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Angel of Orphans
The story of R' Yona Tiefenbrunner and the hundreds he savedMalky Weinstock
Angel of Orphans
While the Angels of Death sent their parents to the gas chambers, an Angel of Life rescued and raised hundreds of Jewish children.
In this gripping tale of altruism and self-sacrifice, masterful author Malky Weinstock tells the incredible story of Yona Tiefenbrunner, the legendary Belgian Jew who saved hundreds of Jewish orphans from the Nazi murder machine. Abandoning his chances for refuge, Yona agreed to head the Jewish orphanage in Brussels, and overnight, he became the loving father to hundreds of tortured and traumatized Jewish children. Despite the ever-present threats and danger, R’ Yona managed to infuse his orphanage with Torah, love, and tranquility, and even after the war, he continued to care for his “children,” rebuilding their shattered spirits and giving them a chance at life.
A compelling story of salvation and selflessness, Angel of Orphans pays tribute to an ordinary man of extraordinary courage — a hero whose legacy is eternal.
Book Excerpt from Angel of Orphans
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Angel of Orphans:
The gripping Jewish Holocaust story of R' Yona Tiefenbrunner, the Angel of Orphans, an ordinary man of extraordinary courage who dared to defy evil & rescued hundreds of Jewish children during the Jewish Holocaust. An incredible tale of a real-life Jewish hero!
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FACING THE MONSTER: GESTAPO VISITS
"Aufmachen! (Open up!)”
The children are rudely awakened, their eyes wide with fear, to the cacophony of ear-splitting noise piercing the midnight silence. The doorbell is ringing, accompanied by coarse German shouts, but before anyone can get to the door, the pounding rifle butts have broken it down. In burst the notorious Feldgendarmerie, the Nazi military police.
From room to room they stride, illuminating the thick darkness* with the harsh glare of their flashlights. Everywhere, they cast threatening shadows. In every corner. Under every bed. In every closet. And finally, one by one, upon the face of every terrified youngster.
“How can you pretend this boy is not seventeen?” they thunder scornfully. Their flashlights are fixed on Herbert Kessler, who has an exceptionally tall build so that his feet protrude from the end of the bed.
“Get up now!”
“I’ve known his family since he was a baby. He is only fourteen, though he looks older,” argues the room counselor, Helen, with a bravery that is characteristic of many of the wartime staff members. “You well know that we don’t keep grown-up children here. Now why are you taking children out of bed in the middle of the night?”
Helen apparently succeeds in convincing the Germans this time. Wordlessly, they file out.
It was all too often that the Gestapo dispatched the Nazi military police for periodic raids on the Tiefenbrunner Home to ascertain that the orphanage was not sheltering any unauthorized persons — no children above age 16, nor any adults who weren’t staff members. The sudden nighttime raids were part of their ruse to instill fear and panic so that the discombobulated children might disclose their real ages.
Sometimes they would gather only the older children, ordering them to stand in a circle so they could size them up and interrogate them. Moshe, a tall teenager who had just turned sixteen, was slightly learning disabled and socially impaired. Again and again his “brothers” drilled it in: “When the Nazis come, say you’re fifteen!” How they cowered in fear, attempting to keep their knees from quivering, each time they questioned Moshe lest he mumble the wrong answer. Thankfully, he was never taken and survived the war.
There were numerous instances of Divine Providence that protected Yona and his charges. One evening, a German officer and his soldiers stormed into the home, ordering all the children out so they could search the house. Yona began arguing with the officer in German, telling him that it was impossible, given the unearthly hour.
The officer whirled around to face Yona, his face inexplicably taking on a humane hue.
“Where are you from?” he mumbled, taken aback by Yona’s German accent.
“From Wiesbaden, sir.”
“Wiesbaden! I, too, grew up in Wiesbaden!”
The officer questioned Yona further and realized that they had both attended the same public school years, nay, a lifetime ago. Lost in the shared pleasant reveries of their youth, the officer politely wished Yona good night and left with his cohorts.
Late one evening, Yona heard a desperate knocking on the door. “Please hide me!” came a cry. The hapless Jew pushed his way in. “The Nazis are chasing me!”
To shelter an adult was to jeopardize the entire home. No adults, save for those officially employed by the AJB to work in the home, were allowed here. But Yona’s deeply honed sense of compassion overtook him.
“Hide in the attic!” he said. Within seconds the man had disappeared into the dark attic that was used for storage. It was none too soon. Another furious pounding on the door, this time accompanied by rifle butts and kicks.
“Where is that Jew?” the Gestapo soldiers spat out.
“He isn’t here,” replied Yona evenly. “No adults are in this home.” They tore past him, searching every corner of the house. When they reached the windowless attic, it was pitch-dark. Night had fallen. Stumbling along the nearest wall, they were feeling for the light switch to illuminate the space piled high with all manner of boxes, crates, trunks, and old furniture.
The light did not go on. No amount of fumbling could make it turn on. There was no way to navigate the attic in the thick, blinding darkness. With curses on their breaths, they turned around and left.
When the coast was clear, Yona wondered: how could the Jew have escaped the windowless attic? Running up the stairs, he entered the attic and flicked on the light switch. Light flooded the room.
“They’re gone! You can come out of hiding now!” announced Yona.
A trunk creaked open, and the man slowly rose, shaking from witnessing the open miracle of the on-again-off-again lightbulb that had assisted Yona in saving one more.
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