The Tale of My Life

“I am honored to be here tonight, as a guess speaker ,and upholding this award. My name is Eyrk Ryncarz and this is my story.”
There were four of us in the family including Mitzi, our little German Affenpinscher. We were prided Poles and proud Jews. Although we weren’t religious, we were still Jewish and we celebrated every major holiday as any Jewish family would. I began assisting my mother on the household bill when my father died. I dropped out of my studies at the City College and got a job as a baker’s assistant. I made 55 zloty a day. My little sister Jasa was starting middle school then; it seemed only yesterday when I began changing her diapers.

Life was harder then, and even harder now, still, we found ways to keep on living and even ways to have fun. But then everything changed. September 1st, 1939 was a day I will never forget. I can still recall the scent of mother’s famous blueberry that woke me up for work.

That noon, we were attacked by Germans. Fighter planes bombard the town square. Within minutes, Wieluń center was in ruins. In panic, I ran home, still wearing an apron, dusty with flour. My village was virtually “untouched”
“We’ve been bombed, by Germans!” I shouted.
“Wha—what” stuttered mother, who was by then shaking.
Too awed to talked, we started packing in silent. We handed Mitzi to a neighbor who we ere going on a vacation before school started.
For two days we hid under in a abandon church, then the third day we were confronted by German soldiers. I stared them right in the eyes. One of the soldiers took Sarah from my mother’s hand and dragged her to a truck crammed with other children of the same age. Naturally punched him, hard enough that my knuckles became dislocated. The soldier stared back at me with the eyes of a tiger and yelled an order.

“Manschette ihn und bringt ihn in die Viehwaggons”.
Mother was part German, she must have understood. She signaled me to run and slipped a gold ring and an old watch into my pockets.
We ran as fast as we could, but my mother couldn’t keep up. The soldiers opened fire, and my mother froze. The Germans cuffed her, and dragged her to a different truck, but as crowded as the one that had just swallowed Sarah.

As far as I know they went straight to the gas.

A soldier motioned with his rifle for me to get on a truck, but I knocked him down and ran into the woods by the side of the road.
They fired at me but I was soon lost in the trees.

After many days of travel by night and lying low during the day, I came to the border. German soldiers were patrolling, but I timed their patterns and managed to slip across into Switzerland.

I smuggled my way to England, bribing a couple of German man soldiers who felt compassion. Once settled, I joined the RAF. I served as a radio operator in the bombing raids against German strongholds in France.

Sometime later my plane was damaged by antiaircraft fire and we ditched in the English Channel. We were picked up a few hours later by the Valiant, an American battleship. The friendly sailors gave us dry clothes and hot meals. When the Valiant returned to its British base, I rejoined my unit. The British government gave us medals.

Thank You.
As I finished my story, I’ve notice some students were sleeping, those who were not look bewilder. I’m proud I helped to defeat the Nazis, but I never saw Jasa or my mother again. The story to today still chokes me up. Sometimes I look back and I’m still impressed how far society has risen up in my lifetime. But even more so I was proud of myself for making the world a better place for future generations.