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AUSCHWITZ, MENGELE, AND THE GOD WHO WAS WITH ME by Ruth Gottlieb I am a Holocaust survivor, but my story cannot be reduced to that one fact. My father, Simon Mendelsberg, was born in Radom, Poland, and was a soldier in the Russian army. He was captured by the Germans during World War I and taken to Berlin. He settled there after the war and became a wholesaler dealing in silver. He met my mother, Marie Hahn, who was born in Berlin, and they were married in 1920.

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I was born on April 25, 1925. I was an only child. My parents were Zionists, and I attended Theodore Herzl Schule, a Zionist school. I learned to speak Hebrew there, though at home we spoke German. I was a member of Hashomer Hatzair, a Zionist youth movement. We were Ruth’s parents’ wedding photo brought up with the expectation that one day we would make aliyah. We attended synagogue every Friday night and Saturday morning. We often went to our relatives’ home for the Sabbath and other holidays. We kept kosher, but in Nazi Germany we weren’t allowed to slaughter animals in a kosher way, and so we seldom had meat. But when my father traveled to Poland, he would bring back kosher sausages. I remember when Hitler took over the government in 1933. At age eight, I didn’t have a great understanding of what was going on, but I knew my parents and grandmother were very upset. That’s when the persecution started. We could only sit on the yellow benches in the parks, and we could not play with nonJewish children. Even when we went to a Jewish vacation spot, the Hitler Youth came around at night chanting, “When the Jews are stabbed, blood will spill.” The severe persecution began in 1938, when I was thirteen. We were able to leave Germany that year because of my father’s Polish citizenship. We packed our bags as if we were going on holiday that September and traveled to Nice (in southern France). We had no French friends and lived off the jewels my

father brought with us from Germany. Soon the Vichy government (collaborators with the Nazis) started to arrest Jews and other “undesirables.” Those from Germany and Austria were sent to internment camps. We were spared because my father was Polish. The mass roundups of Jews by the Vichy began in 1942. We hid in Montboron, then tried to escape to Switzerland. But the French police stopped us at the border and sent us by train to Rivesaltes, a French internment camp, in August 1942. Everything was very primitive. We slept on the ground and there was hardly anything for us to eat. In October, my parents were sent to the internment camp in Drancy. I was seventeen. I cried continually for three days. I never saw them again. Later on we learned that they had been sent to (and died in) Auschwitz. Soon afterwards, Oeuvre de Secour aux Enfants (Organization to Save the Children) smuggled me out of the camp. They took me to an establishment for women and children who had fled Spain’s dictator, Franco. I was one of a few Jewish teenagers who had to do all the domestic work for about 150 people. Six months later, friends in the Resistance moved me to St. Martin de Vésubie, near Nice, where I lived with more than 1,100 other Jewish people, most of us

Ruth with her parents on a walk, before moving to Poland

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young. There I met a young Jewish man from Austria named Aaron Gottlieb, whom I married in August 1943. A month later, the Germans invaded Nice. About 800 of us from St. Martin de Vésubie left on foot and climbed the Alps into Italy. We were housed and taken care of by Italian peasants as we went through the mountains. But when we arrived in Italy, the Germans were waiting for us. We climbed higher into the hills and lived as vagabonds. We slept in stables and spent the days with the Italian farmers, who fed us and were very kind to us. An Italian priest brought us to a place from which the Resistance movement was operating. There were a few thousand Italian partisans there. My husband had served in the French Foreign Legion, so they made him a lieutenant in the Resistance. They went by night and blew up bridges and streets. I helped provide them with food and munitions. But in March 1944 the Gestapo discovered us, brought us down from the mountains in trucks and imprisoned us in a town called Ceva. A few hours later, my husband was taken, interrogated and murdered. I was just eighteen and we had only been married eleven months. I was devastated. The Nazis imprisoned me in Turin for two weeks, then put me in a cattle car with hundreds of other Jewish people. There was no room to sit down. We had no food or water and didn’t know where we were going. Four or five days later, the train arrived at Auschwitz-Birkenau. The Nazis separated those who could work from those who could not. The workers were taken to the camp and the rest were sent to their death. Even though we heard about this in the camp, we could not believe it. Later, of course, we saw the ovens and the smoke. And then I thought of my parents taken from me two years earlier. We were not spoken to. To the Nazis, we were no longer humans; we were like cattle. In the morning they would look for people to do useless manual labor, moving rocks from one side of the road to the other. I knew I could

not survive the labor, so I would take a pail and a broom and act as if I were under orders to clean the toilets. Later I was assigned to restore the leather on old shoes. Ruth and Aaron Gottlieb I got jaundice and was sent to the infirmary. They didn’t take care of us there. I caught scarlet fever, then pneumonia and malaria. I was in the infirmary for seven months. People died like flies around me, but I was able to recover their bread. Huge rats crawled over our feet. Twice Dr. Josef Mengele came through to send the sickest of us to the gas chambers. He would look at the medical chart and give it back to us if we “passed.” If not he would keep the chart. When Mengele examined me, I decided to look him straight in the eye and “stare him down,” although I was naked in front of him and the other soldiers. He gave me the chart back on two different occasions and I escaped the gas chamber. On January 17, 1945, the Nazis began to evacuate Auschwitz. They set fire to the crematorium to hide their crimes. They took with them all who were still able to walk—60,000 prisoners—on a death march (15,000 died). I was more dead than alive, and I hid in my bunk. They left me and 7,000 others behind. Little by little I regained my strength and could stand up again. We found a small amount of food in the pantries. We had no shoes and wore rags. We burned furniture to warm ourselves and to cook. On January 27, the Soviet army liberated us from the camp. I weighed 66 pounds and my knees were thicker than my thighs, but I (continued on page 4)

ISSUES is a forum of several Messianic Jewish viewpoints. The author alone, where the author’s name is given, is responsible for the statements expressed. Those wishing to take exception or wishing to enter into dialogue with one of these authors may write the publishers and letters will be forwarded. Email: editor@issuesmag.org • jewsforjesus.org UNITED STATES: P.O. BOX 424885, SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94142-4885 • CANADA: 1315 LAWRENCE AVENUE #402, TORONTO, ONT M3A 3R3 UNITED KINGDOM: 106–110 KENTISH TOWN ROAD, CAMDEN TOWN, LONDON NW1 9PX • SOUTH AFRICA: P.O. BOX 1996, PARKLANDS 2121 AUSTRALIA: P.O. BOX 925, SYDNEY NSW 2001

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Ruth’s daughters Myriam (left) and Judith; Ruth’s family in Israel

had somehow survived. The Russians transferred us to a repatriation camp near Krakow, Poland. There, we began to regain our strength. We danced and made music in the evenings. It didn’t seem like the Russians were making plans to send us home. So my close friend Laura Geisinger, two other Italian women and I left by foot over the Carpathian Mountains through Hungary and Czechoslovakia. We continued by train, traveling on the roof of one of the carriages until we arrived in Trieste, Italy, at Laura’s family home—now empty. All of her family had died in the camps. When we shared our story with people in Trieste, nobody believed us. What happened was just so unthinkable and inhumane. I returned to Nice, where I worked as a tour guide for American soldiers on holiday. I found my former art instructor and took up painting again. In 1947 I moved to the Pletzl, the Jewish quarter in the Marais district of Paris and became a tailor for a fur coat company. I applied to an art school in Paris, but because the war had cut short my education, I was not accepted. I met a Sephardic Jewish man, a Holocaust survivor. We lived together and had a baby daughter, Myriam. We moved to Nice when Myriam was six months old. As Myriam’s father was carrying a chair up to our fifth-floor apartment, he sat down to take a break and suddenly died of an embolism. Myriam and I moved to Marseilles, where I worked as a laundress at Aliyat Hanoar (The Jewish Agency for Israel). They were educating Jewish orphans and sending them to Israel. At work I met Paul Sandelbaum, 4

who had fought with the Resistance. He had been captured and imprisoned for four years, then sent to Dachau, Buchenwald and other camps, spending eight more years as a prisoner. We moved to Israel in 1949, where I gave birth to our daughter Judith in 1954. But life in Israel was very hard. Poverty was the norm and we lived in a shanty. Then came the Suez War in 1956. There were bombings. Paul said to me, “I didn’t nearly die in the camps to be blown up by the Arabs.” We decided to return to Germany. Life was easier than in France. We found a nice apartment, and I got a very good job in the art world that I remained at for ten years. When Myriam was eighteen, she moved to Israel and lived in a kibbutz. She met a young Greek man from Cyprus named Janis. They came back to Berlin and were married. Myriam gave birth to a son. One Sunday in February 1984, Myriam and her little boy, four years old, were alone in the house. When Janis came home, he found his son playing in the living room by himself and Myriam dead in the bathtub. How she died remained a mystery and, of course, a terrible shock. My son-in-law, Janis, took his son back to Cypress, and to this day I have never seen them again. My other daughter, Judith, had married a Filipino, Ben, a year earlier. They lived in Israel, so Paul and I decided to return there and moved to Tiberias. But Paul, who had loved Myriam as if she were his own child, took his own life out of grief in November 1984. We had been together for 31 years. I moved in with Judith and her husband. In 1990, we all moved to France— (continued on page 8)

Ruth (right) and her friend Laura


n January 26 and 27, 2014, Juden für Jesus (Jews for Jesus in Germany) commemorated International Holocaust Remembrance Day by holding a special program called “Two Sons of the Holocaust” in Düsseldorf and Essen. On the first evening, though the hall was filled, an unnatural quiet settled over the room. Instead of the noise of many private conversations, people seemed to sit in silent expectation of what they’d come to see and hear—the stories of two sons of the Holocaust: one, the son of a survivor; the other, the son of a Nazi war criminal. History said that they should be enemies. But now they stood side by side on the platform, united by their love for the Jewish people, and by their love for the Jewish Messiah, Jesus. After their moving speeches, Barry Barnett and Werner Oder embraced. Here are their stories:

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SON OF A HOLOCAUST SURVIVOR y mother was born Ruth Michaelis in Berlin in 1935. Her father was Jewish, her mother gentile. In 1939, when she was four years old, my mother escaped with her brother via the Kindertransport. By train and then boat, they arrived in Barry Barnett England. The Kindertransport, a rescue operation implemented during the nine months prior to World War II, placed children in British foster homes, schools, farms and hostels. In all, 10,000 children, mostly Jewish, were rescued from Nazi Germany and other European nations. But not the parents. My grandfather, Robert Michaelis, managed to escape by boat to Shanghai, China. My grandmother, Louise, stayed with her family in Germany. My mother didn’t see her parents for ten years. In 1949, her father returned to Germany and reconciled with his wife. Then they came to England together and found my mother and uncle, who were living with their foster family. It took a long time to rebuild the relationships, but the family did reconcile.

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by Barry Barnett I grew up as a Jew in London. My father is a psychoanalyst and my mother a psychotherapist; so I think I grew up a little crazy! I loved my family, my synagogue community and my people. As a teenager, I visited Israel several times. I attended Sussex University, where I followed in my parents’ footsteps by majoring in psychology. But my real passion was drama. I spent most of my free time acting in and directing plays with my fellow students. After completing my degree, I moved to Israel for a year and a half. I lived in Ashkelon, a coastal city about thirty miles south of Tel Aviv. I learned Hebrew and worked with Sherut La’am, a community service program. But I didn’t know God. Something was missing. I returned to England and sometime later, during a personal crisis, I started to search for God. I was jealous of the peace I saw in others who had a personal faith, so I decided to attend a church. I found the worship sincere, so I even tried singing the hymns—leaving out the name of Jesus! I also attended a course for those exploring Jesus and Christianity, and I prayed that God would make the truth clear to me. I began to read the New Testament and saw that it was a very Jewish book and that Jesus claimed to be the Jewish Messiah and the Son of God. As I felt my heart turning toward Jesus, I became fearful that I would be betraying my people. But then I read the story of Helen Shapiro, a famous pop singer in (continued on page 6) 5


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Jewish children arrive in Great Britain via the Kindertransport from Germany.

England who is Jewish and came to believe in Jesus. When she explained how her faith in Yeshua (Jesus) went hand in hand with her Jewish identity, the pieces fell in place for me. At age 33, I came to that same conclusion. At a Hanukkah

MY FATHER THE NAZI

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Editor’s note: Barry Barnett is a staff member with Jews for Jesus based in London.

by Werner Oder

iven some of my earliest memories, you may find it hard to believe that today I am a Christian pastor who loves the Jews and Israel. I was born into a family infested with the dark obsession of anti-Semitism. My maternal grandfather worked for Hans Ludin, the German ambassador to Bratislava who deported 22,000 Jews to the death camps. Ludin was arrested in my hometown of Linz, Austria, by the Americans and later hanged for war crimes. As a young man, my father, Wilhelm Oder, joined the National Socialist party in Austria. To destabilize the country, the Germans had been sending in agitators to commit violent acts against the government, and Wilhelm was one of their local collaborators. When the Austrian Chancellor was assassinated in 1934, the government arrested the Nazi agitators, including Wilhelm. He was tried as a terrorist and was about to be executed when the Wehrmacht (German armed forces) marched in and “merged” Austria with the Third Reich. Wilhelm then joined the Waffen-SS and was trained in

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party in 2005, I met Alison, also a Jewish believer in Jesus. We began dating and were married in 2007. I do have a confession. Before I knew Jesus as my Messiah, I had great hatred in my heart for anyone I considered an enemy of our Jewish people. That included people who had committed so much violence against us “in the name of Christ.” That’s in part because of my family history and in part because of the zeal I have always had for our Jewish people and Israel. That hatred started to die after I encountered Yeshua. However—even though God had rescued my mother from Hitler, and Jesus had rescued me from despair—some of my hatred for the Nazis lingered until very recently. But meeting Werner Oder and hearing his story has helped me to surrender that last piece of hate I held in my heart. ■

the concentration camp at Dachau. Afterwards, he was sent to the Polish village of Rabka, where the Nazis requisitioned a girls’ school and turned it into a center for training the Einsatzgruppen (death squads for the SS operating throughout Eastern Europe). For the duration of the war, Wilhelm stayed at the training center and became Werner Oder an expert in killing Jews. He developed the Genickschuss method of shooting a victim in the nape of the neck, which proved the most efficient means of execution other than the gas chambers. When the Russians pushed the German army back into Poland, Wilhelm was captured and put in a prisoner of war camp. Fearing execution if his SS past were discovered, he


managed to escape and make his way back into Austria, where he hid out with other Nazi fugitives. Eventually American forces identified and arrested him with the help of famed Nazi hunter Simon Wiesenthal. War crimes trials in Austria were often “kangaroo courts” that mocked the accusers and relied on questionable “character witnesses” to hand down acquittals or easy sentences. The witnesses against Wilhelm Oder were neutralized by positive testimonials, resulting in a relatively light sentence of six years hard labor. When released from prison, Wilhelm lived as a hero near his hometown, an early breeding ground for Hitler’s Nazi movement. Wilhelm was a womanizer and was still imprisoned when he fathered me. My family lived in a beautiful country estate, but we were forced to move to a slum after the release of my father, who was incredibly violent, and sired many children by various women. When he came home, when I was three years old, he brought all his demons with him. I became intensely violent, aggressive, and developed a blind hatred towards the Jews. This is not something which just happens; it is a learned behavior. I started to have nightmares. I was screaming every night out of fear, because I saw demonic beings in our home that I thought had come to kill me. These nightmares lasted for six years, every night the same nightmare, the same screaming. I became very sick and frightened, was out of my mind and knew sooner or later I was going to die. At the age of nine, I cried out to God for the first time in my life, “I do not want to die. I want to live!” Although I knew nothing about God, that was my first prayer. Seven years later I met Peter Wiegand, a young German Christian who I later learned had felt called to be an evangelist in Austria at the same time as my desperate prayer. Peter was the first person to tell me about the love of God. This was an incredible concept for me, that somebody who is called God loves me. From the moment I decided to trust in Jesus, the torment and nightmares stopped and my sanity was restored. I was delivered from the evil of anti-Semitism and

received a love for Israel and the Jewish people. I will never forget that night when the finger of God wrote the love for Israel indelibly on my heart. But giving my life to Jesus was not a quick fix. My moral and psychological life was a mess. For the As Hitler Youth, Werner’s stepbrothers Peter next seven years, I (left) and Wilhelm, with their mother Lina learned biblical principles at a Christian youth center in Austria. Slowly, my life got back on track. I went back to my family, who were still committed Nazis and anti-Semites. I told them that Jesus had become my Savior and said, “What did you do to the Jews? Do you know that Jesus is a Jew?” It was like throwing a hand grenade. All hell broke loose. I was accused of things; I was shot at. I still have the scar where a bullet grazed the back of my head. In 1972, I left Austria for Capernwray in the north of England to attend Bible school, where I met my wife, Avril. I eventually became the pastor of Tuckton Christian Fellowship in Bournemouth. Because of my love for Israel, God gives me many opportunities to speak at Holocaust memorial days and conferences. I am grateful to God for the privilege of standing for Israel and the Jews in a world of increasing anti-Semitism. ■ This account was adapted from an article originally published by International Christian Embassy Jerusalem (ICEJ). The interview was conducted by Herta Leithgöb and translated into German by Lisa Rüdiger. You can read the entire story of Werner’s life in his book, Battling with Nazi Demons, available through Amazon.

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Ruth, Myriam, Judith and Paul Sandelbaum

Judith and Ben to Perpignan, while I went back to Nice. Although we were now a four-hour drive from each other, my daughter and I kept in close touch. In fact, we continued to explore a subject that had always fascinated us—spirituality. As far back as 1970, when we were living in Germany and Judith was just sixteen, we started our spiritual search. We found yoga and, through yoga, Buddhism. We went to Buddhist seminars and meetings. I didn’t go that far into Buddhism, because of course I was still Jewish! We went to libraries and studied every religion. We were looking for the truth. In the 1980s at one point I lived in a hotel in Tiberias, in a room on the eighth floor. I could see the Sea of Galilee. One day, I had a vision in which I saw Yeshua (Jesus) walking on the lake. It wasn’t a dream; I just saw him! So I told my daughter and I got more and more interested in Jesus and read many books about him. When we moved back to France, we were still seeking and reading. Then one day, I was walking on the beach in Nice, and I met a Christian woman named

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Rosemund. We spoke about Jesus for quite a while. When we began to read the Bible together, it suddenly became very clear to me that Jesus was our Jewish Messiah. I talked with my daughter, and over time she too came to believe in him. Jesus was Jewish. He taught from the Hebrew Scriptures. In his day the New Testament didn’t exist. He died for our sins voluntarily—no one murdered him, neither Romans nor Jews. Some people claim the New Testament is anti-Semitic. What an idea! It’s not in the least bit antiSemitic. All you have to do is to read it and you will find a book that is thoroughly Jewish. I’ve always wondered why God took me out of the concentration camp and restored my health—good health, I must say. There are millions that died. I was not saved thanks to my own chochmah (wisdom). I recognize that God saved me, but lama davka ani (why me?). I don’t know the answer. Ruth more recently Since I have come to know Yeshua, I have a whole different way of thinking. I don’t need to go to the cinema to be entertained or a lot of material things to be happy. I am just more content. Most of all, I have peace in my heart knowing that my sins are forgiven and that one day I will be with my Messiah in heaven. ■ Ruth’s story in the French language with English subtitles is available on DVD. You can order a copy at store.jewsforjesus.org

hat do a devout Orthodox Jew, a drug dealer, and a female cantor all have in common? Check out Shout Out to find out. Jewish journeys of faith,

streaming now at jewsforjesus.org/shoutout Please visit j4j.co/issues2004 for more Holocaust-related articles and features, including the free booklet, “That Jew Died for You.” 8

Profile for Jews for Jesus

ISSUES 20:4 | Holocaust Survivors  

A Messianic Jewish perspective

ISSUES 20:4 | Holocaust Survivors  

A Messianic Jewish perspective

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