Every Last Jew

A Teenage Boy's Story of Survival

Mark Koperweis

• Publisher: GOFF BOOKS
• Year: 2019
• eBook ISBN: 9781943532704
• Topic: Théologie et religion
• Subtopic: Biographies religieuses

Experience firsthand what it's like to struggle for your life in one of the most diabolical and murderous events in human history—The Nazi plan to exterminate every last Jew in Europe.Gain insights as to why the Nazis, and Hitler in particular, hated the Jews, making them the enemy of society, and labeling them Untermenschen—subhuman. This true-to-life story shines as a beacon of hope and perseverance and serves as a backdrop-narrative that reminds us that racism and hate can lead to murderous behavior and the rapid destruction of civil society. In Every Last Jew, Mark Koperweis beautifully retells his father Henry's amazing story of survival that takes you on an unimaginable journey that is up-close, personal, and in full living horror. When you emerge, you will never see the world or your life in the same way. It will change you, as it did Henry, forever!

Chapter 1

Kilinskiego 11

HENRY SHARED A SINGLE BED WITH HIS TWO YOUNGER brothers, Avram and Chaim, in a three-bedroom flat in a run-down brick building in Radom, Poland. His Polish name was Hennek, but his family called him by his Yiddish name, Haskel. His three older brothers, Harry (Herschel), Julius, and Joe (Yasel), along with their sister Celina, shared another bedroom; and his mother and father were in the third. His oldest sister Sala was already married and living with her husband Moishe a short distance away. Henry woke up early one day so that he and his brother Harry could get fresh milk from the market. He washed his face in a basin in the foyer next to his room and then put on his clothes, making sure not to forget his white armband with a blue Star of David in the center. His father, Zygmund, was at his sewing machine in their living room, which doubled as a tailor shop. His mother Ida was busy preparing breakfast. There was a small container of milk sitting on the window sill. It had been there for a few days curdling into buttermilk.

Together, Henry and his older brother Harry carried a large five-gallon aluminum container as they walked to the marketplace. They passed businesses and shops that had paper signs posted on them letting the public know that they were owned by Jews. As they made their way to the market they were careful not to walk on the sidewalk, as it was forbidden for a Jew to do so. Instead, they walked in the street alongside the curb paying particular attention so as not to be struck by a vehicle. After they got the milk, it took all of their strength and dexterity to carry it back without spilling any. There was a small storage area in the basement of the apartment that was allotted to their family to store their groceries to keep them fresh, but there was no refrigerator. They struggled down the few steps to the cellar and placed the container in its usual spot. Herschel grabbed a ladle that was hanging on a hook, opened the lid of the container, scooped out some milk, and carefully filled a bowl to bring upstairs.

When they came upstairs their mother Ida had breakfast prepared: hot cereal and fresh bread. There was no juice, as that was a luxury. The only time they had juice was when one of them was sick. It served as medicine. Ida began serving the cereal as the whole family sat at the breakfast table together. It had been several months since the Germans announced that all Jews were forbidden to go to public school. They even closed all Hebrew schools. Before this happened, Henry would typically pack his small tin with lunch after eating breakfast, and accompanied by his siblings he would walk to school nearby. After school let out at 2:30 he and his siblings would walk back home and snack on fruit and cookies. Henry would then head off to Hebrew school for two more hours along with all three of his older brothers. There they learned how to read and write Hebrew, as well as how to daven or recite passages from the Chumash, the Five Books of Moses. After Hebrew school the whole family would eat dinner together and then Henry would go do his school reading assignments. His older sister Celina would sometimes help him.

As Henry sat with his family eating a modest breakfast, he remembered how, just a few months ago, when he turned thirteen he had his Jewish coming of age ritual, his bar mitzvah. In order to prepare for the event, he had been visiting his grandfather, Herschel Bayer, at his home nearby. Hashbayer, as Henry called him, was a very learned man. He had a long white beard and always wore a yarmulke atop his white head of hair. He would sit sternly and listen to Henry recite his Haftarah, a series of selections from the Book of the Twelve Prophets of the Hebrew Bible, correcting him when necessary on his pronunciation and singing. It was customary for a young man to learn a particular Haftarah and recite it as part of the bar mitzvah ritual. Hashbayer was like a rabbi to Henry. After his lesson, Hashbayer would give Henry a hug, tell him that he was doing a great job, and give him a piece of chocolate. He would then go into a lengthy exegesis on the meaning of the Hebrew passages he had just recited, which Hashbayer knew by heart. These days Henry was no longer able to go to Hebrew school, or any school for that matter, because the Germans forbade it, but he did still manage to visit his scholarly grandfather on occasion.

After breakfast Henry spent his day playing soccer with his brothers and his Polish friends, Yanek and Benyek, when they got home from school. Henry had his own soccer ball that was a gift for his eleventh birthday, yet he owned little else in the form of toys. He dreamed of playing as a professional someday.

Soon it was time for dinner. His father was still working in the living room on his tailoring while his mother prepared dinner in their tiny kitchen. Zygmund was an optimistic man—hard working, stern, deeply religious and orthodox. He kept the home kosher, went to the synagogue on the Sabbath, and observed the High Holy Days. Oddly, the boycott of Jewish businesses didn’t affect his business. Henry would often see German soldiers in his living room standing at attention while his father would take precise measurements in order to make custom civilian suits for them which they would somehow send back to Germany. They would pay him a decent amount and sometimes they would even bring him bread, sugar, kielbasa, or chocolate. The German Wehrmacht (armed forces) had closed a school across the street and was using it as their headquarters. Word spread quickly among them about Zygmund’s sartorial skills, and as a result he was very busy.

After dinner Henry kicked around his soccer ball in the courtyard for a while and then came in to get ready for bed. Shortly after washing his face he came to say good night to his mother and father, whom he addressed as Mama and Tata, respectively. Seeing him, his father smiled and addressed him as Haskela, the “a” at the end of his name adding an extra shade of affection. “Come here, my son,” he said, stretching out his arms from behind his sewing machine. Henry walked over with his soccer ball under one arm. His father gave him a kiss and a big hug. As he rubbed Henry’s head, he exhaled heavily, “Time for bed, my son. Get some rest. Tomorrow’s another day. A better day. Soon, when all of this is over, life will be better, my boy. I’ll sit in a stadium filled with thousands of cheering fans and watch you kick that ball down the field to score a goal as the crowd goes wild. Someday, my boy. In the meantime, get some rest, no?” He went back to work as Henry walked to his room. He placed his football underneath his bed, talked with his siblings for a while, and then turned in for the evening.

In the dead of night Henry was suddenly awakened, along with everyone else in the house. Thump, thump, thump. Someone was pounding on the front door.

“Jude, raus, raus. Schnell, schnell!” (“Jew, out, out. Quickly, quickly!”), a German soldier was shouting through the door.

“What in God’s name is going on?” Zygmund cried out as he hurried to open the door before it was knocked down by the pounding.

“Coming, coming.” Zygmund opened the door. Two German soldiers with machine guns and German Shepherds along with an SS officer (of the Schutzstaffel, the “Protection Squadron”) stood at the front door and began barking out orders to the horrified family inside.

“You have ten minutes,” the officer began. “Take only what you can carry and come outside. You’re being moved to Glinice.” The officer and soldiers turned away and walked to the next door.

“What’s going on, Zygmund?” Ida asked with tears in her eyes. “What do they mean we’re being moved?”

“For how long? And why?” asked Henry’s older sister Celina.

“Listen, listen,” Zygmund said, trying to calm everyone down. “I don’t know, but we better do what they say. They have machine guns, for God’s sake!”

“How can this be happening, Zygmund? What did we do?” Henry’s mother cried out as she quickly went into her bedroom to gather some belongings. “Why, God? Why?” she uttered, throwing her hands up.

Everyone started frantically collecting items to take with them. Henry went back into his bedroom and looked around for things to bring: some shirts, underwear, a couple of pairs of trousers, his football. Just then his father came into the room with a large bundle.

“Here,” he handed the bundle to Henry, “I need you to carry this for your little brothers and your sister. It has all their clothes for the next few days until we can figure out what’s going on here.” His father left the room in a panic.

A terrible feeling settled in Henry’s stomach as he gathered his belongings. Realizing that his hands would be too full to carry his soccer ball, he pushed it under his bed to hide it. Maybe he would be able to come back to get it later.

“Haskel,” his mother called out to Henry. “Let’s go, sweetheart.” Henry quickly left his room.

On his way out, he noticed some clothes hanging on the rack next to his father’s sewing machine. It was yesterday’s completed work. “What will happen to it now?” he thought to himself. A pair of trousers was lying next to the machine on the table, waiting to be repaired. A small piece of paper was pinned to one of the legs with a name written on it. “How will the owner get them back?” he wondered. He looked into the kitchen. The pots and pans that his mother had just cleaned after dinner earlier that night were hanging above the stove. He caught a glimpse of his room through the open door. His soccer ball had rolled out from under the bed and was in the middle of the room. Henry quickly ran over and grabbed it clumsily.

He ran outside to catch up with his family. Soldiers with dogs and SS officers were directing crowds over to covered trucks idling behind them in a long single file. Lights were glaring in Henry’s eyes, making it hard to see. He noticed other Jewish neighbors being led onto trucks while they carried their bundles. He wondered what his friends were able to bring and what they had to leave behind. He looked up, across the courtyard, to his Polish friends’ houses. Their doors were all closed, but he noticed people peeking out from behind their curtains—watching, just watching, in what Henry perceived to be a kind of silent approval. “Why don’t they say something?” he thought to himself. “Maybe they’re just as scared as we are,” he thought.

Henry looked and saw his Polish friends Yanek and Benyek looking out of their windows. They had just played soccer together earlier that day. They both stared at him as a soldier yelled, “Schnell, schnell,” and pushed Henry in the back with his rifle butt. Henry dropped his ball as he ran to catch up with the rest of his family. He would have to leave it behind. His mother was holding his two younger brothers by their hands as they cried and trembled. Zygmund was trying to keep track of everyone amidst the commotion.

They climbed into one of the trucks lined up in the street. Lights were glaring. Engines were running. The inside of the truck was dark, cold, musty. There were no seats. They all had to stand. The truck filled up. An officer yelled and the truck started moving. Everyone jerked back, then forward. Babies were crying with grimaced faces. Mothers were wiping tears from their babies’ eyes. Husbands were comforting their wives with hugs. Henry looked back and saw the truck behind him being loaded with more of his Jewish neighbors. They all climbed into their truck clutching their pathetic bundles. All of their life’s possessions were reduced to a small satchel packed in fear and desperation.

As the truck drove away carrying Henry and his family, he caught a glimpse of a German soldier kicking a soccer ball down the street in the direction of their truck while shouting, “Alle Jude, raus!” (“All Jews, get out!”) A group of German soldiers laughed as the ball rolled against the curb, coming to a gradual stop. Henry’s heart sank deep into his stomach. The ball was motionless and alone. The truck kept moving. A sickening silence settled in.

Chapter 2

The Ghetto

WHEN THE TRUCK PULLED UP TO GLINICE STREET CARRYING Henry and his family, he noticed that there was a tall, long fence made from wooden poles and barbed wire running across the street, flanked by rows of old apartment buildings. There appeared to be only one entrance. Above the gate there was a sign that read: Danger of Contamination—Do Not Enter!

Henry used to pass this street often. Every week someone in the family had to go to the kosher butcher to have a live chicken killed for the Sabbath meal. Just last week it was Henry’s turn. He remembered how he tried to hold the chicken steady while he was waiting for his turn to get to the butcher. He tried holding it down with his foot, but the chicken quickly got away and started running down the street. Henry knew that if the chicken escaped, his parents would be extremely upset, so he ran after it in earnest. He finally cornered the bird in an alley. After a brief ordeal of being pecked several times, he was able to grab it. As he brought the chicken back to meet its destiny he passed by this very same street.

Even though Henry was hardly living in luxury at Kilinskiego Street, he did notice that Glinice was old, run-down, filthy, and extremely crowded with destitute-looking people. It was clearly the poor side of town where only gentile Poles used to live. No Jews. Now, while arriving on this truck at the break of dawn, Henry thought to himself, “Where are all the gentiles who used to live here?” He couldn’t help but wonder if they were all now living in his house. “Maybe this is what happens during wartime,” he wondered. The truck pulled through the gate. Henry noticed the shocked look on his parents’ faces. He turned to his father who was holding his sleeping brother, Chaim, in his arms.

“Papa,” he began with a puzzled look on his face. “Why are we here? What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry, Haskel,” his father encouraged him. “It’s this stupid war. We’ll know more later.”

His father rubbed Chaim’s head to wake him up. The sun was just peeking over the horizon. Henry was reminded of how his father used to wake him up every day in his bed by rubbing his head. It was just about the same time of morning. His mother Ida would already be up cooking cereal for the whole family. She would buy fresh bread at the market every day, and they would drink the raw milk that they kept in the cellar below the house in a large metal milk container. Sometimes they had some of the buttermilk that she made by keeping some milk on the window sill inside the house and letting the sun curdle it slightly. They would all eat together. But today that would not be happening. No one knew what would be happening.

The truck came to a sudden stop. Everyone lunged forward, then back. A German soldier opened the back of the truck and ordered everyone out. Henry and his family were assigned an apartment to go to. It was one room, and all eight of them were to live there. They brought all their things inside the room. It was empty, save for a few pots, a bucket, and a tiny worn cot. They stood there in disbelief. Ida dropped her bundle and began to weep, “Why, God? Why?” Zygmund walked over and held her. “He hasn’t forgotten us. This won’t last long,” he whispered as everyone stood motionless, wondering, scared.

The next morning at 7:00 a.m. all the inhabitants of the Glinice ghetto, about two thousand people, gathered at designated areas to be fed. There was very little food allowed into the ghetto—cereal, some potatoes, beans, and sometimes a little butter. A group of Jews appointed by the Germans called the Judenrat (Council of Jews) were essentially the administrators of the ghetto. They organized the medical clinics,...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Acknowledgments
• Every Last Jew: A Teenage Boy’s Story of Survival
• Preface
• 1. Kilinskiego 11
• 2. The Ghetto
• 3. Every Last Jew
• 4. Combs for Kielbasa
• 5. Angel of Death
• 6. Eating with Swine
• 7. Buried Treasure
• 8. Born Again
• 9. Revenge
• 10. The Journey Home
• Epilogue
• About the Author