From my earliest childhood
memories, I recall my dad speaking about his experiences in the holocaust. When he started talking about it, which
wasn’t often, you just listened. You’d
occasionally hear him screaming in his sleep, reliving the nightmare of the
As I heard his stories, they were
disconnected, with no organized chronology.
Most of the time, you had very little idea as to when a particular story
took place, and even my father was fuzzy on the timeframe.
When I was about thirteen, an
event occurred that imprinted itself indelibly in my mind. While shopping with his family in downtown
Brooklyn, my father encountered a man who had been a kapo (guard) at one of the
slave labor camps where he had been interned.
I can still see the confrontation, which is described in the book, as
clearly as if it happened yesterday.
When my father neared eighty, I
realized that all his stories would be lost to future generations when he died;
and, when I died, no one in the family would have any knowledge of the
suffering he endured. I persuaded him
to collaborate with me to get his story on paper. It took two years, and here’s the product of our efforts.
His story is too important for it
not to endure and serve as a lesson to future generations. What happened to him and the Jewish people
must never be allowed to happen again – to Jews or any ethnic group.
Don’t ever let it happen again!