Like me, you might have read a lot of books about the Holocaust – and even more about the impact of World War II; but I can guarantee that Lale Sokolov’s story – as narrated by Heather Morris – will move you more deeply than anything you’ve come across before. I wept at times, whooped at others and was left with a sense of optimism about the flexibility of the human spirit and the power of love. The Tattooist of Auschwitz stayed with me long after I put it down.
Lale was born in 1916 as Ludwig Eisenberg – incidentally, the same birth year as my mother. But unlike my mom who, as a 25-year-old in 1942, fell in love with my dad and lived a carefree life working as a secretary in Pretoria – her only worry the shortage of nylon stockings and petrol due to the war in Europe; young Lale’s future dreams were shattered as he was thrown onto a train and transported to Auschwitz from Slovakia.
It’s astounding that he only shared his story for the first time in 2003 – some seventy years later, with Heather. I wonder why: was it his survivor’s guilt? Or was it because he felt ashamed and afraid that he might still be seen as a Nazi collaborator – haunted by this so many years later?
Through Heather’s close friendship with Lale one gets to know him, which in itself is a wonderful experience. When she first met him as an 87-year-old man, she was immediately enamoured with his charm and quirky disposition. This was a survivor, and no one was more deserving of a long and happy life with the love of his life by his side – who he met and fell in love with instantly, albeit it within the confines of the dreadful admission line into the murder camp, Auschwitz.
He was the tattooist – a Jewish boy chosen to number his fellow Jews on arrival at the camp. That was where he held the beautiful Gita Furman’s hand for the first time while he tattooed her number onto her forearm – and when he looked into her eyes, he just knew that she was the ‘one’.
As the tattooist he was shunned, viewed by many as one of ‘them’ (the oppressors), and in some cases the Nazis thought of him in the same way. The reality was that his job afforded him some unique opportunities: access to food, and the freedom to move around and to make deals to help keep many of his fellow prisoners alive. Many owed their lives to his shrewdness.
Lale’s experience at Auschwitz was as horrendous as any of the millions of other prisoners, marked by the extremes of human behaviour and brutality. Yet, he never allowed anyone to dehumanise him, and neither did he allow himself to become a victim.
In fact, I found myself celebrating every one of his small triumphs with him; his innovative ways of outdoing his capturers, and his countless selfless acts of love.
It is a quick read, well written and carefully verified. A story that proves there were people who not only survived the terrible war and the inhuman acts performed by the Nazi regime, but who also went on to live a full and wonderful life in defiance of those that once tried to destroy their spirit.
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