Late in 1949, Irene saw the Statue of Liberty from the deck of the troopship John Muir, which carried refugees from Europe. She was greeted by a member of the Jewish Resettlement Organization, who found her a place to live in Brooklyn. Before long, Irene was employed in a garment factory and learning English. Her new life had begun. Then, one day, to her astonishment, she bumped into William Opdyke in a coffee shop near the United Nations.
He remembered her vividly—how could he not?—and began to court her. They were married a few months later. Five years after her arrival at New York harbor, Irene became a United States citizen. She and Bill had a daughter, whom they named Janina, and they lived among the orange groves of Southern California, in the sunshine, in a place untouched by war.
Because the Soviet Iron Curtain had sealed Poland off from the West, it was difficult for her to hear news of the family and friends she had left behind. But bits and pieces reached her. She learned that Major Rügemer had been ostracized by his family because of his involvement with Irene and her friends, and that he had been cared for in Münich by the Hallers until his death. Many of her friends had immigrated to Israel, where they started new lives in the Jewish homeland. Sadly, she also learned that her mother had died shortly after the war's conclusion. With no end in sight to the Communist control of Poland, she feared she would never see her beloved sisters again.
Like many refugees from the war, Irene tried to put her experiences behind her. But when she began hearing that some people here in the United States believed the Holocaust was an exaggeration, a propaganda myth to promote support for Israel, she broke her silence and began to tell her story. She speaks to church congregations, to synagogues, to community groups. Her favorite audience is high school students, because she wants especially to convince young people that they can make a difference, that they have the power to fight against evil.
In 1982, Israel's Yad Vashem Holocaust memorial recognized her heroism and honored her as one of the Righteous Among the Nations. On her trip to Israel for this ceremony, she finally met Roman Haller, the baby—now a grown man—whose life she had made possible.
And with the end of the Communist regime in Poland, Irene returned to her homeland in 1984 for the first time since the war, and there met Janina, Marysia, Władzia, and Bronia, and their families.
Polish: A Rough Guide to Pronunciation
Some Polish consonants look like English consonants but are not pronounced the same way. Some consonants don't look like anything we're used to.
“L” is pronounced almost like an English “w” sound; thus “Mała” is pronounced “Mawa.”
“W” has an English “v” sound, so “Wisła” is pronounced “Veeswa,” and “Gutowna” is pronounced “Gootovna.”
“J” is pronounced like English “y,” so “Janówka” is pronounced “Yanoovka.”
“Ch” has a guttural sound, rather like a cross between the English “k” and “h.”
“Dz” sounds like an English “j,” so “dzień dobry” (hello) is pronounced “jen dobry” and “dziękuję” (thank you) is pronounced “jen-kooyeh.”
“S” sounds like English “sh,” so “Tatuś” (father or daddy) is pronounced “ta-tush.”
“Z” sounds much like an English “zh,” so “doroźka” (wagon) is pronounced “doe-roe-zhka.”
Vowels in Polish can be pronounced more or less as English speakers pronounce them, with the exception of the letter “ę” as in “Częs-tochowa.” This letter is pronounced with a nasal tone, so that the name of this city sounds like “Chenstohova.” Other Polish vowels, even with unfamiliar accent marks, can be intelligibly pronounced like English vowels.
“Pan” and “Pani” are Polish for “Mr.” and “Mrs.”
German: A Rough Guide to Pronunciation
German consonants differ somewhat from English.
“S” before a “t” is pronounced “sh,” making “Strasse” (street) sound like “Shtrassuh.” Otherwise, “s” at the start of a word is pronounced like English “z,” making “Sagen Sie” (you say) sound like “Zagen zee.” A double “s” is pronounced like an English sibilant “s,” as in the example of “Strasse.”
“W” is pronounced like English “v,” as it is in Polish, giving us the sound “Vahrenhouse” for “Warenhaus.”
“Ch” is pronounced as a guttural in the back of the throat, a throat-clearing sound.
“Sch” is pronounced “sh.” “Scharf (sharp) is pronounced “sharf.”
“J” is pronounced like “y,” so that “judenrein” sounds like “yoodenrine.”
“Z” is pronounced “tz.” “Schulz” is pronounced “Shultz.”
Vowels in German are more or less as in English, with some exceptions.
“E” at the end of a word is always pronounced as an “uh” sound, so “bitte” (please) is pronounced “bit-uh,” and “danke” (thank you) is pronounced “dank-uh.”
“Ei” is pronounced like the long English “i.” “Meine” (mine) is pronounced “my-nuh.”
“Eu” is pronounced “oy.” “Heute” (today) is pronounced “hoy-tuh.”
“Äu” is also pronounced “oy.” “Fräulein” (Miss) is pronounced “froy-line.”
Some Historical Background
Some of the terms used throughout this book may be unfamiliar.
In 1939, when Hitler's army invaded Poland, they moved the German-Polish border to the east, annexing a large part of western Poland (including Kozłowa Góra). What remained, called the General Gouvernement, was a Polish state controlled by Germany under the strictest martial law; the greatest number of concentration camps and death camps were in the General Gouvernement. The explicit policy of the General Gouvernement was the subjugation, enslavement, and eventual eradication of the Poles in order to create Lebensraum, or living space, for the German people. Polish nationals living to the west of the new border (like Irene's family) were likewise subjected to the harshest domination by the Germans. Władysław Gut's murder for failing to yield the sidewalk to two soldiers is demonstration of that.
Many people today assume that all Germans involved in World War II were Nazis, but the Nazi party (National-sozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei) was a political institution, which not everyone joined. However, membership in the Nazi party was usually a prerequisite for advancement in the German army, and many army officers who did not necessarily embrace Hitler's politics nevertheless became Nazis to promote their careers. Therefore, Major Rügemer was a member of the Nazi party, but Schulz apparently was not.
The Germans exerted control in Poland in two ways: militarily and politically. The military, the German army, was the Wehrmacht. Wehrmacht soldiers were not always Nazis. The Schutzstaffel, or SS, was the political police arm of the Nazi party. The Wehrmacht conducted the war; the SS made up Hitler's elite personal guard and conducted terrorist and police actions, such as the deportation and extermination of the Jews and other political “enemies” of the Nazi state. The Gestapo (Geheime. Stoats Polizei, or Secret State Police), originally a separate Nazi organization, had been taken over by the SS before the beginning of the war. Thus, many people used the terms “SS” and “Gestapo” interchangeably.
Rokita was an officer of the SS; Rügemer was an officer of the Wehrmacht. These two groups, the Wehrmacht and the SS, had different command structures, and often worked at odds with one another; while the Wehrmacht needed labor to supply its military operations and made use of Jewish slaves, the SS was devoted to Hitler's goal of Jewish extermination. Thus, Major Rügemer and Rokita had different and conflicting aims.
After the war, the Allies redrew Poland's borders yet again, restoring much of western Poland but assigning a large part of eastern Poland to the Soviet Union. Today, Ternopol is part of the independent country of Ukraine.
Irene asks, “Was that girl me? In the war … we wore masks and spoke lines that were not our own” (p. 1). Discuss the different masks that Irene wears during the war. Do yo
u think her flair for acting contributes to her survival? What role does she finally define for herself?
“I did not ask myself, Should I do this? But, How will I do this? Every step of my childhood had brought me to this crossroad; I must take the right path, or I would no longer be myself (p. 142). How does Irene grow into her role as a rescuer? What is her first small step? What skills does she acquire that help her succeed? How does her telling her story now relate to her resistance during the war?
“How could I presume to be their savior? And yet I had promised. I had to do it” (p. 164). What motivates Irene to take such incredible risks? Is it her religious belief? Her upbringing? Her anger at the cruelty all around her? Does she truly consider the alternatives—does she think it possible not to help?
Throughout the war, and for many years after, Irene is separated from her family—first by circumstance, but later as a direct result of having helped her friends. In what ways do the people whom she has helped become her family? Many years after the war, Irene meets Roman Haller—the child of two of the people she hid. How might he be considered a closer relative than her own nieces and nephews?
Irene often refers to herself as “only a girl.” For example: “I was only a girl, alone among the enemy. What could I do?” (p. 121). Yet pages later she says, “I was only a girl, nobody paid much attention to me” (p. 124). What are some other advantages and disadvantages of her being “only a girl”? How do you think she views this status in the end?
Early in the story, Irene is raped, beaten, and left for dead by Russian soldiers. How does this change her feelings about herself? Her feelings about men?
Later in the story, Major Rügemer agrees that he will not turn the Jews hidden in his basement over to the Gestapo if Irene will become his mistress. She describes this relationship as “worse than rape.” In what ways is it worse? Does she believe she has any choice? What does she imagine the people she is hiding would want her to do?
Irene often contrasts the major's decent behavior with Rokita's cruelty. But after the major forces her into a sexual relationship, she feels confused. “I wondered how the major's honor would allow him to make such a bargain. I had always felt that behind the uniform was a decent man. I had never seen him do anything cruel or rash….” (pp. 215-216). Does Irene realize the full extent of the major's feelings for her? How does she use his affection to her advantage? Is his eventual exploitation of her inevitable, as she implies?
What are Major Rügemer's feelings for Irene? He both protects her and does her harm—how would you assess his behavior as a whole? Why does he take Irene to visit her “cousin”? When he leaves Irene alone at the hotel, do you think he knows that she will run from him? Do you find his actions forgivable? Is it possible to feel sympathy for him? Does Irene forgive him? What happens to him at the end of the war?
How would you contrast the major's behavior with that of Herr Schulz? Irene calls him a “good, friendly man” and admits “he made hating the Germans a complex matter, when it should have been such a straightforward one” (p. 134). Why does Irene suspect that he knows what she is doing? How much is he willing to help? Is Herr Schulz's behavior understandable?
Irene faces the threats of torture and imprisonment in Siberia. She is raped by a Russian soldier, blackmailed by a German officer, and separated for years from her family. She knows that the fate of her Jewish friends is in her hands. What does she risk to help? What is her biggest sacrifice?
When the Jews whom Irene has been hiding escape into the forest, she is unsure what to do next. She explains: “Shouldn't I have been happy? But I was oddly dejected, because my great and righteous undertaking was finished” (p. 229). Then, on the very next page, she says she has found her calling. She throws herself into fighting for Poland by joining the resistance. After the war, does she continue her efforts? If so, how?
Irene often goes to church and confession. Does religion sustain her or fail her in her times of need? Discuss the different clergymen she encounters. How does she cope with their conflicting advice and admonitions?
Does Irene's faith ever waver? Does she question God? At what point in the story? She ends her memoir with the words “Go with God.” How does she hold on to her belief in God when she has witnessed so much suffering and cruelty?
The book is framed by the sections “Tears” and “Amber.” How are these two pieces related? How do they reflect Irene's growth from the beginning of the war to the end? How has the meaning of amber shifted by the end of the memoir?
Irene often says that she had no choice but to act as she did and that God put her in the right place to act. But in her epilogue she tells us, “God gave me this free will for my treasure. I can say this now. I understand this now. The war was a series of choices made by many people” (p. 264). Were Irene's actions predestined or the result of her free will? How is free will an important idea in understanding the Holocaust?
Images of birds permeate Irene's memoir. Discuss what all these different birds might mean. Sparrows, hens, storks, pigeons … do any of these symbolize Irene? What else do the birds represent?
On the very first page of Irene's story, an image of a bird represents a horrible scene she witnessed during the war: “There was a bird flushed up from the wheat fields, disappearing in a blur of wings against the sun, and then a gunshot and it fell to the earth. But it was not a bird. It was not a bird, and it was not in the wheat field, but you can't understand what it was yet.” What does she need to make the reader understand? Why do you think she begins and ends her story with a reference to this incident?
The real scene represented by this image is one of the most indelible in the book: a soldier viciously throws a baby into the air and shoots it (p. 117). The people Irene is with when she sees this happen turn away from the horror, but Irene continues to look. Why does she watch?
Irene and her companions do not discuss what they have seen, but keep the secret until they “could bring it out, and show it to others, and say, ‘Behold. This is the worst thing man can do‘” (p. 118). How does Irene “show it to others” and what does she hope to accomplish by doing so?
The events of this narrative were told to me by Irene Gut Opdyke through many, many hours of interviews. They have also long since been verified and confirmed by Yad Vashem: The witnesses gave their testimonies; the survivors have spoken. This is a true story.
There were some details, however, particularly names, that Irene couldn't remember. You must bear in mind that these experiences took place many decades ago and, for the most part, under extreme conditions: You can't always recall every conversation you had, or the name of every street you walked on, or every person you met over fifty years ago when you were in fear for your life. So there are some few instances where I have taken the license to invent, to imagine how a scene might have played out, or to supply a name typical to the situation. Irene encouraged me to do this, to help make her story come alive.
That being said, however, rest assured that these characters—Irene and her family, Dr. Olga and Dr. Miriam, Major Rügemer, Sturmbannführer Rokita, Schulz, and of course, the Jewish survivors whose lives Irene saved from the Holocaust—are real, and this is what happened to them. As I sat in Irene's home in Yorba Linda, California, listening to her speak, I found myself shaking my head in wonderment. This sweet, blue-eyed grandmother, who welcomed me into her home, who fed me pierogis, cookies, and mangoes from the tree in her backyard—this woman had done things I could not imagine doing. And here she was, in spite of it all, full of love, full of charity, full of hope. I was afraid to write this book, to put myself into her past. I was afraid to pretend to be Irene, because I fear I can never live up to her stature.
If I have done justice to this story, I am grateful. If I have not, it is because I have never had to face what Irene has faced. I am known as an author of historical fiction, and my job is to make fictional events bear truth, to imagine the reality. The few things that I did invent for this narrativ
e do that, I hope: They are there to describe the truth of the events, even when they don't record the facts precisely as they transpired.
In the end, though, as much as I fervently wish these terrible and brutal events so typical of World War II were fictional, they are not. Irene does live with the image of a baby thrown into the air and shot; she will have to live with that image for the rest of her life.
But fortunately for humankind, the good and heroic events she recalls were typical as well. And they are true, too.
Jennifer Armstrong
Jennifer Armstrong
Q. Tell us about some of the ways you prepared to write this book.
A. I spent several months reading about the history of Poland, a country I knew almost nothing about. I read about the war, naturally, and about the Holocaust, and also about the nature of warfare, about how war makes people behave. I prepared approximately thirty pages of questions to ask Irene, and when I went to meet her, we spent a week talking about her experiences.
Q. You have written several acclaimed historical novels— has it been easier or more difficult to document a real life?
A. In some ways, it's harder to write Irene's story. Real life doesn't necessarily conform to the rules of narrative! But ultimately, it's harder because when I write fiction, I have the comfort of knowing that any painful or bitter experiences I might describe are happening to made-up people. With this book, I was constantly taken aback when I remembered—I'm not making these terrible things up.
Q. Irene's is a life filled with remarkable incident— what strikes you as the most remarkable thing about Irene?
In My Hands: Memories of a Holocaust Rescuer Page 21