those have you made tonight?” he asked.
“About twelve,” I bragged. Schindler smiled and moved on, sharing a private joke with my father.
Later I learned a truly skilled worker easily would have produced twice that number.
On another occasion, as Schindler strolled across the factory floor, he caught me away from my station, watching a complicated machine as it was being redesigned to perform a different task. I was mesmerized by the intricacy of the procedure and didn’t realize how long I had been neglecting my work. I froze when I smelled the familiar cologne and cigarettes, wondering what I should do. In Płaszów, I would have been shot or at least lashed for such a blatant infraction, for being “a lazy and irresponsible” Jew. Instead, Schindler walked by without saying a word. A few days later I learned that my brother and I were to be transferred to the factory’s toolmaking area, which required higher skills and also meant we would be with our father. Rather than punishing me, Schindler had rewarded me for my curiosity.
Sometimes, the morning after one of his late night visits, I would go to get my rations only to discover that Schindler had left word I should receive two portions. He had to make a special effort to do this, and I was overwhelmed by his kindness. Other times he stopped by my father’s workstation and put his hand on my father’s shoulder. He would say, “It will be all right, Moshe.” A true Nazi observing such an action, such humane treatment of a Jew, would have murdered them both without a moment’s hesitation. Yet Schindler would even linger to chat with my father for a few minutes at a time. Sometimes, after he left, my father would discover a half pack of cigarettes, a valuable gift Schindler had “accidentally” left by his machine. My father traded the cigarettes for bread.
Such acts may seem insignificant given the scale of the evil in those years, but, in fact, they were anything but. Schindler dared to rebel against the law of the land, which was to torture and exterminate Jews, not to treat us as fellow human beings. To do that was to riskimprisonment in a labor or concentration camp or execution. Even referring to us by name rather than with a grunt and a curse was punishable. By treating us with respect, Schindler was resisting the Nazi racist ideology that constructed a hierarchy of humanity in which Jews were at the very bottom.
All I knew was that Schindler may have been a Nazi, and therefore by definition dangerous, but he acted in a way that no other Nazi I knew did. Though I didn’t know what to make of it, I was impressed. I was also still wary of him. I had learned that human beings are frequently unpredictable.
Since the summer of 1941, when Germany broke its pact with the Soviet Union, conquered Soviet-occupied territory and invaded the Soviet Union, a German victory seemed only a matter of time, but actually time was against the Germans. They had advanced so rapidly, the famous German strategy of Blitzkrieg , “lightning war,” that their supply lines couldn’t keep up with them. They had overestimated the speed with which they could defeatthe Soviet army and underestimated the will to resist not only of the Soviet troops but also of the Soviet people. The German army wasn’t prepared for the brutally cold Russian winter. With the bloody Battle of Stalingrad—in which as many as two million soldiers and civilians were killed—the tide began to turn against the Germans. When we learned of the surrender of the German Sixth Army in early February 1943, we knew a German defeat was probable.
If we could just hold on.
By the summer of 1944, reports were circulating that the war had swung in favor of the Allies, mainly the Americans and the British to the west and the Soviets in the east. We got fragments of information from time to time and pieced together that the Allies had landed at Normandy and were mounting an assault in the west. In mid-July
“About twelve,” I bragged. Schindler smiled and moved on, sharing a private joke with my father.
Later I learned a truly skilled worker easily would have produced twice that number.
On another occasion, as Schindler strolled across the factory floor, he caught me away from my station, watching a complicated machine as it was being redesigned to perform a different task. I was mesmerized by the intricacy of the procedure and didn’t realize how long I had been neglecting my work. I froze when I smelled the familiar cologne and cigarettes, wondering what I should do. In Płaszów, I would have been shot or at least lashed for such a blatant infraction, for being “a lazy and irresponsible” Jew. Instead, Schindler walked by without saying a word. A few days later I learned that my brother and I were to be transferred to the factory’s toolmaking area, which required higher skills and also meant we would be with our father. Rather than punishing me, Schindler had rewarded me for my curiosity.
Sometimes, the morning after one of his late night visits, I would go to get my rations only to discover that Schindler had left word I should receive two portions. He had to make a special effort to do this, and I was overwhelmed by his kindness. Other times he stopped by my father’s workstation and put his hand on my father’s shoulder. He would say, “It will be all right, Moshe.” A true Nazi observing such an action, such humane treatment of a Jew, would have murdered them both without a moment’s hesitation. Yet Schindler would even linger to chat with my father for a few minutes at a time. Sometimes, after he left, my father would discover a half pack of cigarettes, a valuable gift Schindler had “accidentally” left by his machine. My father traded the cigarettes for bread.
Such acts may seem insignificant given the scale of the evil in those years, but, in fact, they were anything but. Schindler dared to rebel against the law of the land, which was to torture and exterminate Jews, not to treat us as fellow human beings. To do that was to riskimprisonment in a labor or concentration camp or execution. Even referring to us by name rather than with a grunt and a curse was punishable. By treating us with respect, Schindler was resisting the Nazi racist ideology that constructed a hierarchy of humanity in which Jews were at the very bottom.
All I knew was that Schindler may have been a Nazi, and therefore by definition dangerous, but he acted in a way that no other Nazi I knew did. Though I didn’t know what to make of it, I was impressed. I was also still wary of him. I had learned that human beings are frequently unpredictable.
Since the summer of 1941, when Germany broke its pact with the Soviet Union, conquered Soviet-occupied territory and invaded the Soviet Union, a German victory seemed only a matter of time, but actually time was against the Germans. They had advanced so rapidly, the famous German strategy of Blitzkrieg , “lightning war,” that their supply lines couldn’t keep up with them. They had overestimated the speed with which they could defeatthe Soviet army and underestimated the will to resist not only of the Soviet troops but also of the Soviet people. The German army wasn’t prepared for the brutally cold Russian winter. With the bloody Battle of Stalingrad—in which as many as two million soldiers and civilians were killed—the tide began to turn against the Germans. When we learned of the surrender of the German Sixth Army in early February 1943, we knew a German defeat was probable.
If we could just hold on.
By the summer of 1944, reports were circulating that the war had swung in favor of the Allies, mainly the Americans and the British to the west and the Soviets in the east. We got fragments of information from time to time and pieced together that the Allies had landed at Normandy and were mounting an assault in the west. In mid-July
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