That Gaby Roslin Podcast: Reasons To Be Joyful - Gidon Lev

Episode Date: March 18, 2025

This week's episode is very special, very moving, and above all else....very hopeful. Gaby has the honour of speaking with holocaust survivor Gidon Lev. What he has seen in his lifetime and what he went through as a child was abhorrent. But at the age of 90, he always tries to spread kindness and joy. In this episode, Gidon shares his heartbreaking memories of the holocaust, his wisdom and his insights for the future. He is a truly remarkable man. His book “Let’s Make Things Better” is out now...(please note there are some recollections of WW2 and the holocaust, which some listeners may find upsetting) Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Gidon Leve, I cannot tell you what an honour this is to chat to you. Thank you so much for joining me. Thank you for having me. It's an honour to be with you. Bless you. Your book Let's Make Things Better, A Holocaust Survivor's Message of Hope and Celebration of Life. Goodness me, don't we all need this right now, Gidon? Yes, you better believe it.

And I know you're happy to talk about your... extraordinary life and what you went through as a child. If I may, can I take you back to the beginning? I think your stories need to be shared. You know, people forget, sadly forget. Would you mind telling us about your childhood and what happened for you? Sure. I'm happy to tell you.

I had a very unusual childhood. The fact is, if we look at it, black and white or white and black, I didn't have a childhood. Because in 1935, I was born in Kaloviwai, Kalsbad, in the Sudetenland. And at that point, everything seemed to be wonderful. But by the time I was three years old, in 1938, as we all know or can read about it, Hitler took over. And from that moment on,

there was no more childhood, really. So in 1938, I actually was three years old. And you know, the fact that I am about to turn 90, thinking back to being a little boy, many things, many memories are gone forever. But here and there, there are things that I do remember, like we all do.

What do you remember? I'll give you an example. Because we, my family, my father's family, we were living together with my grandpa, grandma, in a certain part of the city. And Jews were ostracized, separat. Dehumanized couldn't buy couldn't sell couldn't work couldn't be doctors lawyers businessmen anything My parents and my grandparents decided we have to leave this place we can't make a living So they decided one night to go to the train station and take a train to Prague prajah which at that time, 1938, was still part of the Czech Republic

because the German Nazi army was only in the border area which was called the Sudeten. And I remember something very specific. I was three years old, and I had just had a birthday. My birthday was in March, and I had received a tricycle, a beautiful tricycle. It was red, and he had black handlebars. And of course, I brought it to the train station.

And my parents and my grandparents, they had suitcases and bedroles and rucksacks and all things. And of course, what did I have? I had my tricycle. And, of course, I wanted to take it. And my parents said, no, no, no, no. Peter, you can't. You can't. We don't have room.

Please, put it aside. Somebody will take it. Don't worry. And I cried and I didn't have, even my grandfather, whom I loved dearly, said, I'll take it for him. I'll take it for him. No, nine. So I was heartbroken. Of course, this is heartbroken over three-year-old little

kids and I couldn't take it on a train. And they even said, well, buy a new one. That never happened. So that was something that I remember that stuck with me to this day. Understandably, you were three years old

and you were getting onto a train, you didn't know what was going to happen. But things then got even worse, didn't they get on? They got worse. So we arrived in Prague and it's something around June, summer. And we were living

in a central part of Prague on the third floor. My parents couldn't work because the Germans didn't allow them to work in anything having to do with business. Buying, selling

was not allowed. And within short period the Germans passed all kinds of of rules. One day they said, everybody who is Jewish and has a bank account, you will sign it, go to the bank, and you will sign it over to the Third Reich. Everybody who is a radio or a camera or typewriter has to bring it to the police station. Everybody who is Jewish after 8 o'clock has to be at home.

Every week or two a new rule. So by the time, a year and a half later, the Jewish people and me included, we had no rights. We couldn't even sit on a public bench. They passed a rule that Jews are not allowed into public places, like pools, gyms, parks.

And from that, I remember one instance that stuck in my mind forever. My grandpa used to take me to a little park just around the corner. And there were a small playground there with swings and slides and, you know, all kinds of games that children play. I was now four years old, four and a half, maybe five. And I used to love to go there. And he would take me and I would climb into this one swing that was like a canoe. And he would push me.

And I was in seventh heaven. And one day we come there. And he says, no, no, no, nine, nine, Peter, nine to come see in there. You can't go there. I said, why? What did I do? And I'm climbing in

and he comes running and he takes me by force into his arms. Peter, please. We have to go. We can't be here. And I said, why? What did I do?

Was I a bad boy? Did I not behave? Did I not clean up? No, no, no. Here, take a look. Take a look over there. You see that sign? There's a big.

sign there. I of course couldn't read it. He says, it says in German, Uden forboughten, Jews not allowed. I knew I was Jewish. I was not religious, but I knew I was Jewish. I wasn't sure exactly what that really meant,

but okay. But I, you know, I was so unhappy. I was crying all the way home and he tried to explain to me over and over. So when we talk about childhood, it was taken away from me. It's so cruel. I mean, it's so cruel.

And those things that stay with you, as you say, you're about to have your 90th birthday, many happy returns. May you, here's to the next 90s as well, get on. But then you had to board trains again. And your family did. And as the book says, a Holocaust survivor's message of hope and celebration of life,

we're going to get to the celebration. We're going to get to the hope. But then the war broke out and you had to face the Holocaust, you and your family. Yes. Well, you know, it all went by stages. You know, the Germans know how to organize

and set things up, everything. Kraday out. straight ahead and turn right, turn left, go forward, go left, sit, stand. That's the general idea, but the specifics were much crueler. And then by the time we, the Jews who had moved to Prague and the Jews that were living there, had already lost all right. of any sort. So by the time

they said we're going to send you, we're going to resettle you. Resettlement, they called it. They didn't call it a camp Lager. The German word for camp is Lager. No, this is not Lager.

This is resettlement in a town. And well enough, on December third or fourth my grandfather and my father received the notification that they have to report to the straight train station

and be sent to Therazenstadt. It was the only concentration camp in Czechoslovakia. And I remember at the time, again, I remind you

that it was a little kid. So things are, not everything do I remember was I aware of. But certain things save you for life. Of course. And I remember I was in a hospital because I had been operated and my tonsils had been removed because I had been sick. They were infected. And my grandpa and my father came to the hospital and I couldn't even talk to them because it hurts.

But one thing they did, they brought me ice cream. Oh! They brought me ice cream. Because the only thing that a person who has transvers removed can eat is ice cream. And they, of course, talk to me and said, Peter, we will see you. The Germans said that they will bring you and your mom to the same place. If we are, we're going to set things up there. Don't worry.

And that's exactly what happened. two weeks later my mother and I together with hundreds hundreds of women and their children some older

some younger were all brought to a smaller train station not the main train station and we had to sort of camp out

camp on the cold floor in a big train station of course the train station in my mind was as big as the Grand Central Station of New York but of course that's silly

because it wasn't. It was one, maybe one fifth of that size but for a little kid five years old or going on six, it was huge and crowded and people pushing this is my spot, this is my

spot and my blanket is here my suitcase is here. I remember it was horrific. It was horrific. Were you scared? Very much so. Very much so. And I cried and I was scared

and the kids in the toilets were very limited and food is what we brought with us. It is hard to describe. It is hard to describe. And then you were taken there? Then we were taken to a trail.

So the next day we slept there one or two nights. I don't remember if it was, I think it was two nights. And finally they put us on a train. It was a regular train. It wasn't one of the cattle trains. But instead of four people in a carriage, there were six or eight, sometimes even ten, squeezed together with the luggage and stuff. And then we arrived in the camp. But we didn't arrive in the camp.

We arrived in a town about three kilometers away. And this was in December. December in Czechoslovakia is very cold. I was just there. I can tell you it still is cold. And we had to walk. And I remember, just imagine, hundreds of women with one or two children, some babies, some small. each one's lugging a suitcase and a knapsack and a bed roll, whatever we could.

And it's cold and it's drizzly. And we're walking for three kilometers. And I was a small kid. I wasn't even six years old. And I could hardly carry my suit. I remember there was one young person. I don't know how we got onto the train together with all these. women and he saw that I had a hard time. So he helped me. So he helped me. And I remember that.

And then we finally arrived at this barbed wire fence. And one of the women yelled out to the German soldiers that were guarding us. So when do we see our husbands and our men? And he answered back in German. Morgan Free. Um, xeru'll get there to the fence and zetter. They frown, the men again to Arbai, which

means translated, tomorrow in the morning, look out from your windows and you'll see the men marching to work at 6 o'clock in the morning. And it was true. That's exactly how we saw my father for the first time.

And I remember as kids, we were about 10 or 12 people in one little room and we woke up and all ran to the little window with bars over the window and we looked out and we saw the men marching in groups of 50

5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 10 or 5, 50 in space and another 50 all were marching to work outside of the camp and the men were not allowed to look up And I called Papa, Arnosh. And he was not

allowed to look. He was not allowed to look. If he looked, if anybody from the men looked, they got a butt from a rifle in their back. And this

was the beginning of my four years in this terrible place. Good on. I know everybody asks, I'm lucky enough and privileged to have spoken to other Holocaust survivors.

The question is, how did you keep going? Where is that hope? Where do you keep that hope in you? You know, let's start from the point that children,

the minute they are living and alive and can run and speak, and play and be mischievous, don't want to die. They want to stay alive and they will do everything that they can to stay alive.

And of course, because there are personality differences between all of us, in my personality, that took such a strong, hold of me that, yes, I will do everything I can. And I did. I tried to find work, any kind of work, cleaning, taking care of the horses of the Nazi commanders, working in the fields, raising green beans or carrots, wherever I could do and find somewhere finding some food.

For example, working with the horses. So we had to clean the manure from the horses and brush them and feed them and everything. And if you did it week after week, day after day or every two days or three days, whatever they decided,

and you did a good job. sometimes the humanity of the officer whose horse you were taking care of would leave a half a slice of bread someplace on the side knowing that I would pick it up and take it, maybe even a little small apple. So there were acts of kindness there? There were acts of kindness. There were.

Not too many. Not many, no. No, but they were. How were your family? Because I know not all of your family were in Theresstadt with you. Other members of your family were in Auschwitz, weren't they? Well, you see, the Raisinstadt was sort of a transit camp. It was much more than that.

Because people also stayed there for sometimes. My father, for example, was there for almost two and a half years. He was working in the mines, mining mica that was used by the Germans for insulating all kinds of electronics. And the rest of my family also went there. Sometimes they stay there longer, sometimes. Not always did we see them? Not always. There were periods where we were put into these.

huge buildings. The Wyrgyzstan had been an army camp before World War I. And the barracks were in single-story. They were three-story buildings with a courtyard in the middle. And that's where I stayed. I stayed in one called Dresden.

Every one of those barracks had a name of a German city existing in Germany. And people came and people... There are two, perhaps more. There were two main horrific fields

in Theresenstadt. One was hunger. Hunger. We were hungry from morning to evening, from evening to morning. You know, when you think of it today, a child is hungry, what does it do? He goes to the kitchen, opens the cupboard, and takes out a cookie.

Or opens a fridge and take out the yogurt. There were no fridges. There were no iceboxes. There were no cupboards. There was no food at all, except what the Germans gave out. So hunger was a terrible presence all the time. The other fear of being sent east to Auschwitz, Dachau, Birkenau, Treblinka. We have to understand that we, not just the children, but the adults in the camp, didn't know that there were such things as gas chambers, didn't know that there were shooting people and mass, having them dig a ditch and then standing there and being shut in their faces.

We didn't know. What we did know was that it was much worse than where we were. And it was such a terrible place also because at the same time as you were living with the daily insecurity and fear, there were people who were being creative. people were putting on puppet shows people were putting on little concerts some concerts were so good that the German officers came to listen

and the next day they received a little post in paper at 8 o'clock tomorrow morning be at the train station we cannot even imagine how horrific that was we cannot

no and obviously lessons that people learn and the stories that must live on and the stories must live on because God forbid it ever were to happen again but yet you've got through all of this I know you lost so many members of your family

get on and I'm so sorry and what you witnessed and the pain. But your books are all about forgiveness and love and hope and celebrating life. And I go on, I bang on about celebrating life. But I haven't witnessed, thank goodness. I haven't witnessed what you've witnessed and what you've gone through. Where does this celebration of life come from within you? You know, I truly cannot always explain how come I feel it.

But I feel it down to my soul, from the bottom of my soul to the top of my head. It's something that I know I have to cling to, I have to, hold on to. and those people that managed many of them in the various lagas in the various camps many of them were those that were able to imagine a different life

to think maybe I will see my son maybe I will see my mother maybe this will finish this can go on forever and those are many of the people who somehow survived and I want to tell you they survived horrors worse than I did

the fact is we all cling to life as long as we can and sometimes that in itself gives us power and hope. Power and hope. As you see me here, I didn't only survive concentration camp. I survived yellow jaunders, removal of my tonsils,

two operations of cancer. My son told my partner, Julie, he said, don't worry. I just recently, in last June, my heart started giving me trouble. That good heart that kept me alive. And my son, one of my sons said, don't worry, don't worry.

Gidon doesn't die. Eventually I will, of course. But yes, I cling unto life. And I hope for the best. I hope for the best. Gidon, you're a remarkable man. You're absolutely remarkable. We should all learn from you.

The stories, the things that you've gone through and your courage. can I just ask you about when they came in and you were saved and you were able to leave the camp? That must have been the most... I mean, I've heard from other survivors that that moment is like nothing else that you can imagine. Well, you have to remember. You probably spoke to people who were probably older than I am.

But I was at that point in May 1945, I had just turned 10. I was 10 years old. By the time, by the time the Russian army freed us. They didn't even know the Russian army, but this was a laga, a camp, a concentration camp. they didn't know they asked they saw barbed wire what is this what is this Stoieto

and people ran down to the barbed wire fence and broke it down and yelled this is a concentration camp Jewish and and we the kids that were left

we the Russians threw us candies and chocolate and especially they threw cigarettes. Cigarettes weren't for us. People, know those that wanted to smoke was like for us a candy.

It was unbelievable. It was unbelievable. Both my mother and I, we said, oh, we survived. I wonder, who else. is alive. It turned out that 26 people, at least

for my family, were destroyed, murdered, gased, shot. By the way, something that is not known by many people. More people, Jews and also non-Jews, were shot

than were gassed in gas chambers. the shootings were the most popular way the Germans used to kill people. The only thing that held them back sometimes was the lack of munition. You cannot imagine that. Thank goodness we can't imagine. But I cannot thank you enough for sharing your story because we need to be reminded of these stories. we must never, ever, ever forget.

You do wonderful things on Instagram and your books are beautiful. Can I ask you, sorry to put you on the spot, but if there is a message that you would like to give to the people who listen and watch this, what is the message for every day, something that we can carry with us every day? Okay, first of all, don't hesitate to ask.

Don't hesitate to ask. I'm happy to talk, to say, to explain. If I know the answer, I will say it. If I don't, I will also say it. I don't know. There are a million things I don't know. You know, the older you get, the more you learn what you don't know. The fact is, things change.

People change. Situation changes. Relationships change. One of the few things that is 100% is change. Whether we like it or not, we see it all around us, minute by minute, day by day, here, there and everywhere. And because of that, there's always that possibility that things can change for the better,

they don't always have to change for the worse. But after the worst comes maybe something better. So don't give up on believing, on hoping, and put yourself in the line of fire. Go out there, speak out, demonstrate, yell, right. that's what you can do. Do it. I have six children,

six children from two wives, and I was married the second time 40 years. Every one of them, in his or her own way, is in some way helping to make this world a better place. And it's not easy and it's not simple. but nobody said it would be. Nobody said it would be. Good on.

I cannot thank you enough. It has been, as I said, a true honour. Tom, who's working on this as well, is nodding along with me. Thank you. Thank you for the book. Let's make things better. A Holocaust, Survivor's message of hope

and a celebration of life, that's what we all need to do. It says on the back here, to me, hard times are like hide and seek, where is the solution? Where is the hope? We can never give up looking for these things because they're just waiting to be found and how right you are, sir. I wish you a very happy birthday for March and the next birthday and the next one. You carry on spreading your love, please, sir. It's a real, real honour. I salute you. I salute your kindness and

your love. Thank you so much. Thank you for having me. Thank you. We shall do as much as we can. Even when now here specifically it looks very problematic. But it will change and will make it better. Thank you.