I discovered the hero my grandfather was, in an old box of clippings

I knew him only as family. In the archives, I met the wrestler, rescuer and fighter who shaped our history.

(source: Courtesy, David M. Baron)

David M. Baron, MBA, lives in Baltimore, Maryland with his wife and three daughters. He has worked at Johns Hopkins University for over 20 years in information technology. David honors the tradition of his Jewish Slovak roots by sharing with future generations the stories of his grandfather’s heroic legacy. It started on the streets of Pressburg (Bratislava), protecting the Jewish community with his friend, Krav Maga founder Imi Lichtenfeld, and later developed into helping those who can’t rescue themselves. 

In memory of the Unreich family, whose kindness and contributions may not be forgotten. We experienced miracles through their continued life-service of helping other people.  

David M. Baron’s story is part of a Global Slovakia Project- Slovak Settlers, authored by Zuzana Palovic and Gabriela Bereghazyova. The book is available for purchase via info.globalslovakia@gmail.com.

Sunday mornings were and are quiet in Bratislava. For much of the town, it was a day of rest as many in the neighborhood were off from work and getting ready to attend church. But the house on Kapucínska Street no. 9 was different. For Rochel, Sunday was the beginning of her busy week and on this day, she used to bake a large cake for the sick kids at the nearby hospital where she volunteered. 

My grandfather and his siblings recall, almost unfailingly each Sunday, walking into their home with the delicious smell of the baking wafting through the air and their mother saying, “You can eat black bread. This cake is for the sick.”  

The lives of my great-grandparents were tragically short but wholesome. In their humble ways, they contributed towards almost every conceivable charity, devoting their energy to worthwhile causes unselfishly until their untimely demise. Caring for others and giving back were a fundamental principle of the family, and this tradition has been passed down from one generation to another. We took it with us wherever we went – from Slovakia to Israel and to the United States where we live now.

My grandfather Zalman Unreich grew up on the Danube River in Bratislava, then Czechoslovakia. Bratislava is no longer in Czechoslovakia. Today, it is the capital city of independent Slovakia. But Zalman was born neither in Czechoslovakia, nor in Slovakia for that matter. Back in those days, Bratislava was still a part of the Kingdom of Hungary, and it was known by the name of Poszony, though many people referred to it by its German name, Pressburg.

At the beginning of the twentieth century, Pressburg was notable (as far as the Jews of Europe were concerned) for two things. The first was the town’s dynasty of Jewish religious leaders, generations descended from the conservative Rabbi Moshe Sofer. He may have been dead for the better part of a century before Zalman was born, but Moshe Sofer’s spirit still hung heavily over Pressburg’s synagogues, religious schools, and famous rabbinic seminary. There is still a memorial to him in the Old Jewish Cemetery in Bratislava. The other thing that made Pressburg, soon to become Bratislava, famous in the eyes of Europe’s Jews was its long, never-ending history of anti-Jewish riots. Of those, Zalman was soon to know a thing or two.

Zalman’s parents were deeply religious. His mother was the great-great-granddaughter of Rabbi Mordechai Tosk who for 50 years was the head of the rabbinic court in Pressburg. He had signed the letter appointing Moshe Sofer as Pressburg’s chief rabbi in 1806. 

(source: Courtesy, David M. Baron)

I only discovered that my great-grandfather had been an Orthodox rabbi in Pressburg when I looked through some old boxes in my father’s apartment. Pressburg was famous for its conservative religious outlook. Innovation was forbidden by the Torah in Moshe Sofer’s town. A reputed scholar, Moshe conducted an advanced Talmud class in a study hall that was right next door to where Rochel, her husband, and their eight children lived. 

Unfortunately, most of the neighborhood was torn down in the 1970s, as part of a communist road construction project. It is now a four-lane road that leads to a suspension bridge claimed to be the seventh largest in the world. The bridge boasts an open-air observation tower that looks like a UFO on stilts. The solid study hall built on three stories with a red-tiled roof and attic, one of few reminders of the past, stands in its elongated shadow. It houses the Institute for Italian Culture. 

Zalman, the sixth child, was a wrestler. Tall and well-built, he became the Slovak wrestling champion (welterweight division) in 1927 and took first place in Greco-Roman wrestling (heavyweight division) at the 1935 Maccabiah Games. Wrestling ran in the family. Five of his six brothers were also fighters, and Zalman’s oldest brother David was even world champion! 

(source: Courtesy, David M. Baron)

At the time, the entire continent of Europe was simmering with an anti-Semitic mood, and the Zalman family was no exception to the rule. By the 1920s, their house became a haven for hundreds of refugees. Although the whole family was destitute, they welcomed every seeker whose papers were not in order despite the government’s prohibition. It was dangerous, but the family looked after the refugees with great care and devotion and did whatever they could to ensure their safe passage to Palestine.

Helping refugees came at a price. Antisemitism was nothing new to the region that had known assaults on Jews and their property since the middle of the 19th century, but the attacks greatly intensified after WWI. They were exacerbated by the unstable political environment and the noticeable flow of Jewish refugees finding their way into the city. However, Zalman’s contemporaries would not give in to the pressure. Instead, vigilante patrols were formed to defend Jews against attacks by non-Jewish gangs. The vigilantes called themselves shomrim, or ‘watchers/guards’. Many young men, including the Unreich brothers volunteered to join the defense squads. They were led by Zalman’s brother David, and their life-long best friend Imi Lichtenfeld. One day, he would be famous for inspiring the martial art called Krav Maga, just another legacy of these Slovak Jewish heroes.  

At that time, nobody could foresee the transformation of Imi, David, and Zalman from athletes to enduring fighters against anti-Semitic and fascist attacks in Slovakia, protectors of Jewish people, and advocates for fair treatment. Eventually, these two best friends and influencers of their time, Zalman and Imi would reunite many times over in Israel, paving the way for making the Krav Maga self-defense discipline a global phenomenon. But let us return to our story. 

(source: Courtesy, David M. Baron)

When Czechoslovakia started to heat up even more, Zalman emigrated to Palestine in the 1930s where his brother had already moved to earlier. Their parents remained in Czechoslovakia. In 1936, the Unreich family was reunited briefly to celebrate the wedding of Zalman’s brother Shlomo. Zalman’s parents travelled from Bratislava to Palestine for the special occasion but had no intention to stay. Their two sons, Zalman and Shlomo did not approve. Even from as far away as Palestine, they could see the immense danger Jews in Europe were facing. 

Hitler had already begun his policy of persecution in Germany where Jews were being openly attacked, their civil rights curtailed, and their businesses forcibly shut down. Many opted for emigration. At the same time, there was little prospect that life would improve for Jews in Czechoslovakia. The brothers tried to persuade their parents to stay in Palestine with them. It made little sense to go back, especially after they had undertaken the arduous journey to get there. 

But the parents would not be persuaded. Some say that Rochel, Zalman’s mom, was desperate to get back to her volunteer work in Bratislava. She had an overpowering sense of duty to her community and could not conceive of abandoning them at a time of increasing hardship. She had taken upon herself the long-standing Jewish obligation of providing aid to orphans and the poor as well as others who found themselves in need. She also raised funds for those who wanted to marry and set up a home but could not afford to do so. She would even loan bridegrooms her sons’ suits to wear to the ceremony if they did not have one of their own. And so, the parents chose to dutifully return to the heart of Europe. It was the last time that the two brothers would ever see them.

The parents were taken away by the Gestapo on Yom Kippur. A rumor had spread in the community that the Nazis, may their names be blotted out, would not do anything to the Jews that day because of the holy day. It was, of course, fake news, most probably spouted by the Nazis themselves. The family came out of their hiding place and were captured. They were initially sent to the concentration camp in Sereď, southern Slovakia, but it was just the beginning. A few days later, on the fifth of October 1944, Shulem, Rochel, their daughter, her husband, and their children (aged eight and six), were crammed into cattle trucks with hundreds of other Jews and deported to Auschwitz. They were on one of the final transports to be sent to the death camp. None of them survived. May their memory be for a blessing. 

In Israel, Zalman went on to join the pre-state of Israel Haganah paramilitary organization, being assigned to special projects cooperating with the British. He also helped train Jewish paratroopers to be dropped behind enemy lines in Europe. Given his origins, he was assigned to work with four paratroopers known as the ‘Slovak Quartet’.  After the war, he would be a part of the team who located their graves. 

But it was not all about war. In 1940, Zalman married Gerty Sussman who was born in Vienna, but her ancestors came from Slovakia. Her own parents had travelled to Palestine in the 1930s. Her father arrived first in 1933. He had set off ahead to find work and a place to live before sending for his family. They lived in a shack in Tel Aviv as the city was still largely unbuilt. Many people lived in basic accommodation on plots of land that would eventually be developed into flats or houses. 

Zalman first met Gerty when her father invited him to his home. Gerty’s father must have seen him as a good prospect for his daughter. Gerty was still young, too young to marry when they met, but Zalman fell for her straight away. They married a few months before her twentieth birthday.

(source: Courtesy, David M. Baron)

Gerty was a small lady. Even in high heels, she was only about five feet tall when I knew her. I am still amused at the thought of her and Zalman together in their prime; him towering over her, yet her firmly in control. She was elegant, with a great sense of humor and a good heart, always willing to help others or lend an ear if someone needed to talk. Like so many Jewish refugees from central and eastern Europe, Gerty preserved the elegance, style, and formality of the culture in which she had been raised. They held onto the culture even after it was trashed and obliterated by people who claimed to be the custodians of these countries. Two years after they had married, Gerty gave birth to their first child. A few years later, two more children followed, including my father Avi.  

Grandfather Zelman did not forget the Jewish community and legacy of Bratislava just because he had left Czechoslovakia. He ran a clandestine rescue operation, smuggling funds for Jewish war refugees into post-WWII Czechoslovakia, and smuggling Jews and sacred items out of the Communist bloc to Israel or the West. There is also evidence that he helped some Czech Catholic monks escape to the US at the time that the churches were pursued and persecuted by the Communist Party. In the late 1940s to early 50s, Zalman was in charge of security at the Israeli legation in Prague, but it was a front for his undercover work. He was a hero, helping those who couldn’t save themselves out of difficult situations.

(source: Courtesy, David M. Baron)

Among the newspaper cuttings I found was the front page of an Israeli daily. Dated Tuesday, 8 December 1959, the entire page is devoted to my grandfather. “The European Champion Who Rescued Holy Objects,” proclaimed the headline, “Zalman Unreich: The Outstanding Wrestler, Fighting All His Life for the Protection and Rescue of Jews,” read another. And finally, “Zalman on Presenting One of the Torah Scrolls Rescued from Europe to the Late Rabbi Herzog”. I remember how surprised I was by those headlines. I had no idea.

My grandpa Zalman died when I was a toddler, so my memories are only connected to my grandma Gerty. They all begin with a trip to Israel, where we would check in at her apartment in Tel Aviv. Gerty was a local matriarch, sitting at her sliding, smoked-glass balcony doors, overseeing activity in the street below. From there, she could smell mischief, monitor what was going on, reprimand both young and old for their ill deeds, and sprinkle some heartfelt Jewish guilt across the neighborhood. 

As a kid I loved looking around her apartment. It was the family museum, where there was always something new to find or something old to wet my curiosity about the past and the generations who had gone before. I vividly remember photos of my father at a young age dressed in kroje, a traditional folk costume worn by Czechs and Slovaks. They had also kept his classic Czechoslovak jigsaw puzzle that I loved piecing together. 

To this day, I still miss my long conversations with grandma. She was remarkably up to date on world affairs and as sharp as a tack. Nothing got past her! She was also a good secret keeper. I could tell her anything and be certain that she would not say a word. 

As for her cooking, there is not a Jewish grandmother on earth who could beat it! Her hallmark dish, our family favorite, was chicken schnitzel with slightly crisped German potatoes and onions, prepared like nothing else. She loved to feed her family, always using her best, blue-decorated china plates and silverware. No matter how informal the occasion or who was eating, she always set the table for a five-course meal. I learned to set the table from her, even though my mother-in-law will say I must have forgotten, since I never manage to set it right for Shabbat. 

Potato salad

• 2 lbs. russet potatoes, peeled

• 6 hard-boiled eggs, peeled 

• 6 Israeli-style pickles

• ¾ cup mayonnaise

• ½ cup spicy mustard

• 1 cup frozen peas and carrots, thawed 

• Salt and pepper

1.  Place the potatoes in a large pot, in salted water that just covers the potatoes.  Bring them to a boil (uncovered) over high heat, then reduce the heat to medium, cover the pot, and simmer the potatoes until tender, around 20 minutes.  Drain the potatoes and allow them to dry on their own.  When they’re cool enough to handle, cube them and put them in a large bowl.

2.  In the meantime, finely chop the hard-boiled eggs and the pickles, then add them to the cooled potatoes, along with the mayonnaise, mustard, peas, and carrots.  Mix gently to combine.

3.  Season with salt and pepper, to taste.

4.  Serve immediately or refrigerate before serving.

I am proud to continue the legacy of my family. My wife and I have raised our family on the same founding principles as our Slovak-Jewish family upheld over the generations. We are active members in our local community, giving back to various charities and celebrating our Jewish-Slovak roots in many ways to this day. We belong to a Modern Orthodox synagogue in Baltimore, Maryland called Beth Tfiloh which was founded by Rabbi Samuel Rosenblatt, a born native of Bratislava. 

We were fortunate to experience the beauty of Slovakia ourselves, visiting our family’s Jewish heritage site on Kapucínska Street to give color, smell, and feeling to the heroic stories of my grandparents and great-grandparents.

Read more: https://spectator.sme.sk/opinion/c/i-discovered-the-hero-my-grandfather-was-in-an-old-box-of-clippings