When my father, Rabbi Aryeh Leibish Gottesman, was just 16 years old, the Nazis rounded up all the Jews of his hometown of Vechec, then Czechoslovakia, onto a train to Auschwitz. His parents and all but one of his siblings were murdered. Leibish, as my father was called, miraculously survived many close calls. One big factor in his survival was a guardian angel: Mr. Jacob Springer.
“Jacob was my lifesaver,” my father would always say. “He was a 50-year-old man, and we met in Dachau. He carried me on his shoulders and pushed food into my mouth, saying he would keep me alive.” But he refused to tell me any more details.
Later in life, I found out the story.
The Dachau lager (camp) was split into blocks; every block had 30 barracks. My father was in block number 30 with the sick and feeble—those who could barely work, if they could work at all. The people in block 30 were no longer of much use to the German Reich. The Nazis were sure they would die soon; it was a waste to feed them even the minimal rations that were distributed in the other barracks.
My father arrived in the midst of a brutally cold winter. Despite being very sick and weak, he continued to wake up at 4 a.m. daily, working as much as he could, knowing his life depended on it. Every day, he teetered on the brink of death, until he met Jacob.
A Special Connection
Jacob and my father quickly became close friends. Although my father was only 16 and his new friend was in his 50s, the age difference did not stop them from forming a close connection. Their unwavering kinship was the vital component that helped them survive the war.
Jacob, a good, kindhearted Jew, moved with his wife and children from his native Poland to Germany after WWI. When times became tough in Nazi Germany, he sent away his two sons, Fred and Max. He subsequently lost all contact with them and his wife.
When he first met my father, it had been six years since he had seen his children.
When he noticed my father, he saw a young, brokenhearted boy, his body thin as a skeleton, but a light shone from his eyes. In his memoirs, he later wrote, “The more I looked at him, the more I was amazed because those imprisoned in the camps had lost every bit of humanity. Many people acted like animals. They spoke in a disgusting manner, whatever their heart desired. Fights and thievery were frequent companions of the inmates. The meager portions of food were stolen all the time. The misery of the people who were robbed of every vestige of human dignity caused them to become unrecognizable.” He observed my father and saw that even now, in these inhumane circumstances, he continued to behave in a most refined manner.
In Dachau, Jacob was known as a tailor and shoemaker (trades he had learned in the camps). This gave him many good “business” opportunities. People would ask him to fix their shoes, or prepare a new pair, in exchange for small scraps of food. Whenever Jacob saw a Jew who was on the brink of death due to starvation, he would bring them some of his “earnings.”
In the last few months of the war, Jacob was very busy. My father knew that the more business Jacob received, the more people would survive. With this understanding, my father offered him to do his share of work for the Nazis. This way, Jacob would have the entire day to fix and prepare new shoes and save more people’s lives.
The plan worked beautifully. Jacob could now do a full day’s work and earn even more food. In exchange, he gave my father, who now worked twice as hard, a big daily portion of food, which allowed him to slowly regain some of his strength.
The two became inseparable, encouraging one another during those final months in the lager, staying together after Dachau was liberated. When my father returned home to Vechec, no one was there. Everything was destroyed and life as he knew it was gone forever. The only other survivor in his family was his brother Kalman.
In 1945, he returned to the Serdeheli Yeshivah (where he had studied previously) under the auspices of his first cousin, Rabbi Moshe Neushluss. He buried himself in his studies, learning 18 hours a day. He then immigrated to America, and in 1956, married my mother, Rikel, who was also a Holocaust survivor and an orphan.
My father made a living as a diamond cutter, but always set aside time for his true love, Torah study. After two decades, he fully devoted himself to learning and giving Torah classes to others. The faith he displayed after everything he had been through was immensely inspiring.
On 8 Chesvon, 5777 (November 9, 2016), my father passed away, leaving behind his wife, seven children, and hundreds of grandchildren.
Finding Jacob’s Family
When I set out to write a book about my father’s life, I knew I needed to include this miraculous story. I asked my mother if she knew anything about Jacob or his children. All she knew was that he lived in the United States.
Then, one day in 2019, my mother called to tell me that she had found a letter about Jacob that my father had saved. His son, Max, wrote a letter in 1985, informing my father of Jacob’s passing and offering him a set of the Five Books of the Torah that Jacob left behind. He didn’t know anyone else who would have a use for it.
Several months later, in 2020, I visited my mother to review the documents my father had left behind. I noticed the letter and saw that it had an address and phone number from Michigan. I thought it might be worthless, since 35 years had passed, but it was worth a try. I called, and an elderly woman picked up. I introduced myself.
“My father was in Dachau with your father-in-law, Jacob,” I said.
There was a pause on the other side, and then she said, “I heard something about this. Here’s my husband.”
She handed the phone to him.
“This is Max,” he said.
Max was already 90 years old, and he had dementia.
“Oh yes,” he said, “I remember something … my father wrote a book … here is my son.”
Max’s son, Dan, and his daughter, Soni, were living with their parents, taking care of them, as they were both in hospice, I found out. When I asked about the book, they told me my father was in it and that they’d send it to me.
After two weeks, the memoir arrived. I was in awe. It was a 70-page typed document with very intricate details, including the story of how Jacob met my father in Dachau. Jacob wrote his memoir immediately after the war so his family would know what he had experienced. One son, Fred, became a soldier for the American side during the war, and the other, Max, escaped to London. Jacob never found his first wife, Sabina. He married his second wife, Stella, and lived on Long Island, passing away in 1985 at the age of 90.
Dan and Soni wrote to me, telling me that Max struggled with the Holocaust. How could G‑d let six million Jews be murdered? Dan and Soni had similar questions. They were not in touch with their Jewish faith, but they were looking for a way to connect.
I told them about the upcoming Jewish holidays. I sent them handmade shemurah matzah for Passover. They were very receptive to what I said, but there was no one close to them in their neighborhood to guide them in their Jewish journey. Their goal was to make aliyah, and then everything would change.
After five years of messaging and talking with them, going back and forth, they told me they had finally made aliyah in November of 2025 and were living among other Jewish families, able to lead full Jewish lives.
It’s amazing that the Torah volumes Jacob left behind triggered the reconnection of our families. And, despite everything that had happened and the hardships the family had endured, it ultimately led them to embrace their Judaism.
Amrom Gottesman is the author of “The Life And Legacy of Rabbi Aryeh Leibish Gottesman ZT”L,” available now on Amazon.
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