Casefile True Crime - Case 216: The Itzkovitz Family

Episode Date: June 25, 2022

Eliahu Itzkovitz spent much of his childhood confined behind the walls of Romania’s Chișinău Ghetto – a place where he and other Romanian Jews were held prisoner by their government... --- Narration – Anonymous Host Research & writing – Holly Boyd Creative direction – Milly Raso Production and music – Mike Migas Music – Andrew D.B. Joslyn This episode's sponsors: Patreon – Support Casefile and get early access to ad-free episodes and additional content Calm – Get 40% off Calm Premium subscription  The Jordan Harbinger Show – Learn the stories, secrets, and skills of the world’s most brilliant and interesting people For all credits and sources please visit casefilepodcast.com/case-216-the-itzkovitz-family

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Our episodes deal with serious and often distressing incidents. If you feel at any time you need support, please contact your local crisis centre. For suggested phone numbers for confidential support, please see the show notes for this episode on your app or on our website. It was a particularly hot and humid August today in 1954, when a French foreign legion corporal led his squad of soldiers through the fields and scrubland along road 18, east of the Vietnamese village of Buck Ninh. Suddenly, a barrage of bullets shot out from a cluster of trees 100 metres away and flew towards the exposed legionnaires. The squad's corporal, a short and stocky man in his late 40s,

yelled for his troops to take cover and dropped onto his chest in the long grass and mud. The gunfire eventually stopped and the air fell silent. The corporal cursed under his boozy breath, ranting quietly about the violence he would inflict should he capture the enemy. For the time being, no one was moving and no further shots were fired. The corporal was momentarily relieved. His fellow soldiers were positioned a little further back, safely obscured by grass and shrubs. All of a sudden, he heard a voice behind him say, Stanescu.

Elyahu Itzkivitz Elyahu Itzkivitz was born in the early 1930s and lived in Kishinau, Bessarabia, a region then annexed to Romania. Elyahu, known as Ely, didn't come from a wealthy family, but he was loved by his parents and three older brothers, who ensured his early years were filled with joy. Everything changed by the time Ely was 10 years old. Antisemitism among ethnic Romanians had already been brewing for decades. Then, on September 6, 1940, a fiercely Jew-hating government minister named John Antinescu overthrew Romania's king and was installed as dictator. Antinescu's ultimate goal was to, quote, racially purify Romania.

He wasted no time in implementing even harsher anti-Jewish laws than had previously existed. Jewish citizens were no longer permitted to attend educational institutions, nor patronized bars, restaurants, or theaters. Jewish professionals such as doctors and lawyers were forbidden to practice, and Jews were deprived of their businesses and property. All Jewish men of working age were conscripted into forced labor. Emboldened by this new state order, Romanian police, military, and some ordinary Romanian citizens felt free to insult, humiliate, rob, beat, and even murder any Jew at will. Antinescu expressly sanctioned this violence. On April 15, 1941, he told the Council of Ministers, quote, I give the mob a license to massacre the Jews. I withdraw to my fortress, and after the slaughter, I will restore order.

Antinescu was intent on removing Jewish people from Romania and began his campaign in the region of Bessarabia, home to more than 200,000 Jews. Under orders from Antinescu, the Romanian army began their sweep of Bessarabia on July 9. They slaughtered Jews from rural areas on site and imprisoned those from urban neighborhoods in ghettos. Eight days later, the army marched into Kishanel, the capital of Bessarabia, and home to about 60,000 Jews who made up half the city's population. 10,000 Kishanel Jews were executed in a single day. The next few weeks were spent rounding up remaining Jewish people in the city, killing some and hurting the rest into the newly created Kishanel ghetto. By mid-August, Eli Itskovitz, his parents and his three older brothers were among 11,500 Kishanel Jews confined within the walls of the ghetto. An area less than a quarter the size of New York's Central Park, the Kishanel Ghetto was located in the primarily Jewish quarter of the city.

Hastily erected, high wooden walls enclosed the ghetto, and the two points of entry and exit were heavily guarded. Jews were not permitted to leave the ghetto, although those who had money could bribe guards for temporary passes to obtain food or work. Some even managed to escape. However, the vast majority of people imprisoned there were poor, with guards looting what little money or possessions they had managed to bring. Conditions inside were appalling. Food was scarce, as was clean clothing and bedding, and there was little opportunity to practice basic hygiene. Typhoid fever spread quickly throughout the overcrowded ghetto. On average, about 10 people succumbed to illness or starvation every day.

The ghetto was guarded by various Kishanel-based police and military units, the majority of whom brazenly abused their power. Each day, scores of men and women were seized for forced labour, often never to return. On August 1, 1941, 450 Jewish people left the ghetto under such work orders. Only 39 returned. The rest had been shot. Guards regularly raped the women and girls while routinely beating the men and boys. At the whim of any guard, all Jews, men and women, children and the elderly, the able and the ailing, were vulnerable to violence, torture and death. One especially ruthless guard was a man by the name of Stanescu.

He was in his mid to late 30s, was short and portly from drinking excessive amounts of alcohol. Stanescu knew there would be no repercussions for his violence. Weeks earlier, Romania's Foreign Affairs Minister had announced during a cabinet meeting that the guards must be merciless to the Jews and use their guns if necessary. He added, quote, I take formal responsibility and tell you there is no law, so no formalities. Complete freedom. Stanescu took these instructions literally, firing close-range potshots at passing victims during his drinking binges or otherwise subjecting them to vicious beatings whenever the urge arose. One evening, Stanescu approached the ghetto dormitory in which the Itzkovitz family lived. Having learned to be fearful of all guards, Eli Itzkovitz quickly crawled under a pile of clothes in the corner of the room.

The little boy was obscured from view, but was able to peek through the garments to witness Stanescu barge through the door and confront his parents and older brothers. The screams of his family soon filled the room as Stanescu began brutally beating Eli's father. Eli's brothers were Stanescu's next targets. Once the men were down, Stanescu attacked Eli's mother. Then he left. Eli listened as his laughter faded into the distance. When all was silent, he emerged from his hiding spot and approached his family. Stanescu had savagely beaten them all to death for no infraction or reason other than they were Jewish.

Terrified and now completely alone, Eli was discovered by one of the few Christian families who lived within the confines of the ghetto. At severe risk to their own safety, they took Eli into their home and hid him away. It wasn't long before Eli's grief was consumed by hatred and rage. At the tender age of 10 years old, Eli Itzkovitz swore an oath. Visit agexpert.ca Only a few dozen Jews with tenuous permission remained in the ghetto. But by June 30 the following year, they too had gone. The Kishinau ghetto no longer existed.

For three years, Eli Itzkovitz had hidden inside the home of his Christian benefactors. Barely surviving on the meagre scraps the impoverished family could afford to share. Then, on August 23, 1944, the Soviet army liberated Romania from the anti-Semitic rule of Yon Antonescu. By the time of liberation, all but a few Jews in Bessarabia had been murdered or deported. Surviving against all odds, 13-year-old Eli Itzkovitz walked out freely into the sunlight. It took a long time for him to regain his strength. Once ready, he began his quest. He traversed war-ravaged Bessarabia, travelling through the towns and villages for signs of the man he knew to be named Stinescu.

Eli's frustration grew with each dead end, until finally, in 1947, his determination paid off. The now-travel-hardened 16-year-old had discovered that Stinescu was from a small town not far from where his own family had once lived. Eli reached Stinescu's town as quickly as he could, only to learn that Stinescu had fled Romania after liberation by the Soviets and was said to have travelled to the French-occupied territory of West Germany. Stinescu had attempted to register with the United Nations as a displaced person, using an alias and posing as a victim of the Holocaust, rather than one of its perpetrators. The registrar was immediately suspicious of his claim, so Stinescu once again vanished into the chaos of post-war Europe to avoid sanction. While Eli Itskovitz failed to catch up to the man responsible for murdering his entire family, he did find something else. One day, Eli found himself standing face-to-face with Stinescu's eldest son, and the confrontation quickly turned violent. The boys were about the same age, and it might have otherwise been a close physical match, but Eli's boiling rage tipped him over the edge.

During the fight, he produced a butcher's knife and stabbed his rival. Stinescu's son died of his wounds. While Eli might have believed this to be a morally justified form of retribution, the law disagreed. The Romanian people's court sentenced him to five years in a juvenile detention facility for the killing. By 1952, 21-year-old Eli had completed his sentence. With nothing tying him to Bessarabia, he immigrated to Israel. The following year, he was called up for mandatory service in the Israeli Defense Force. When his training was complete, Eli donned the olive green uniform, red beret, and red boots of the paratroopers.

During his service, Eli kept his ear to the ground, trying to pick up even the slightest trail of Stinescu after he had fled West Germany. When Eli would come across a fellow Romanian, he pressed them for any details that might lead to Stinescu's whereabouts. Some information trickled in due to the notoriety of the Kishinelle ghetto, but nothing of any value to Eli. Until one day, he met a man who had heard a rumour. The former guard known as Stinescu had made his way to Offenburg, a French-occupied west German town near the border of France. While there, he enlisted with the French foreign legion and was currently fighting in Indochina. For nearly a decade, Vietnamese nationalists had been fighting for independence from French colonial rule. The ensuing conflict came to be known as the First Indochina War, or the Anti-French Resistance War in Vietnam.

Eli formulated a plan. First, he convinced his commanding officer that he would be better suited as a naval officer. His commanding officer agreed, and days later, Eli walked onto his assigned ship at the navy base in the Israeli city of Haifa. Months later, on June 6, 1953, Eli's ship docked at the Italian port city of Genoa to collect a cache of naval equipment. Having been granted shore leave, Eli casually walked down the gangway and slipped silently into Genoa's bustling streets. He bid farewell to the Israeli navy at the central station, where he boarded a train that made its way west along the Ligurian Sea coastline, before ending at the small Italian town of Bordegara. Eli disembarked and hiked across the border into France. Once there, he arrived at the Foreign Legion recruitment office in Marseille. Within days, Eli had been accepted into the Legion.

After three months of basic training, Eli was assigned to the Legion's paratroop corps. He then boarded the SS Pasta and was on his way to join the fight in Indochina. The treacherous sea-bound journey from Marseille took about 20 days. Regular fights broke out among the soldiers, who struggled to deal with the ship's cramped quarters, rotten food, and rat infestation. Those unfortunate enough to be assigned to the lower deckbunks suffocated to death in the stifling heat generated by their windowless rooms. In early October 1953, the SS Pasta arrived in the port city of Ha Phong, the gateway to northern Vietnam's only remaining French-occupied region. By the time Eli arrived, the Legionnaires had suffered heavy losses across many battles, and France was nearing defeat. Vietnam, with its rain, heat, and humidity, had proved itself a formidable enemy.

The modified Legionnaire uniform of khaki shorts, rolled-up shirt-slaves, and canvas combat attire did little to abate the troops' discomfort in the dense jungle battleground. But it was the Vietnamese revolutionaries that proved to be the greater challenge. Like all foreign soldiers in Vietnam, the Legionnaires were woefully unprepared for the sheer number of and guerrilla tactics employed by the Viet Minh. It took a few months, but in early 1954, Eli had learned that Stanescu, using an alias, was serving with the 1st Battalion of the Legion's 3rd Foreign Infantry Regiment. The chain of command readily approved Eli's request to transfer to that specific unit, and he was soon marching towards the village of Buck Ninh. The 1st Battalion 3rd Regiment was stationed in the region, which was about halfway between the port city of Ha Phong and the French-held capital Hanoi. As the northern front of the only remaining French-occupied territory in northern Vietnam, defending the region was critical to their mission. The journey to Buck Ninh itself was a risk, as the chances of being ambushed by the Viet Minh were high.

As such, Eli and the other recruits were on high alert as they headed to join the 1st Battalion. After Eli arrived at the Buck Ninh base, he was assigned to a squad of about 10 soldiers commanded by a short and stocky corporal in his late 40s. The squad lined up for their routine inspection, back straight, eyes forward. As the corporal approached, Eli's heart skipped a beat. The corporal was thinner than Eli remembered, but had the same callous eyes, stench of alcohol, and screeching voice from Eli's memory. There was no doubt in Eli's mind that he was standing before his family's killer. Stanescu walked down the line, examining each soldier closely, yelling abuse and chastisements into their sweaty, nervous faces. Nearing the end of the line, the corporal finally stood in front of Eli.

Despite his boyish looks, Eli was an imposing presence. He was well muscled, tanned, and so tall that Stanescu was forced to tilt his head fully upward to spit insults into his face. There was no way Stanescu could recognize the skinny, frightened 10-year-old boy in the man before him, and yet something made him pause. There was a fierceness in Eli's eyes that momentarily unnerved Stanescu. Eli was so close to his family's killer, he could reach out and strangle him before anyone realized what had happened. Instead, he stood motionless at perfect attention, retaining an outward calm that belied his raging fury inside. Having already waited 13 years, Eli would bite his time a little longer. Stanescu moved on to the next soldier down the line.

Several months later, by August 1954, the French conceded victory to the Viet-Ming and agreed to vacate northern Vietnam by the end of the month. In the lead-up to their withdrawal, the first battalion legionnaires continued to conduct patrols of the Buck-Ning region. One day, as Eli's squad moved through a field east of the village, they were fired upon by Viet-Ming fighters hiding in the nearby jungle. The legionnaires dove under the cover of the long swampy grass until the sound of gunfire ceased. As he lay motionless, Eli didn't even notice the leeches slide up his leg, nor the giant mosquitoes that pierced his skin. He did not feel the weight of the heat and humidity in his lungs, nor the sting of the rain as it whipped across his face. Instead, Eli's singular focus was on the corporal lying prone in the grass before him. Eli took a moment to survey his surroundings. The Viet-Ming didn't emerge from the surrounding jungle, and the rest of Eli's squad remained hidden in the grass further behind him.

In this tense stalemate, Eli realized that he was finally alone with the corporal. He raised himself and called the corporal by his true name, Stanescu. Stanescu turned to face Eli, surprised to hear the name he had left behind so long ago. Yes, he responded. Eli continued, I'm from Kishinau. Stanescu's confusion softened, and his face lit up as if preparing to greet an old friend. This was the moment Eli had dreamed of for 13 long years, for which he had survived the Holocaust, travelled 40,000 kilometers, and suffered gruelling conditions to reach.

He stared directly into the bloodshot eyes of the man who had callously murdered his entire family, and stated coldly, I'm a Jew from Kishinau. Eli didn't speak any further. He required neither reason nor apology. There was only one thing left to do. Eli raised his Mat 49 submachine gun. At point blank range, he fired two rounds into Stanescu's chest. Those were for his family. The force of the bullets punched Stanescu back down into the mud. Eli aimed again, and in rapid fire emptied the remaining 30 rounds on behalf of all the Kishinau Jews.

The Viet Minh assumed the Mat 49 rounds were directed towards them and immediately returned fire. Eli squatted besides Stanescu's blood-soaked corpse and took a firm grip under his arms. As a legionnaire, it was his duty to never abandon his dead, his wounded, or his weapons. Under the protective cover of his comrades down the line, Eli dragged Stanescu's body beyond the Viet Minh's range and back to Road 18. While the squad waited for the extraction vehicle, Eli sat pensively on the side of the road, staring into Stanescu's dead eyes. He had fulfilled his oath to avenge his family, but the satisfaction was swallowed by a deep emptiness. Upon returning to base, Eli informed the chain of command that the corporal died after catching the enemy's fire. They had no reason to question Eli's story and even commended him for recovering the corporal's body.

By the end of August, Eli's battalion had withdrawn from Vietnam. In late 1956, Eli was honorably discharged from the legion, having served his minimum three years with the requisite honor and fidelity. Eli returned to Israel an honorable former legionnaire. However, as far as the Israeli Defense Force was concerned, Eli Itskovitz was a deserter. The crime of desertion was one of the most serious that could be committed by a member of the Israeli armed forces, subordinate only to rape, mutiny during active fighting, and treason. Eli understood that his desertion could not remain unaddressed. Upon his return to Israel, he presented himself to the naval authorities and was immediately taken to a military prison where he would remain pending trial. As the Israeli military court was slow to dispense justice, Eli languished in military prison for over two years before his trial finally commenced.

In May 1959, Eli stood before three naval judges in his white navy dress uniform and recounted his extraordinary tale. The judges verified what they could of Eli's story with the French authorities, but there was no corroborating evidence of Eli's killing of Stanescu, nor any official criminal proceedings initiated by the French. Thus, the naval judges were faced with a difficult decision. There was no question that Eli was guilty of desertion. He had abandoned his commitment to the defense of Israel a mere eight and a half months into his minimum three year term and did not return to Israel until well after his service term had expired. This represented a most extreme case of desertion, potentially warranting the maximum penalty of 15 years in military prison. On the other hand, with the Holocaust still very much an open wound, the judges were sympathetic to Eli's cause. Eli stood to attention as the judges pronounced him guilty of desertion.

As for Eli's punishment, the court concluded that, quote, In view of the circumstances of the case, the court of the State of Israel cannot bring itself to impose a heavy sentence. Eli was sentenced to one year's imprisonment. In consideration of time served, 28 year old Eli Itzkovitz walked out of the military courthouse a free man. Little more is publicly known about Eli's life after his release by the Israeli military court. He was interviewed by French magazine Paris Match with the interviewing journalist dubbing him Eli the Avenger. On April 20, 2015, Joshua Sader posted a photograph to his Facebook page. It depicted two elderly men sitting at a table about to share a home cooked meal.

The man on the left offering a hearty thumbs up was Joshua, a family man and seasoned electrical engineer in his mid-seventies. His companion, a man in his eighties, wore a slightly amused smile beneath a pair of weary eyes. He was Joshua's neighbour, Eliahu Itzkovitz. Both the Joshua and Eliahu were Jewish and each wore a white keeper Yamakar in reverence to God. Although neither man was born in Israel, they both had called the land home for many years now. Throughout this time, the pair had gone from neighbours to friends. Finally, they embraced each other as brothers. Alongside the photograph, Joshua wrote a post announcing that Eliahu had passed away 24 hours earlier after having no more strength in his war to survive.

Joshua referred to Eli as a hero in the shadows and a hero to the Jewish people. Copyright © 2020 Mooji Media Ltd. All rights reserved