Rudolf Vrba

Vrba monument is unveiled

Robert Krell, left, founding president of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre, and Al Szajman, the current president, unveil the monument to Rudolf Vrba at Schara Tzedeck Cemetery. (photo by Pat Johnson)

Rudolf Vrba, a scientist who had a significant but comparatively quiet career in the laboratories and lecture halls of the University of British Columbia, enjoyed a comfortable life with his wife Robin in Vancouver before his death in 2006. Unbeknownst to thousands of his students over the years, Vrba may have saved more Jews during the Holocaust than any other individual. Despite this astonishing fact, his name has remained almost unknown not only among scholars of that history but even in his own adopted community of Vancouver.

At Schara Tzedeck Cemetery in New Westminster on Oct. 26, a monument was unveiled that seeks to remedy Vrba’s relative anonymity.

“Why do so few know his name?” asked Dr. Robert Krell, founding president of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre and a member of an ad hoc group that came together to recognize Vrba’s life and bravery. “Sir Martin Gilbert, the British historian, wrote that Vrba was directly responsible for saving at least 100,000 Jewish lives. Others now credit him with the preservation of as many as 200,000 Hungarian Jews.”

Before about 200 people gathered in the cemetery’s chapel prior to the monument’s unveiling, Krell recounted the exploits of Vrba and his co-conspirator, fellow Slovakian Jew Alfréd Wetzler, who were incarcerated in Auschwitz.

In April 1944, Vrba, just 19 at the time, and Wetzler, 25, contrived to conceal themselves within the Auschwitz compound, while, outside the camp, a massive search was undertaken by dogs and armed guards. After hiding silently in a woodpile for three days, the two men escaped and traveled for days by foot to Slovakia, where they shared all the information they had amassed about operations at the death camp. Vrba has been credited with having had an almost photographic memory and, over 22 months in Auschwitz, with Wetzler and he both having risen to positions of comparative privilege and trust in the camp, they were uniquely equipped to tell the world what was happening.

Vrba had worked on the arrival platforms at the camp, observing the incoming Jews and, later, in the “Kanada” compound, where the stolen valuables of arriving prisoners were stored. Wetzler was a registrar and clerk in the camp. The pair chose their moment to act because their vantage points alerted them to the imminent deportation of the last remaining large group of surviving Jews in Europe, those of Budapest.

Their account, which became known as the Auschwitz Protocols, or sometimes the Vrba-Wetzler Report, was the most credible and detailed information received to that moment about the extent of mass murder taking place in Auschwitz. More than 400,000 Hungarian Jews had already been murdered.

“The Jews of Budapest were next,” said Krell.

After dictating the report, Vrba joined the Slovakian army as a machine gunner and, later, joined the Slovak partisans, participating in 10 major battles and being awarded multiple medals for bravery.

After the war, Vrba completed a PhD in biochemistry at Charles University in Prague, then lived in Israel and England before serving as a research fellow at Harvard Medical School. He married Robin, an American, in 1975 and they made a home in Vancouver. Vrba was an associate professor in the department of pharmaceutical sciences at UBC for 30 years and Robin was a realtor.

The explanation for Vrba’s relative anonymity has been explored in books, including a recently released first volume of a two-part biography by Vancouver writer Alan Twigg. (Holocaust Hero: The Life and Times of Rudolf Vrba was reviewed in the Oct. 10 issue of the Independent.)

The unfamiliarity with Vrba’s story in Israel, in particular, has been explored by Ruth Linn, a University of Haifa academic who first heard of Vrba when she was on sabbatical in Vancouver in the late 1990s. She returned to Israel and began asking if others with expertise in the field knew of Vrba, Wetzler and their escape. Her explorations led to her 2004 book Escaping Auschwitz: A Culture of Forgetting, which made the case that there was a deliberate effort in Israel to silence Vrba’s voice and obscure his history.

Vrba bore particular animus toward Rezső Kasztner, a leader of the Budapest Jewish community who went on to become a mid-level bureaucrat affiliated with the Israeli establishment and the Mapai party that led the country. Vrba – and others – viewed Kasztner’s actions as having saved the lives of Kasztner, his family and several hundred of his friends and associates at the possible expense of thousands of other Hungarian Jews. Vrba believed that, had ordinary Hungarian Jews been privy to the Auschwitz Protocols, as Kasztner was, they could have made their own decisions about whether to board the deportation trains.

The new monument and the unveiling ceremony were the culmination of several years of work by a group including Krell, Yosef Wosk, Geoffrey Druker, Joseph Ragaz, Arthur Dodek and Bernie Simpson, who formed a core committee advancing the project. Dodek, who emceed the Oct. 26 event, acknowledged additional contributions from the Kahn family, Ryan Davis, Marie Doduck and Jack Micner. Mayor Patrick Johnstone of New Westminster attended.

Organizers thanked the Schara Tzedeck Cemetery Board, including chairs Arnold Silber and Jack Kowarsky, and executive director Howard Jampolsky, as well as Schara Tzedeck’s Rabbi Andrew Rosenblatt.

Rosenblatt spoke of biblical and modern concepts of righteousness, citing Vrba as the definition of a hero.

“He did not escape from Auschwitz simply to save his own skin,” said the rabbi. “He escaped from Auschwitz to save Hungarian Jewry. He escaped from Auschwitz to warn the world.”

The monument, located adjacent to an area of the cemetery not yet open to burials, means that future generations who pass through mourning loved ones will have an opportunity to reflect on true heroism.

“I am struck anew by how singular his legacy was, how young he was, how hard he fought to bring the truth to the world,” said Hannah Marazzi, executive director of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre, which sponsored the ceremony. “It is a legacy of courage, brilliance, sorrow, resilience and endurance. But perhaps what I have treasured most is learning about his life and legacy from those here who have had the privilege of knowing him.”

Druker noted that the monument reflects an increased awareness of Vrba locally and hoped that the knowledge would expand beyond his hometown.

Druker read aloud the inscription, which recounts the details of Vrba’s life: his origins, his deportation to Majdanek and Auschwitz, his escape, his war heroism and his life as an academic.

“We hope that, in Israel, he will finally be recognized for what he is: a central hero that changed the course of the Holocaust for Hungarian Jews,” Druker said. “We want the world to recognize that too.”

photo - The new monument to Rudolf Vrba at Schara Tzedeck Cemetery — The new monument to Rudolf Vrba at Schara Tzedeck Cemetery. *(photo by Pat Johnson)*

Chris Friedrichs, professor emeritus of history at UBC, put Vrba in the context of his times.

“The existence of Auschwitz was no secret to those leaders,” he said. “They knew that Auschwitz was the site of a vast industrial complex where German war production was being performed by forced labour. But, as we know, this report for the first time described the actual operations of the camp in terrifying detail, making clear that Auschwitz was not only a location of industrial activity, but also the site of mass extermination of human lives on a scale that nobody had previously fully grasped.

“A huge number of Hungarian Jews had already been sent to Auschwitz, but the approximately 200,000 Jews of Budapest had not yet been deported, and it was largely thanks to this warning that the deportations were halted and the lives of most of those 200,000 Jews were saved.”

The experiences Vbra underwent at a young age, as well as his anger that his escape and the report he helped draft did not save even more lives, affected him through his life. Friedrichs, who knew Rudi and Robin Vrba, said they enjoyed a happy life in Vancouver, but the past haunted Vrba.

“For, although he could escape from Auschwitz, Rudolf Vrba could never really escape from the Shoah,” said Friedrichs. “He knew too much and he cared too much to put what he had seen behind him.… Rudolf Vrba was dedicated to relating the facts, but there was also anger, and that anger was directed not just against the Nazis, but also against Jewish leaders during the war who could not bring themselves to inform their fellow Jews about what was happening in Auschwitz. He was like a biblical prophet who had inveigled against the wilful ignorance or stubborn disbelief of those who should have known better.”

Friedrichs credits Robin, who now lives in the United States and was not able to attend the unveiling, as “not only his cherished companion for over three decades,” but with ensuring that his legacy not be forgotten.

“In fact,” said Friedrichs, “that task is a challenge for all of us. Even the Jewish community of Vancouver never fully recognized the greatness of this man and the role he had played both in saving Jewish lives and in contributing to knowledge of the Shoah.”

The monument is a belated recognition, said Friedrichs.

“What we do today is overdue, but it is not too late,” he said. “Future generations will pass by this monument and realize how proud our community should have been that this man lived and worked for 30 years in our midst. As we watch the monument being unveiled, and if we gently lay some stones upon it, we will be paying a debt of gratitude to someone who is not only a hero of the 20th century, but should continue to be an inspiration for the 21st.”

New bio gives Vrba his due

Rudolf Vrba, left, and author Alan Twigg at the University of British Columbia in 2001. Twigg’s new book on Vrba, Holocaust Hero: The Life & Times of Rudolf Vrba, breaks much new ground. (photo by Beverly Cramp)

Celebrated German factory owner Oskar Schindler is estimated to have saved the lives of about 1,200 Jews during the Holocaust. Carl Lutz, a Swiss vice-consul in Budapest, is credited with organizing protective documents and “safe houses” that helped between 50,000 and 62,000 Jews survive. Raoul Wallenberg, a Swedish envoy in Budapest issued passports and sheltered people in buildings, saving somewhere between 20,000 and more than 30,000 Jews. Chiune Sugihara, a Japanese consul in Kaunas, Lithuania, wrote thousands of transit visas, enabling about 6,000 Jews to escape via the Soviet Union and Japan, some of whom came to Canada and settled in Vancouver.

But few outside certain circles know of Rudolf Vrba. The late University of British Columbia professor of pharmacology escaped from Auschwitz and alerted the world to what was happening there. Estimates of the number of Jews saved by Vrba’s report vary, but a consensus among historians worldwide suggests he helped halt the mass deportation of more than 200,000 of Hungary’s Jews to Auschwitz. The late eminent historian Sir Martin Gilbert said of Vrba: “No other single act in the Second World War saved so many Jews from the fate that Hitler and the SS had determined for them.”

And yet, Vrba’s name remains largely unknown. This is not a coincidence. After the war, especially in Israel, there was a deliberate effort to downplay Vrba’s perspective of events.

A new book – the first of a meticulous two-volume assessment of Vrba’s life – has just been released by Vancouver author Alan Twigg. It goes great lengths to broadening awareness of Vrba’s heroism and correcting the many misconceptions around his legacy. In the process, Holocaust Hero: The Life & Times of Rudolf Vrba breaks much new ground.

Coincidental to the release of this publication, a monument to Vrba’s memory is to be unveiled later this month at Schara Tzedeck Cemetery, righting what many locals see as an unjust historic oversight.

While Vrba wrote his own memoirs, somewhat incredibly, Twigg’s book is the first real Vrba biography.

“There’s never been an in-depth biography of Rudolf Vrba,” said Twigg, who deliberately did not replicate the contents of Vrba’s own 1963 book, written with Alan Bestic, titled I Cannot Forgive and re-released in the 1980s as Escape from Auschwitz. “I tried to concentrate on information that was not available anywhere.”

While this first volume is an eye-opener for those who know nothing of Vrba, it contains bombshells and fascinating depth even for those who have read Vrba’s book or who otherwise know something about his story. And Twigg promises more to come in the next volume.

“The really revealing material is going to be in Volume Two,” Twigg told the Independent. “That volume will be almost entirely original material and it will show the evolution of Rudi’s character.”

Those who know of Vrba are aware of his daring escape. But that was, in many ways, the beginning of his historic story. He joined the Partisans and was a decorated war hero. He was an extraordinary intellectual, a difficult personality, had a dark humour many people didn’t understand, and carried anger throughout his life.

“I think it’s so important if you’re writing a biography to get across his character, not just the events of his life,” said Twigg. The participation of Vrba’s widow, Robin, was invaluable and the book includes extended transcriptions of Twigg’s engaging conversations with her.

Rudolf Vrba was originally a false name that came on the forged papers given to Walter Rosenberg soon after he filed his report and then joined the Czechoslovakian resistance after his escape from Auschwitz.

Born in Slovakia, Rosenberg/Vrba was transported to Auschwitz in June 1942. He steadfastly viewed the plunder of Jewish assets – not antisemitism as its own accelerant – as the motive for the Holocaust.

Vrba is said to have had a near-photographic memory, which allowed him to store away data that would change the course of history. It is believed that he greeted almost every train arriving at Auschwitz for 10 months, mentally noting estimated numbers and places of origin.

Eventually, he gained the coveted job of registrar of Birkenau’s quarantine camp, allowing him unusual access to additional information and limited freedom of movement. He learned that plans were afoot to liquidate the last remaining large population of European Jews – the 800,000 in Hungary – whose destruction would be streamlined by the construction of a new rail line to expedite transportation to the crematoria.

Vrba connected with Alfréd Wetzler, another Slovakian Jew who was registrar of the morgue.

On April 7, 1944, Vrba and Wetzler hid in a woodpile, still on the Birkenau site but outside the barbed wire prisoner encampment. Gasoline-soaked tobacco threw search dogs off their scent. They hid there for three days and nights as search parties worked 24/7 to find the escapees. After the intensive search was called off, they made their move.

The pair made an 11-day trek by foot through Poland to the border with Slovakia, where they connected with the Jewish community.

“Their feet were bloodied and misshapen,” Twigg reports. “A doctor was summoned. The malnourished pair recovered and soon cooperated with Jewish Council officials to produce an anonymous report that would be so detailed and emotionless that it could not not be believed.”

The Vrba-Wetzler Report, as it became known, was the first to have any significant reverberations, apparently because of the mathematical tallies and objective, scientific-like writing.

With the report, pressure came down on Admiral Miklós Horthy, the Hungarian leader viewed by most as a Nazi collaborationist, to halt the deportations of Hungarian Jews to Auschwitz. By 1944, the tide had begun to turn against the Nazis and so it was not moral considerations, Twigg suggests, that turned Horthy against the deportations, but the fear of war crimes charges after the war. Regardless of Horthy’s motivations, it was this impact of the Vrba-Wetzler Report that is believed to have saved at least 100,000 and as many as 200,000 lives.

The deportations did not end permanently, though. And here Vrba’s history is inescapably tied up with that of another Rudolf – Rudolf (Rezső) Kasztner, one of the most polarizing figures in Holocaust history.

“A controversy persists to this day as to the extent prominent Jewish and Zionist leaders should be held accountable for a myriad of failures to adequately inform Jews about the lethal dangers of boarding the trains,” Twigg writes. “For the rest of his days, Vrba would chiefly lay the blame for the failure to adequately inform approximately 800,000 Jews in Hungary about the Holocaust on Kasztner, the Zionist leader from northern Transylvania.”

Kasztner was the first non-Slovakian official to see the Vrba-Wetzler Report and a harsh dispute rages still around what happened next.

In meetings among the leadership of Hungarian Jewry, it was apparently Kasztner who pressed for an approach in which, rather than alerting the Jewish population, the leadership would keep the information to themselves and negotiate directly with Adolf Eichmann for favourable terms that made it possible for Kasztner and other senior Jewish figures to save themselves and a number of others.

Kasztner (and those sympathetic to his narrative) would have seen some logic in the fact that the Nazi war effort was foundering and the Germans desperately needed goods and money, something Kasztner and his associates believed they could access through Jewish channels internationally. With the Soviets approaching from the east, they may have thought they could buy time and save more than their limited numbers.

Eventually, Kasztner negotiated with Eichmann that a trainload of about 1,684 Jews, many or most of Kasztner’s own choosing, would set off for Switzerland. It is estimated that the passage for each passenger had been “bought” from Eichmann for about $1,000.

The passengers did not go directly to Switzerland, though, but were rerouted to Bergen-Belsen. Unlike the other Hungarian Jews arriving at the concentration camps, however, these 1,600 or so were kept separate and eventually did make it to Switzerland, in two transports, later in the year.

In the meantime, 400,000 Hungarian Jews were sent to Auschwitz, where almost all of them were murdered.

The title of Vrba’s book, I Cannot Forgive, is assumed to refer to the Nazis. Twigg, among others, believes it is simultaneously a reference to Kasztner and his coterie of Jewish leaders.

Vrba was openly critical of the Jewish leadership, particularly those in Hungary and especially Kasztner, who by this time had risen to a moderately senior post in the Israeli government, along with other Hungarian Jewish leaders who were senior or mid-level figures in the governing party, Mapai. To some extent, put simply, the Hungarian Jews who had negotiated with Eichmann and who Vrba blamed for preventing his report from saving exponentially more Jewish lives, became integrated into the nascent elite of the new Jewish state. It was decidedly not in their interests to have the provocative professor, now halfway around the world in Vancouver, obtain any wider audience for his book.

Ruth Linn, an Israeli scholar of moral psychology and Holocaust memory at the University of Haifa, has Vancouver connections and stumbled onto Vrba’s story a couple of decades ago. She could not understand why his name was almost completely unknown in Israel. She spearheaded the first publication of the Vrba-Wetzler Report in Hebrew, in 1998, and, in 2004, wrote Escaping Auschwitz: A Culture of Forgetting, which examined why Vrba’s account had been marginalized in Israel and how politics and memory shaped Holocaust historiography.

Capturing the dichotomy of the debate around Kasztner’s role in the Hungarian Holocaust, Twigg juxtaposes two quotes. An Israeli judge, Benjamin Halevi, said of Kasztner, “He didn’t sell his soul to the devil; he was the devil.” Canadian author and publisher Anna Porter, who has written about the subject, said, “If you’re in hell, who do you negotiate with but the devil?”

A 1955 libel trial instigated by Kasztner proved his undoing. Ostensibly a case against Malkiel Gruenwald, who publicized the wartime actions of Kasztner, the trial turned into an examination of the facts of the case. Halevi, the judge who deemed Kasztner the devil himself, ruled that, by saving a chosen few, Kasztner had sacrificed the majority of Hungarian Jews. More than two years later, Israel’s Supreme Court overturned the judgment, but Kasztner did not live to see his legal redemption. He was assassinated outside his home in March 1957.

Twigg came to the Vrba story more by happenstance than design. Twigg edited BC Bookworld, a newspaper about books and authors, for more than three decades.

“I used to keep track of all the books of British Columbia and I had categories,” he said. He could cross-reference, for example, all books on Japanese-Canadians or forestry.

Based on this knowledge, in 2022, Twigg wrote Out of Hiding: Holocaust Literature of British Columbia. (See jewishindependent.ca/a-roadmap-to-remembering.) Its largest, though still necessarily brief, section is on Vrba. However, this was inadequate for Twigg, who decided to expand the project – first as a comprehensive website (rudolfvrba.com) – now as this book.

Not directly related to Holocaust Hero but timely, if profoundly overdue, an ad hoc group of friends and admirers of Vrba will erect the world’s only monument to him on Sunday, Oct. 26, beginning with a ceremony in the chapel at Schara Tzedeck Cemetery at 2 p.m. The program will feature reflections on Vrba’s life, legacy and enduring impact from Dr. Robert Krell, Dr. Joseph Ragaz and Prof. Chris Friedrichs, and will conclude with the dedication of the memorial monument.

Vrba monument to be unveiled

photo - Rudolf Vrba, in the 1960s — Rudolf Vrba, in the 1960s. *(photo from University of British Columbia. Archives)*

Rudolf Vrba’s escape from Auschwitz and testimony helped alert the world to the horrors of the Holocaust, and Vrba is credited with saving the lives of more than 100,000 Hungarian Jews. On Oct. 26, 2 p.m., at Schara Tzedeck Cemetery Chapel in New Westminster, a commemoration ceremony will be held for Vrba. The program will feature reflections on his life, legacy and enduring impact from Dr. Robert Krell and Dr. Joseph Ragaz, and will conclude with the dedication of a memorial monument in Vrba’s honour.

Holocaust by bullets

The harrowing history of Ukraine’s past was recounted recently in the annual lecture honouring Rudolf Vrba, the late Vancouver scientist whose 1944 escape from Auschwitz brought the most concrete proof of the Nazi “Final Solution” to the world.

Dr. Nataliia Ivchyk delivered the 2023 Rudolf Vrba Memorial Lecture, titled The Holocaust in Ukraine: Violence, Gender and Memory. Ivchyk is at the University of British Columbia on a visiting fellowship that was created by Dr. Richard Menkis and Dr. Heidi Tworek to bring to Vancouver a Ukrainian scholar at risk. Ivchyk is associate professor in the department of political sciences at Rivne State University for the Humanities in her hometown of Rivne, Ukraine, and her work is focused on public history and memory politics.

Ivchyk’s presentation was based on survivor testimonies held at the USC Shoah Foundation, and narrowed in on the experiences of Jews in the western Ukrainian region of Volhynia and Podilia. Of the approximately 27,000 Jews who lived in Rivne (then known as Rovno) in 1937, it is estimated that just around 1,200 survived to the 1944 liberation by the Red Army. In a single day, on Nov. 6, 1941, about 21,000 Jews were murdered by Einsatzgruppe C and Ukrainian collaborators. The surviving Jews were imprisoned in the Rovno Ghetto, which was created the following month. In July 1942, remaining Jews, about 5,000, were transported to a stone quarry and murdered.

About 1.5 million Jews died in Ukrainian territory during the war years, most of them shot in what has been called the “Holocaust by bullets.”

“The Holocaust has long remained on the margins of collective memory in Ukraine,” said Ivchyk. Babyn Yar, a ravine outside Kyiv where more than 33,000 Jews were murdered over two days in 1941, has become a national symbol of Holocaust remembrance, she said. “However, the local level of remembrance remained low.”

There are many other sites of atrocities that were committed in Ukraine. “Some are marked by monuments, others are still forgotten and lost,” she said.

Of the several thousand Jews who survived the initial mass executions, anyone over the age of 13 was forced into slave labour.

“Nobody wanted to work for the Germans,” Ivchyk quoted one survivor, “but we had to. We hoped it would somehow balance our relationship with the Germans and would help us survive.”

Violence against women was mainly carried out by Ukrainian collaborators, she said, though Nazis also took part.

“I remember many times Germans came at night, knocked on the windows, took away beautiful girls,” Ivchyk quoted a survivor. “Sometimes, they raped and killed them right away. Sometimes, they said we will come again.”

Rabbis became a particular target of violence against men, given their social and symbolic status, and their role as spiritual leaders.

In the Soviet era, historical memorialization was subordinated to the priorities of the regime.

“The Holodomor [the deliberate Soviet famine that killed millions of Ukrainians], the deportation of Crimean Tatars, the Holocaust and the genocide of the Roma – all of these events were suppressed in collective memory by the Soviet regime,” she said.

Today, support in Ukraine for Holocaust memorialization is ambivalent.

“The activities of the state today do not prohibit academic, educational or public activities in the field of Holocaust remembrance, but neither does it act as a financial or ideological initiator,” she said.

The Vrba event was funded by the Holocaust education committee of UBC’s department of history, which is responsible for the annual lecture, as well as a number of other organizations, including the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre and the Diamond Chair in Jewish Law and Ethics.

Menkis, associate professor of modern Jewish history at UBC and chair of the Holocaust education committee, noted that the event recognizes Vrba’s contributions to two primary areas to which Vrba’s life was devoted: Holocaust education and science, particularly pharmacology. The annual lectures alternate between these topics.

Menkis told the audience how Vrba and his friend Alfréd Wetzler made the momentous decision to escape from Auschwitz after overhearing conversations around the planned deportation of Hungarian Jewry. After a difficult and dangerous trek, the pair reached northern Slovakia, where they compiled a report documenting the layout of Auschwitz and the extermination process there.

“Although the report is credited with saving many lives,” said Menkis, “Vrba and Wetzler were keenly aware that more decisive action could have saved more. After the war, Dr. Vrba continued to speak about Auschwitz and his experiences. His book, I Cannot Forgive, written with Alan Bestic, was first published in 1963 and has been issued in a number of translations and re-editions since. He is also well known for his unforgettable testimony in Claude Lanzmann’s [documentary film] Shoah and perhaps less well-known but also important was his effective testimony in the Canadian trials against Holocaust denier Ernst Zundel.”

Vrba’s widow, Robin, attended the event virtually. Vrba died in 2006.

The repackaging of a hero

Anyone who knows more than a little bit about Holocaust hero Rudolf Vrba – a Vancouverite for 31 years – will approach Jonathan Freedland’s The Escape Artist: The Man Who Broke Out of Auschwitz to Warn the World (London, UK: John Murray, 2022) with delight and apprehension.

Will this Guardian journalist and thriller writer take the high road, encouraging everyone to seek out Vrba’s own fascinating, still-in-print memoir? Or will he be more like Elvis swinging his hips, simulating Black-style music, because, hey, most people won’t know the difference?

Rudolf Vrba’s name is nowhere to be found on the cover. At the top of the jacket is the subtitle. At the bottom, Freedland’s name. The main title, front and centre, implies 19-year-old Vrba was Houdini-like but, as Freedland well knows, Vrba and his co-escapee Alfred Wetzler took advantage of an escape plan and a hideout conceived and built by others.

The pair’s report on Auschwitz was by far Vrba’s greater achievement – exposing the vast scale of murder at Auschwitz to the world-at-large, convincing everyone who read it. The pair is now credited with saving 200,000 lives.

* * *

As someone who knew Vrba, I am sympathetic to Freedland’s undertaking. How do we get more people, including academics and even Jewish community members, to celebrate one of the greatest heroes of the 20th century?

Thankfully, The Escape Artist is clear and precise storytelling. With access to Vrba’s archival materials in New York’s Franklin Delano Roosevelt Library and input from both of Vrba’s wives, Freedland has also been able to add a good deal of fresh information to the public record.

It will be enlightening for most readers to learn that four other men actually planned and built Vrba’s getaway hideout (where Vrba and his cohort Wetzler hid for three days). This seldom-cited quartet tested it for real, escaping for several days before being caught and tortured, but not killed.

Vrba’s own narrative – first entitled I Cannot Forgive and later changed to I Escaped From Auschwitz – omitted crediting the extreme courage of these men. Without them, Vrba would never have reached Slovakia and co-written the Vrba-Wetzler Report, intended to forewarn 800,000 Jews of Hungary not to get on those trains. From Freedland, not from Vrba, we also learn how one of the tortured members of that quartet was able to assure Vrba that he and his escapees had not divulged their undiscovered hideout in the “Mexico” section of the camp.

“Mexico” was so-named, Freedland tells us, because poor souls marooned in the construction zone with makeshift shelters were not given clothes; consequently, naked prisoners had to drape themselves in blankets and other prisoners at Auschwitz-Birkenau thought they looked like New Mexico Indians.

Vrba did make clear, however, that in order to travel over land through hostile territory for a grueling 14 days, he and Wetzler had followed explicit directives that Vrba had received from a Russian prisoner named Dimitri Volkov. Hence, it was Volkov who was the master of escapology; Vrba was his disciple.

For virtually all of the people on the planet who have not sought out the two volumes of fascinating, self-published memoirs by Vrba’s first wife, Gerta, The Escape Artist will be welcomed for divulging details of Vrba’s first marriage. Gerta had to take her leave, penniless, with their two daughters, to escape from a philandering and distrustful husband who was clearly still in recovery after almost two years in Auschwitz.

The extent to which both his daughters felt estranged from him is touched upon. We also learn more about his eldest daughter Helena’s apparent suicide in Papua New Guinea in 1982 (an overdose of chloroquine in response to her love affair with a married man who left her) after she had all but severed ties with her father three years earlier.

As well:

Freedland notes there is a distinct possibility that Vrba’s father might have died by suicide as a failed businessman (when Vrba was aged 4).
Vrba was his mother’s only child (he had two, much older step-brothers and a step-sister from his father’s previous marriage).
After his father’s death, Vrba’s mother was a traveling saleswoman for much of his early childhood, absent for much of his formative years.
Vrba’s penchant for science might have emerged after all Jewish children were told to return their textbooks, but a friend named Erwin Eisler managed to keep his organic chemistry text by Czech scientist Emil Votocek.

Gerta’s books have already revealed that Vrba, as a youth, emerged as a leader in a self-teaching circle of friends and that, when Gerta was 13, she was enraptured by his precocious intelligence and confidence. Vrba was 15 and sometimes dismissed her as childish.

Gerta Vrbova and Vrba’s second wife, former Vancouver realtor Robin Vrba, were invaluable informants for Freedland but we have no idea who told him what. Their contributions to history are invisiblized, not unlike what could have happened to Vrba and Wetzler, who were advised by Jewish elders in their native Slovakia not to have their names attached to their momentous reportage.

* * *

One error must be cited: on page 8, Freedland states that Vrba and Wetzler were “the first Jews to break out of Auschwitz.” Freedland later devotes three pages to Siegfried Lederer’s marvelous escape on April 5, 1944, when Lederer [tattoo # 170521] outwitted Nazi guards by donning an SS uniform provided by SS officer Viktor Pestek.

Google will tell you that Siegfried Lederer, aka Vítězslav Lederer (March 6, 1904-April 5, 1972), was born to a Jewish family in Písařova Vesce in the Sudetenland. Czech sites convey he was a Resistance fighter who was transported from the Terezín Ghetto to Auschwitz-Birkenau (arrival on Dece. 18, 1943). He was forced to wear both yellow and red triangles, marking him as a Jew and as a political prisoner. After he escaped, he warned Judenrat elders at Theresienstadt about the mass murder of Jews at Auschwitz – but he was both disbelieved and told to remain quiet.

If Freedland has some contradictory information to prove that Lederer is not Jewish, he might well have provided it. Certainly, for marketing purposes, it sounds better to imply Vrba and Wetzler were first. Sure enough, an uncredited review now permanently appears on the Guardian/Observer website and it baldly asserts: it took until 10 April, 1944, but eventually Vrba and fellow prisoner Alfred Wetzler “achieved what no Jew had ever done before: they had broken out of Auschwitz.”

One has to wonder who wrote that uncredited summary. On page 171 of his book, Freedland slyly covers himself by saying, “Fred Wetzler and Walter Rosenberg [Vrba’s birth name] were on their way to becoming ‘the first Jews to engineer their own escape from Auschwitz.’” Trouble is, he has already told us that four prisoners – named Citrinm, Eisenbach, Gotzel and Balaban – ought to be chiefly credited for building (ie. engineering) the hideout, not Vrba and Wetzler.

We like to assume people who write for the Guardian must have higher standards, but, hmm, maybe not. Now people all over the world can watch Freedland’s June 18th promotional video on YouTube in which he self-assuredly states, “I know, since I’ve nailed this down, that only four Jews ever escaped from Auschwitz, and Vrba and Wetzler were the first.” Either this is a lie or research standards at the Guardian have drastically plummeted.

Overall, The Escape Artist is an intelligent, valuable and easy-to-read account by someone who is bright enough to know that a warts-’n’-all portrayal of Vrba’s life is the best possible way to get the world interested.

If Freedland treads lightly when it comes to defending Vrba and foremost Vrba expert Ruth Linn in their battle with Yad Vashem historian Yehuda Bauer, well, perhaps he can be excused for wanting as many readers as possible in Israel. Robert Krell, as the founding force behind the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre, was interviewed but he appears on only one page. Two other Vancouverites, Dr. Joseph Ragaz and Prof. Chris Friedrichs, were interviewed by Freedland, but their input is not cited except in an acknowledgements section. Linn, an Israeli academic and a part-time Vancouverite, who was for eight years the only scholar that Vrba permitted to interview him, declined to be interviewed. Linn and Freedland both first became aware of Vrba’s existence by watching Claude Lanzmann’s nine-and-a-half-hour documentary Shoah.

* * *

I greatly appreciate the effort it took to fashion a potential bestseller for a new generation that knows increasingly less about the Holocaust. I am certain Vrba’s co-author Alan Bestic, who overcame different obstacles for his time, would likewise approve. Unfortunately, the bibliography omits any mention of Bestic’s co-writing of the memoir I Cannot Forgive and it’s only mentioned once in the text, on page 272. For that matter, Vrba’s own book, with its current title, is cited precisely once in small print within the depths of a seven-page bibliography. (There it is, on page 358, included alongside a scientific paper Vrba published about his research on rat brains.)

London-based Bestic was a fantastic writer. Freedland is a very fine one, too. He can turn a phrase. He can step back and be invisible. He has poise and tact. It is unfortunate, therefore, that Bestic’s essential role as Vrba’s co-writer has been ignored and even somewhat denigrated (“a supremely skilled Fleet Street journalist of the old school”). We don’t learn anything about him. If Freedland has the means to undertake research in New York and Vancouver, why is there no apparent digging to tell us anything about the man who wrote most of the text upon which The Escape Artist itself is necessarily based?

As a writer, Freedland has a very cool, even calculating hand. That’s good for journalism; it might even be good for thriller writing. But the drama of Vrba’s story has been subdued in this modern version. The Escape Artist is nonetheless an essential and welcome work, if it gets the world aware of one of the greatest whistleblowers of the 20th century. Ideally, the book will lead more people to seek out the latest version of Vrba’s own narrative, I Escaped From Auschwitz: The Shocking True Story of the World War II Hero Who Escaped the Nazis and Helped Save Over 200,000 Jews, released in 2020, co-edited by Nikola Zimring and Robin Vrba, minus its original opening chapter.

Alan Twigg’s 20th book is Out of Hiding: Holocaust Literature of British Columbia (Ronsdale Press, 2022). This year, he received an honorary doctorate from Simon Fraser University.

Revealing truth elicits threats

University of Ottawa’s Prof. Jan Grabowski delivered the Rudolf Vrba Memorial Lecture at the University of British Columbia Nov. 15. (photo by Pat Johnson)

Jan Grabowski, a University of Ottawa professor who is a leading scholar of the Holocaust, delivered the annual Rudolf Vrba Memorial Lecture at the University of British Columbia Nov. 15 – the same day he filed a libel suit against an organization aligned with Poland’s far-right government.

The Polish League Against Defamation, which is allied with the country’s governing Law and Justice Party, initiated a campaign against Grabowski last year, accusing him of ignoring the number of Poles who saved Jews and exaggerating the number of Jews killed by their Polish compatriots. Grabowski’s book, Hunt for the Jews: Betrayal and Murder in German-Occupied Poland, won the 2014 Yad Vashem International Book Prize for Holocaust Research. An English translation of an even more compendious multi-year analysis undertaken by a team of researchers under Grabowski’s leadership will be published next year. His Vrba lecture provided an overview of some of the findings in the new work. It is a harrowing survey that brought condemnation from Polish-Canadians in the Vancouver audience.

The new book, which does not yet have an English title, is a work of “microhistory,” Grabowski said. Holocaust studies is one of the fastest-growing fields of historical research, he said, partly because it got off to a slow start and really only picked up in the 1980s. Much of the written work being completed today is in the area of survivor memoirs, second- and third-generation experiences, including inherited trauma, and “meta-history,” the study of the study of the Holocaust.

“This assumes that we actually know what has happened,” he said. Grabowski maintains there is still much primary research to be done. “We are still far away from knowing as much as we should about this, one of the greatest tragedies in human history.”

There are millions of pages of relevant historical documentation almost completely untapped – primarily in provincial Polish archives, police records and town halls – that spell out in detail the often-enthusiastic complicity of Poles in turning on their

Jewish neighbours. By combing through these previously ignored records, Grabowski and his co-authors have amassed evidence of widespread – and eager – involvement of Polish police and other Poles in assisting Germans to identify, hunt down and murder Polish Jews.

The work has been met with official condemnation. Earlier this year, the Polish government adopted a law that would expose scholars involved in the study of the Holocaust to fines and prison terms of up to three years. The criminal component of the law, including imprisonment, was rescinded after international backlash, but the atmosphere around Holocaust inquiry in Poland remains repressive.

Grabowski said that the “explosion of right-wing extremists, xenophobia and blatant antisemitism” in Poland is related to the “undigested, unlearned and/or rejected legacy of the Holocaust” – the fact that Polish society has, by and large, refused to acknowledge the wounds of the past or to deal with its own role in the extermination of three million of its Jewish citizens between 1939 to 1945.

The concept of microhistory, which is the approach Grabowski’s team uses, is not local history, he said, “it is an attempt to follow trajectories of people.” He instructed his researchers to focus on the exact day, often hour by hour, when liquidation actions took place in hundreds of Polish shtetls and ghettoes. To do so upends a conspiracy of silence that has existed for decades.

“Why the silence?” he asked the audience. “There were three parts to the silence. One was the Jews. They were dead. They had no voice … 98.5% of Polish Jews who remained under German occupation, who never fled, died. You have a 1.5% survival rate for the Polish Jews. So, the Jews couldn’t really, after the war, ask for justice, because they were gone.”

The communist regime that dominated Poland for a half-century after the war was viewed not only as a foreign power inflicted on Poles from the Soviet Union, Grabowski said, “but, more importantly, as Jewish lackeys – that was a term that was used.

“So, it wouldn’t really stand to have trials of those accused of complicity with the Germans for murdering the Jews,” he said. “That would only confirm the widespread accusations that the communists were here doing the Jewish bidding.”

The third factor in the silence were the interests of Polish nationalists, whose ideology is inherently antisemitic, and who are the dominant political force in the country today.

image - Hunt for the Jews book cover — *Hunt for the Jews* won the 2014 Yad Vashem International Book Prize for Holocaust Research.

While clearly not all Poles were collaborators, it would have been impossible for almost anyone in the country to claim ignorance of what was happening.

“Mass killing was taking place in the streets,” the professor said. Researchers found bills of sale charging city officials for the sand municipal workers needed to cover the blood on sidewalks.

“When you say that blood was running in the streets, it’s not a metaphor, it’s just a description of what really happened,” he said.

In some ghettos, as many as half the Jewish population was killed on the day of the action, with massive participation from Polish society.

“One area more, one area less,” he said. “Usually between 10 and 20% of Jews were slaughtered simply in order to frighten the remaining 80% to go to the trains, to be herded to the trains,” said Grabowski.

In Poland’s smaller communities, centuries of Jewish and Polish social, commercial and civic interactions did not result in camaraderie – on the contrary.

“The deadliest places of all [were] small shtetls, small towns, where anonymity was not available when the authorities were not far away,” he said. In one instance, a Jew in hiding heard his neighbour assure the Nazis he would return with a hatchet to help them break into the hiding place seconds before the door was axed down.

In another example, Grabowski described in minute detail the atrocities committed by Germans, Poles and Ukrainian recruits in Węgrów, a town in eastern central Poland with a Jewish population of about “10,000 starving Jews who have been terrorized for nearly three years and now the final moment has come.”

Rumours of liquidation swirled for months, as Jews fleeing neighbouring communities brought narratives of destruction. In the day or two before the liquidation, wives of Polish military and other officials rushed to their Jewish tailors, shoemakers and others craftspeople to obtain the items they knew would soon become unavailable.

“With mounting panic, people started to prepare themselves for a siege,” said Grabowski. “They built hideouts to survive the initial German fury, they started to seek out contacts on the Aryan side of the city, looking for help from former neighbours, sometimes friends and former business partners.”

On the eve of Yom Kippur in 1942, Polish officials in the town were instructed to assemble horses, wagons and volunteers. A cordon of Nazis and collaborators surrounded the city at intervals of no more than 100 metres.

The mayor of the town wrote: “Jews who woke up to the terrible news ran like mad around the city, half-naked, looking for shelter.” The same leader noted that, when the Germans demanded he produce volunteers to help with the task of rounding up their Jewish neighbours, he feared he would not be able to meet their needs.

“Before I was able to leave my office, in order to assess the situation and issue orders for the removal of the bodies,” the mayor testified, “removal of the bodies had already started. There were carts and people ready. They volunteered for the job without any pressure.”

For Jews, the Germans were to be feared, but their Polish neighbours were also a threat.

“The greatest danger was not associated with the Germans, but with the Poles,” said Grabowski. “Unlike the former, the latter could easily tell a Jew from a non-Jew by their accent, customs and physical appearance.”

Poles were rewarded with a quarter-kilo of sugar for every Jew they turned in.

“The searches were conducted with extreme brutality and violence … the streets were soon filled with crowds of Jews being driven toward the market square, which the Germans had transformed into a holding pen for thousands of ghetto inmates,” he said.

On the streets, “the cries of Jews mixed with the shouts of the Germans and the laughter of the Poles,” according to an eyewitness.

“All of this was done in a small town where everybody knows each other,” said Grabowski. “It’s not only the question of geographic proximity, it’s social proximity. These people knew each other.”

People were taking clothes, jewelry and other possessions from the dead bodies. A husband would toss a body in the air while the wife pulled off articles of clothing until what was left was a pile of naked cadavers.

“They even pulled out golden teeth with pliers,” said Grabowski. A court clerk responded defensively to accusations that the gold he was trying to sell was soaked in human blood. “I personally washed the stuff,” he protested.

The prevalence in the Polish imagination of a Jewish association with gold partly accounted for the actions.

“This betrayal, due to widespread antisemitism and hatred of the Jews, was combined with the seemingly universal conviction that Jewish gold was just waiting to be transferred to new owners,” Grabowski said. “The myth of Jewish gold was so popular and so deeply rooted among Poles that it sealed the fate of [many Jews].”

The historical records indicate many Poles saw no need to cover their collaborationist tracks. Police and others who took it upon themselves to aid the Nazis without pressure defended their actions.

One policeman, after the war, depicted the killing of Jews as a patriotic act, one that saved Polish villagers from the wrath of the Nazis, who would have learned sooner or later about Jews in hiding and who then, he claimed, would have burned down the entire village.

As efficient as the Nazi killing machine was, Grabowski contends it could not have been as effective without the enthusiastic complicity of so many in Poland and other occupied countries.

“It was their participation that, in a variety of ways, made the German system of murder as efficient as it was,” he said.

With trepidation, Grabowski and his fellow researchers followed the documents and met with people in the towns. They would review documents from a 1947 trial, for instance, then go to the village in question.

The entire village would be conscious of its war-era history, he said. And the people who are, decades later, ostracized by their neighbours are not those who collaborated in the murder of Jews.

“The person that is ostracized is the family who tried to rescue the Jews, because they broke a certain social taboo and it still visible 75 or 76 years after the fact,” he said.

“Every time I present a speech to a Polish audience, the question of Polish righteous is presented as if it is a fig leaf behind which everyone else can hide.”

In the question-and-answer session, Grabowski shut down a persistent audience member who identified as Polish and who took exception with Grabowski’s research, arguing that Poland has more Righteous Among the Nations at Yad Vashem than any other country.

“Every time I present a speech to a Polish audience, the question of Polish righteous is presented as if it is a fig leaf behind which everyone else can hide,” said Grabowski, who was born and educated in Warsaw. “The thing is, do you know how many Jews needed to be rescued? Poland had the largest Jewish community and using today Polish righteous as a universal and, let’s say, fig leaf behind which situations like I described here can be hidden is absolutely unconscionable. I protest against any attempt to overshadow the tragedy of Jewish people [with] the sacrifice of very, very few Poles.”

While Poland’s far-right government removed the mandated jail sentence for anyone found guilty of “slandering” Poland or Poles with complicity in Nazi war crimes, acknowledging the participation of Polish collaborators in the Holocaust remains a civil offence and Holocaust scholars in the country – and in Canada – face death threats and intimidation.

In introducing Grabowski, Richard Menkis, associate professor in the department of history at UBC, paid tribute to Rudolf Vrba, a Slovakian Jew who escaped Auschwitz and brought to the world inside information about the death camp, its operations and physical layout. Vrba, with fellow escapee Albert Wetzler, warned in 1944 that Hungarian Jews were about to face mass transport to the death camps. The news is credited with saving as many as 200,000 lives.

Vrba migrated to Canada and became a professor of pharmacology at UBC. He died in 2006.

The Vrba lecture alternates annually between an issue relevant to the Holocaust and an issue chosen by the pharmacology department in the faculty of medicine.