Hungarian Holocaust survivor George Reinitz is the author of “Wrestling With Life: From Hungary to Auschwitz to Montreal”. When I visited George in his Palm Beach County home, he shared his inspiring story of survival.
Photo by Linda Chase
Hungarian Holocaust survivor George Reinitz. Photo by Linda Chase
“I was born April 16, 1932 in Szikszó, Hungary. My father’s name was Jacob and my mother was Marta. I had a younger sister named Marika. Szikszó is a small town located in northern Hungary. Shortly after my birth I developed a serious medical condition. My father went to see our community’s rabbi who recited the Mi Shebeirach (prayer for healing). Fortunately I overcame my illness never knowing if it was the prayer or my fighting spirit that helped me to survive. My father came from a rural village named Hegymeg. My paternal grandfather owned a farm, general store and wine vineyard. One of my fondest early memories was helping my grandfather crush grapes to make wine. My mother came from Szolnok, an important cultural city located in central Hungary. My maternal grandfather owned a music store and my mother played the piano. She influenced my love of music, however I preferred playing soccer to learning the piano. My father had a business trading agricultural products in which he bought grain from farmers and sold it to flour mills and beer companies. My sister and I attended a private Jewish school and I went to cheder after my regular classes. During the winter my mother would give us a baked potato to put in our mittens to keep our hands warm. Gentile children would yell ‘Dirty Jews’ at us. I never looked for a fight but I never ran away from one either. My father taught me to never tolerate disrespect or bullying and to always offer a helping hand to others. Lessons I learned from him helped me throughout my life. Posted signs began to appear that read ‘Jews go to Palestine’ and ‘Jews get out of here’, indicating that trouble was on the horizon. The Hungarian government soon passed anti-Semitic legislation. There were even laws governing the kind of radios Jews were permitted to own. In 1942, Polish Jews passed through our town on their way to Palestine and warned us not to stay in Hungary. As loyal Hungarians, we didn’t heed their warnings. On March 19th, 1944 I was in the fifth grade when my teacher told the class that the Germans occupied our country. For the Jews of Hungary, this was the beginning of the end. Within a month the Nazis started deportations to death camps and took away our rabbi. On April 17th, 1944 (the day after my 12th birthday) my family was picked up by the local police and taken to city hall. We were given a day to get our belongings together. My mother baked cookies with jewelry placed in the batter. She figured we would have something to eat and valuables to sell if needed. This was the last day my family would be together in our hometown of Szikszó. Before the Holocaust, the town had 5,000 residents, of which 900 were Jewish. Less than 100 Jews would survive the Nazi occupation”.
George recalled his family’s deportation to Auschwitz.
“My family and I were taken by train to a deportation center in Kassa, Hungary and detained in a former brick factory due to its close proximity to the railroad tracks. From there we were herded like animals into railway box cars bound for Auschwitz. Upon arrival at the camp and during the selection process, I said goodbye to my mother and sister, not knowing I would never see them again. I wanted to remain with my father in the adult line, so I was advised to to take advantage of my height and say I was 18 instead of my real age of 12. We were taken to a room where our hair was shaved off and then assigned a striped uniform. My father and I were then herded to barracks that would serve as our sleeping quarters. The next day I was tattooed with the number A 10,440 and stripped of my identity. The date was May 28th, 1944. My arm became infected from being tattooed with a dirty needle. I was told by another inmate not to complain and consider myself ‘lucky’ that I had a number and wasn’t burning in a fire. My father and I stuck close to each other. Without his strength, I never would have survived. My father worked in the fields, while I tended to the German officers’ horses in the stable. I also worked in the stockrooms, washing and fixing pitchforks and shovels. If you were unable to work, you died. I lived with the feeling of starvation day in and day out. Even though I was in the worst place on earth, I took risks to survive. This included stealing potato skins from the kitchen for my father and I to eat. My father always said, ‘Once we get out of here, we’re going to kill those bastards’. In the winter of 1944 I came down with pneumonia and my father took me to Auschwitz’s emergency hospital. The doctor in charge was a Czech prisoner named Alex Grunwald. He saved my life by giving me medication that would raise my fever and prolong my stay in the ward. One night from the infirmary I waved to my father as he was lined up for the Death March. I didn’t know that would be the last time I would see him. Another man from my hometown would later tell me of my father’s fate: He had no desire to continue on the march knowing he had lost his family, he fell out of line and was shot in the head by a Nazi and his body was left on the side of the road”.
George recalled being liberated from Auschwitz.
“On January 27th, 1945 Auschwitz was liberated by the Russian army. I learned to speak Yiddish while imprisoned in the camp and that is how I was able to communicate with some of the Russians. For the first time, my tears were tears of joy. I was taken to a DP camp in Katowice where I stayed for about a month. Then I traveled by train to another camp in Czernowitz, Ukraine. After the war ended on May 8th, 1945, I traveled by train to Slutsk, Belarus, where I remained until December. I arrived in Budapest, Hungary and then traveled back to Szikszó where I found out through a cousin that my family had perished. I tried my hand at harvesting and was soon placed in an orphanage in Budapest to learn a trade”.
George reflected on his move to Canada.
“I immigrated to Montreal in 1948 through the Canadian Jewish Congress’s War Orphans project, which brought 1,000 Jewish war orphans, all under eighteen years of age, to Canada. On September 19th, 1948 I arrived in the port of Halifax and proceeded to throw my belongings overboard. I decided at this point I would start my life anew. The Jewish Immigrant Aid Society (JIAS) was established to assist Jewish refugees coming to Canada and a social worker helped me settle in Montreal. At the age of 16, I worked for a bakery, a button manufacturer and harvested tobacco in Ontario. I eventually found my niche in the furniture industry and founded Jaymar in 1956 which I owned for over 40 years. Jaymar is one of Canada’s leading manufacturers of upholstered furniture. A free membership at the YMHA furthered my interest in physical fitness. Through my friend, Nick, that I met on the train to Paris en route to Canada, I became acquainted with wrestling. The coaches became my surrogate fathers. Wrestling helped me deal with the anger I felt for what my family and I had been through in Europe. As a wrestler, I demonstrated that I was not a sissy and wouldn’t run away from a fight. The sport requires intense concentration and a strong competitive spirit. I met Fred Oberlander who was like a father figure to me. Fred was a former Olympic wrestler who was originally from Vienna, Austria. The best advice he gave me was if you want to get out of a headlock, don’t get into one to begin with. Later in life, I was Fred’s caregiver until he passed away. I became a world-class wrestler and was the Quebec champion in 1952, 1953 and 1954. I was also Canada’s national champion in 1957 and became the only Holocaust survivor to be a Canadian national champion in any sport. I also represented Canada in the Maccabiah Games in Israel in 1957 and 1961. During the opening ceremonies of the ’57 games I carried the flag for the Canadian team. The emotion of that moment was overwhelming for me as I competed in a land created for the Jewish people. That trip was also special because my wife, Eleanor and I honeymooned in Israel during the competition, making 1957 the best year of my life. Eleanor and I later established the George and Eleanor Reinitz Wrestling Centre. Youngsters from all over the world have trained there. I want to leave a legacy while allowing children to benefit from the sport as much as I did”.
George shared his words of wisdom.
“Approach life with a competitive spirit. To be successful, you have to work hard at it”.