimately take years for this creative driving tactic to catch on. But I had planted the seed for a new legal idea. A huge field of positive jurisprudence has arrived in American federal courts over the past 35 years citing my case and following my lead. The Wallenberg victory spawned a whole field of new human rights cases, with injured litigants coming from places of abuse and torture, and then suing their homelands of Argentina, Turkey, Chile and elsewhere to nail “evil torturers” hiding out in American cities thinking they had escaped prosecution by leaving home.

It started with my Wallenberg case victory, with a verdict of 39 million dollars’ worth of damages and an order from federal court Judge Barrington Parker that Wallenberg be immediately released. Now victims of torture from other countries come to the United States seeking relief. In addition, other countries have now opened their courts for claims involving human rights crimes occurring in other countries. The example of Spanish jurist Baltasar Garzon is instructive. In 1998, his attempt to extradite Pinochet for crimes against Spaniards committed on foreign soil became an international cause célèbre.

Enough thinking ahead! Now back to my speech on Chile to the lawyers at the Shoreham Hotel in 1983. Undaunted, I walked out after my speech and down the red carpet toward an empty ballroom. Someone was playing the piano beneath a pool of white light. The tune was Cole Porter’s Night and Day. I sat down beside him and started to sing along; not realizing it would be a fateful moment.

The man wore a black leather jacket covered with silver zippers. I learned later that the biker’s jacket was a memento from his days as producer of the hit Broadway musical, Grease. That bonanza gave him enough money to retire and teach international law at Northwestern University. He also rode a Harley. His bushy black hair was salted with grey, as were his mustache and goatee. To my surprise, he had listened intently to my talk on Pinochet and felt as strongly as I did about the need to set international human rights law precedents in US federal courts. The piano man was Professor Tony D’Amato, whose textbook on public international law I happened to use in the classes I taught at the University of Pennsylvania Law School, and later at the Delaware Law School. We chatted and sang Cole Porter songs together. An instant friendship began to develop through music and laughter.

We went out for a beer that evening, and plotted how we might find the right test case to bring in a US court to challenge and to end human abuse and torture by a major foreign government, like the USSR or even our own government.

A few days before my pre-dawn phone call, Tony had called to alert me that I would be receiving a call from Guy Von Dardel, and why. “This is our chance,” he said. In one of life’s strange coincidences (many more of which form this story), it turned out that from their family home in Stockholm, Guy Von Dardel and his sister Nina Lagergren had read in the morning Dagbladet newspaper about D’Amato’s work on what came to be known as the Frolova case.

The case of Frolova v. Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, 761 F.2d 370 (7th Cir. 1985), had arisen in the US federal courts of Illinois. A young American woman had gone to Moscow as a foreign exchange student and fallen in love with a Russian student named Yuri Frolova. The two married. The new Mrs. Frolova returned to her home campus of Northwestern University, where she awaited the arrival of her newlywed husband. When he failed to arrive as planned, she and her Jewish parents made inquiries. They discovered that he had been arrested as a political dissident, and was on a month-long hunger strike in a jail in Moscow.

The American woman found Tony D’Amato, then on the Northwestern Law School faculty. He helped her file a civil case against the Soviet government, justifying the suit on the basis of a treaty, the Helsinki Accords, which guaranteed the human right to reunification of families. D’Amato in a daring moment of chutzpah, asked the Judge: “Your honor, we are asking you to temporarily suspend all sales of wheat to the USSR now pending before the Chicago Board of Trade until Yuri Frolova is released from Soviet prison and allowed to rejoin his wife here in Chicago.”

“The judge,” according to D’Amato, “was quite taken aback by the request. He realized the international implications of suspending wheat sales during a winter of famine in Russia. He looked down at me over his horn rimmed glasses like I was vermin, and simply said he would take my request for sanctions ‘under advisement’”

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