Hall’s family had hidden from the Nazisfor years before he was born. Desperateto protect his family from the death camps,Hall’s father, Edmund Horskey, posed as aGerman Aryan and rented an <strong>of</strong>fice on the13th floor <strong>of</strong> the Hotel Warsaw in February<strong>of</strong> 1942. Hall’s mother, Maria Horskey,and then 6-year-old brother, Adam JanushHorowitz (now Allan Hall), did not leavethat <strong>of</strong>fice for more than two years. WhenEdmund left for work, Maria and Adam hidin a dark closet during the day, only a whisperaway from disaster.“Literally across the partition, therewas an <strong>of</strong>fice full <strong>of</strong> people working, andif they would’ve heard us, that would’vebeen instant death,” said Allan Hall,Andrew’s older brother who also graduatedfrom UF <strong>Law</strong> in 1968. “Directly tw<strong>of</strong>loors above us was the Polish headquarters<strong>of</strong> the German Luftwaffe, which wasthe air force in Poland. My father’s theorywas that the closer we got to their headquarters,the less likely they were to lookfor us.”In August <strong>of</strong> 1944, the Poles roseagainst their Nazi occupiers in the heroicbut doomed Warsaw Uprising. Hall’sfamily moved from the <strong>of</strong>fice to anotherbuilding’s coal cellar where he waseventually born. Allan Hall remembersrunning through sniper fire to get there.Although the coal cellar was thought tobe safer than the rented room, it was amiracle that the family lived through it.“In the shelter, at that point my motherwas already pregnant, a V-2 rocket landed,and the only reason we’re here to tellyou about it is because it didn’t explode,”Allan Hall said. “I clearly rememberwalking over to where it had penetratedthe street and the ground and came all theway down to the sub-basement where wewere. I remember seeing four or six feet<strong>of</strong> it exposed, and we could clearly see theGerman marking on it.”“[Terrorismcases] are morevisible, so thestakes arehigher.”The Polish rebellion surrendered inOctober. Warsaw’s German conquerorsordered everyone to leave and thenburned the city to the ground. Still workingto avoid capture, Hall’s family escapedthrough the sewer system. The exhaustedfamily made its way to Krakow,Poland, arriving in November <strong>of</strong> 1944and remaining until the war’s end.Although Hall was too young to rememberhis life in Warsaw, it still impactshim today.“One <strong>of</strong> the things that happens to thefamilies <strong>of</strong> Holocaust survivors is thoseexperiences don’t leave your house,” Hallsaid. “They’re there every day. It is theprimary subject <strong>of</strong> conversation betweenyour parents and friends. So you grow upin an environment steeped in a sense <strong>of</strong>injustice at the highest level and what it isyou can do to make sure it never happensagain. It’s very much a pr<strong>of</strong>ound part <strong>of</strong>my personality.”THE ESCAPEA few years after the war ended, Hall’sfather was arrested by Poland’s new communistregime. Hall’s mother did notwant to take any risks with the safety <strong>of</strong>her sons, and she sent them out <strong>of</strong> Polandwith other Jewish war orphans makingtheir way to Palestine, now Israel.For nine months, Hall and his brotherwandered through Europe without theirparents and without identification papers.“We would walk 15, 20, 30 milesa day with Andy mostly riding on myshoulders,” Allan Hall said.During the trip, Andrew contractedmeasles and Allan stayed with him in aGerman hospital while the group <strong>of</strong> orphanscontinued their journey. Meanwhile,the boys’ parents, after EdmundHorskey escaped from incarceration,searched for their children, hitting a coldtrail in Munich. In a weird twist <strong>of</strong> fate,they recognized a cousin on a MunichAndrew Hall, right, asattorney for the families <strong>of</strong>sailors killed in the bombing<strong>of</strong> the USS Cole, speaks withreporters outside the NorfolkFederal Court building inNorfolk, Va., Feb. 27, 2007.AP PHOTO/GARY C. KNAPP24 UF LAW
Allen, left, and Andrew Hallreturned to Poland in 1993with their families to revisittheir childhood haunts.street. That cousin had come to Munichto take the brothers back to Palestine afterreceiving a letter from Andrew asking forhelp. The family was reunited at last.COMING TO AMERICAOn Feb. 6, 1947, the reunited family flewto New York and to freedom. They firstlived in Newburgh, N.Y. before movingto Miami.Both brothers earned their undergraduatedegrees from the <strong>University</strong> <strong>of</strong> <strong>Florida</strong>.Allan worked as a builder after graduation,and Andrew was pre-med, but botheventually entered UF <strong>Law</strong>.“I took the LSAT on a lark and basicallybacked in,” Andrew Hall said. “I don’tknow if this is true anymore, but if you got ahigh enough score, you were automaticallyadmitted, so all <strong>of</strong> a sudden taking the LSATas a lark — it was on a dare — I got automaticallyadmitted into law school. I figuredthat must mean something.”Hall graduated from UF <strong>Law</strong> in1968; if he had passed a Spanish class inundergrad, he and Allan would’ve beena part <strong>of</strong> the same class. Instead, Allanfinished a semester before Andrew.Andrew Hall clerked for Judge JoeEaton before going to work for a firm inMiami. In 1975, he opened his own firm,now known as Hall, Lamb & Hall.ANDREW HALL TODAYAlthough Andrew Hall once wanted tobe a doctor, he has become an exceptionallawyer, Allan Hall said.“In my opinion, he has one <strong>of</strong> thebest legal minds,” Allan Hall said. “Iconsider myself a good lawyer, but heleaves me in the dust.”Since winning the Chad Hall case,Andrew Hall has represented numerousother victims <strong>of</strong> state-sponsored terrorismincluding the families <strong>of</strong> the victims<strong>of</strong> the USS Cole bombing.“I had no idea that it would start meon a 16-year journey that would be asdifficult and complex as it has been,”Hall said. “But the fact <strong>of</strong> the matter isit’s one <strong>of</strong> those things that once I startedit, I’ve never looked back; I’ve neverregretted it.”And although state-sponsored terrorismcases are just a small part <strong>of</strong>Hall’s practice, he takes a lot <strong>of</strong> pride inhelping the victims.“They’re more visible, so thestakes are higher. It’s the one casewhere if I walk into a cocktail partyand there’s a guy in the military that’sthere, he will routinely walk over, shakemy hand, and thank me for the casebecause he knows that there are civiliansout there fighting,” he said. “That’sthe whole point. Notwithstandingthe fact that I’m a civilian, it allowsme to basically fight, in my way,against terrorism.” ■FALL 2008 25