The most famous story about him dates to the winter of 1938. As Nazi forces occupied the Sudetenland, a Jewish family from a neighboring town—the Goldmanns—fled east. They arrived at Oskar’s door on a moonless night, half-frozen, with a terrified four-year-old girl. Oskar didn’t hesitate. He hid them in his attic for six weeks. During that time, he made a small, palm-sized lantern for the girl, with a blue glass pane instead of clear. “So you can pretend the night is the sea,” he told her.
When it was safe to move the family to a contact in Uherský Brod, Oskar guided them himself, using one of his double-walled lanterns—its light invisible from more than twenty meters away. The Goldmanns survived the war. The little blue lantern remains in a private collection in Prague, still functional, still bearing Oskar’s star and motto. Pojkart Oskar
In the small, windswept village of Strání, nestled in the foothills of the White Carpathian Mountains, there lived a man named Pojkart Oskar. Born in 1887, Oskar was neither a soldier nor a politician. He was a tinsmith—a craftsman of sheet metal, tin, and patience. But his story is not one of war or wealth; it is a story of light in darkness. The most famous story about him dates to the winter of 1938