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Irena's Children: The Extraordinary Story of the Woman Who Saved 2,500 Children from the Warsaw Ghetto, by Tilar J. Mazzeo
Ebook Free Irena's Children: The Extraordinary Story of the Woman Who Saved 2,500 Children from the Warsaw Ghetto, by Tilar J. Mazzeo
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Über den Autor und weitere Mitwirkende
Tilar J. Mazzeo is the New York Times and San Francisco Chronicle bestselling author of books that include The Widow Clicquot, The Secret of Chanel No. 5, and Hotel on the Place Vendôme. She also writes on food and wine for the mainstream press, and her work has appeared in venues such as Food & Wine and in her Back-Lane Wineries guidebook series (Ten Speed Press). Her course on creative nonfiction (Great Courses), featured as in-flight viewing content on Virgin America airlines, is widely distributed and has made her a nationally prominent teacher of writing in nonfiction genres. The Clara C. Piper Associate Professor of English at Colby College, she divides her time among coastal Maine, New York City, and Saanichton, British Columbia, where she lives with her husband and stepchildren.
Leseprobe. Abdruck erfolgt mit freundlicher Genehmigung der Rechteinhaber. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.
Irena’s Children Prologue Warsaw, October 21, 1943 Aleja Szucha. Irena Sendler knew her destination. The door slammed shut up front, and the black prison car lurched into motion. She had been given only minutes to dress, and her fair, bobbed hair was bed tousled. Janka Grabowska had run down the front path with her shoes and thrust them at her at the last moment, braving the violent caprices of the soldiers. Irena hadn’t thought to lace them. She was focusing on just one thing: staying calm and keeping her face blank, placid. No sad faces. That was the wisdom Jewish mothers gave to their children when they left them for the last time in the care of strangers. Irena wasn’t Jewish, but it was still true that sad faces were dangerous. They must not think I have any reason to be frightened. They must not think I am frightened. Irena repeated that thought silently. It would only make what was coming harder if they suspected what she was hiding. But Irena was frightened. Very frightened. In the autumn of 1943 in Nazi-occupied Poland, there were no words more terrifying than “Szucha Avenue.” There may have been no words more terrifying anywhere in wartime Europe. It was the address of the Gestapo headquarters in Warsaw. The brutalism of its exterior seemed cruelly suited to the Germans’ purpose. From inside the squat complex of buildings, the corridors echoed with the screams of those being questioned. Those who survived remembered afterward the rank scent of fear and urine. Twice a day, just before noon and in the early evening, black vans punctually returned from the holding cells at Pawiak Prison to collect the bruised and broken bodies. Irena guessed that it was just after six o’clock in the morning now. Maybe six thirty already. Soon the late October sun would be rising over Warsaw. But Irena had been awake for hours. So had everyone in the apartment building. Janka, her trusted liaison and a dear friend, had joined a small family celebration for the feast of Saint Irena that night. After gorging on cold cuts and slices of cake, Irena’s frail mother and her visiting aunt retreated to the bedroom. But Janka had already missed the curfew and would have to spend the night. So the younger women camped out in the living room and sat up late, talking and drinking tea and cordials. After midnight, Irena and Janka dozed at last, and by three a.m. the girls were sleeping soundly on makeshift cots. But in the back room, Irena’s mother, Janina, was restless. How Janina had enjoyed hearing the carefree murmur of the girls’ voices! She knew from her daughter’s taut jawline that Irena was taking chances, and she had a mother’s heavy worry. Pain made it hard to sleep, and so Janina let the thoughts carry her. Then, in the darkness, came a sound that she knew was wrong. The heavy thudding of boots echoed from a stairwell somewhere. Irena! Irena! Janina hissed in an urgent whisper that penetrated Irena’s dreams. Bolting awake, Irena heard only the anxiety in her mother’s tone and knew in an instant what it meant. Those few moments to clear her head were the difference between life and death for all of them. What came next was the racket of eleven Gestapo agents pounding at the apartment door, demanding entry. The fear brought a strange, metallic taste to Irena’s mouth, and underneath her rib cage the terror came and went in shocks that felt electric. For hours the Germans spewed threats and abuse, gutted the pillows, and tore apart the corners and cupboards. They pulled up floorboards and broke furniture. Somehow they still didn’t find the lists of the children. The lists now were all that mattered. They were just thin and flimsy scraps of cigarette paper, little more than rolled bits of tissue, part of Irena’s private filing system. But written on them in a code of her own invention were the names and addresses of some of the thousands of Jewish children whom Irena and her friends had saved from the horrors of Nazi persecution—children they were still hiding and supporting in secret locations all across the city and beyond Warsaw. At the last possible instant, before the door flew open, giving way to the bludgeons and pounding, Irena tossed the lists on the kitchen table over to Janka, who with brazen aplomb stuffed them into her generous brassiere, deep under her armpit. If they searched Janka, God knew, it would be all over. It would be even worse if they searched Janka’s apartment, where there were Jews hiding. Irena could hardly believe it when the Germans themselves covered up the worst bit of incriminating evidence: she watched, mesmerized, as a small bag with forged identity papers and wads of illegal cash was buried under the debris of smashed furniture. She wanted nothing more than to fall to her knees in that moment. And when she understood that the Gestapo wasn’t arresting Janka or her mother but only her, she was positively giddy. But she knew that the laughter rising inside her was tinged dangerously with hysteria. Dress, she told herself. Dress and leave here quickly. She threw on the well-worn skirt she had folded over the back of the kitchen chair only hours earlier and buttoned her sweater as fast as she could to speed her departure before the agents had a chance to reconsider, and walked out of the apartment into the cold autumn morning barefoot. She hadn’t even noticed until Janka came running. Now, though, she had time to think about her own dilemma as the car swayed at each street corner. Sooner or later there was no question that they would kill her. Irena understood that already. This was how her story ended. People did not return from Aleja Szucha or from the ghetto prison at Pawiak, where arrestees were locked up in between their bone-crushing interrogations. They did not return from the camps like Auschwitz or Ravensbrück, where the innocent “survivors” of the Gestapo were deported. And Irena Sendler was not innocent. The sedan cranked hard to the right as it headed southeast across the still-sleeping city. The most direct route would take them toward Warsaw’s broad prewar avenues, first skirting west and then south of the wasteland that had once been the Jewish ghetto. During the first years of the Nazi occupation, Irena had been in and out of the ghetto three or four times a day sometimes, each time risking arrest or summary execution, trying to help to save some of their old school friends, their Jewish professors . . . and thousands of small children. Now, in late 1943, there was only ruin and rubble. It was a killing ground, an endless graveyard. The ghetto had been leveled after the Jewish uprising that spring, and her friend Ala Golab-Grynberg had disappeared inside that inferno. Word in the underground whispered that Ala was still alive, in the forced-labor camp at Poniatowa, one of a group of young militants secretly planning their escape from the prison. Irena hoped that, when this barbaric war was over, Ala would make it back to collect her small daughter, Rami, from the orphanage where Irena had her hidden. The prison car passed a few blocks north of what had once been the Polish Free University. The institution was another war casualty. Irena had completed her degree in social work across town, at the University of Warsaw, but she had been a frequent presence on the Polish Free University campus in the 1930s, and it was there, thanks to Professor Helena Radlinska, that her resistance cell had been formed. They had been, almost to the last one, Dr. Radlinska’s girls in the days before the occupation. Now they were part of a well-organized and daring network, and the professor had been the...
Produktinformation
Taschenbuch: 352 Seiten
Verlag: Gallery Books; Auflage: Reprint (6. Juni 2017)
Sprache: Englisch
ISBN-10: 1476778515
ISBN-13: 978-1476778518
Vom Hersteller empfohlenes Alter: 11 - 14 Jahre
Größe und/oder Gewicht:
15,2 x 2,3 x 22,9 cm
Durchschnittliche Kundenbewertung:
Schreiben Sie die erste Bewertung
Amazon Bestseller-Rang:
Nr. 368.830 in Fremdsprachige Bücher (Siehe Top 100 in Fremdsprachige Bücher)
This truly is an extraordinary book about an extraordinary woman. I couldn't put it down. Reasonable women don't make history, they say, and certainly Irena Sendler was not a "reasonable woman". She was a zealot, driven by a strong moral compass, a deep sense of purpose, and unbelievable courage to put an indelible footprint on the meaning of humanity amidst unbelievable inhumanity. But what particularly sets her apart, I think, was her unique ability to translate these traits into action - to attract others to the cause and to organize their efforts toward a common goal, always under intense stress and just one small misstep from disaster. No question she was totally devoted to the cause, often at the expense of other facets of her life. She was no role model for work-life balance. But through her efforts the lives of some 2,500 children were saved. Surely that's balance of another sort.Anyway, Sendler's is a gripping story and Tilar Mazzeo, as readers of her previous books know, is a gripping story-teller. She does what so many scholars and teachers of history fail to do - bring the events and characters of her story to life. She is an indefatigable researcher who has a fine eye for details, but couples this with a deft narrative style that keeps things moving along at a good clip. Fair warning, though; this is not an easy story to be drawn into - the milieu is so unbelievably horrible and gruesome - and good does not always triumph over evil. But there are enough times when it does to restore one's faith in human nature and provide a ray of hope for the future.So thanks, Tilar. You've hit another home run..
This is a newly written book about Irena Sendler, the Polish Catholic social worker who saved over 2500 Jewish children during the Holocaust.She smuggled them out, one by one, in most cases, from the Warsaw Ghetto, in which thousands of Polish Jews were crammed, starving, likely to be shot at any time, or forced to board trains for extermination camps. (Though for most of the time no one knew for sure the destination of the trains.....later rumors began to spread, but people still found it hard to believe....).Irena Sendler worked with many others, but was the moral and physical leader of her group.....she took daily risks, going into the Ghetto and then talking Jewish families into giving up their children to her, based on just the hope that they would safer with her organization than left with their families. (In most cases, the children were hidden in convents and among sympathetic Polish families, who all knew they risked their lives and their family's lives by taking in Jewish children).Irena Sendler wanted to try to reunite these children with their families after the war....therefore she hid each child's name in a glass jar, buried in a friend's garden......(That is why the older book about her is called "Life in a Jar".....it is also an excellent book....and was instrumental in leading to Sendler being nominated for a Nobel prize.....)Of course, almost all the families of these children did not survive the war......So few people really cared to know what was going on in those years......only a few risked it all to try to save some people......she was one, and was, sadly, forgotten by history until very recently.....I'm glad she is now being recognized for her deeds......
Warsaw, Poland, according to the author nicknamed "the Paris of Eastern Europe" for its colorful streets, lively cafes, and intellectual ferment before the Nazi invasion in World War II, became one of the most grim and lethal places on earth for the next five years. If you rendered support to the resistance, the Gestapo would torture you ruthlessly then kill you. If on the other hand, you collaborated with the Germans, the resistance would find you and put a bullet in you. If you tried to hide out, roving bands of self-appointed bounty-hunters would rat you out to either the Gestapo or the resistance, receiving no more than a loaf of stale bread or a sack of rotten potatoes in exchange for your life. If you managed to avoid all of the above, then you were free to die of starvation, cold exposure, one of many epidemics of typhus, or simple despair. In the midst of all this stood a band of true heroes, risking all to oppose tyranny and fascism, putting their lives on the line every day to save lives of the innocent. Irena Sendler - the 'female Schindler' - stood at the nexus of a network of jewish and Polish resistance cells.As a Catholic social worker, Irena created and maintained an underground railroad to spirit children out of the Warsaw ghetto and into safety, literally putting her own life at risk day after day for years on end. This is her amazing, carefully researched, dramatically told story of noble spirit, boundless energy, cheeky deception, and personal courage worthy of the bravest Navy SEAL. Read it on the edge of your seat; for enlightenment, entertainment, and perhaps most of all, for homage to Irena and her many beloved fellow resistance fighters, many of whom lived, fought, and died unsung, lost in the fog and chaos of war.
It was an amazing read. The author brilliantly lays out all the characters, and the role they played. This Irena Sendler was someone I knew nothing about...one of those unsung heros who bravely risked everything to help those in need. I cannot read enough, learn enough about this period of our history...may we never forget all that had to be endured during that period of time.
Finding myself emotionally bogged down, I looked for something inspirational to make my petty whining seem frivolous and this book did the trick. Nothing can compare to the horrific experience of the German occupation of Warsaw and their systematic annihilation of the Jewish people. The author succeeds immersing the reader into the horrors of the holocaust and what it demanded of the human spirit. You finish by chastizing yourself for all the lame complaining you have done over such trivial inconveniences when so many suffered such unbearable evil.
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