Kapo in Jerusalem (2015) Movie Script

Hey!

Hey, are you crazy?

I told you not to drink, right?

There's no water there!

Go on up.

Who is it?

-Buchman.

It's alright, Mr. Buchman,

I'm sorry.

Good night.

Shhh...

Mommy's coming.

Bruno really loved

this Nocturne.

He kept asking me to play it

over and over.

When I was liberated from Auschwitz,

my hands were rigid.

Arthritis.

Only a year later

could I play again.

Bruno would massage my palms

with almond oil really slow...

nice and slow.

I never heard anyone play

Chopin with such desire for life.

It's alright, keep working.

-It didn't fall here.

Yaakov, get up.

There are many wounded

in Ramat Rachel.

The Jordanians have a flame-thrower.

By tonight they'll burn down

the entire kibbutz. -Back to work.

Oven, this is 4.

Come in, 4, do you copy?

Yaakov, go back to work.

-Mortar shells are falling nearby.

After the Jewish Council set up

the health ward in the ghetto,

he was assigned to the hospital

on Chista street.

I ran the local pharmacy.

He was an excellent surgeon.

In 1942 he joined the

Jewish underground.

They'd train in our basement.

Sarah couldn't play

the piano anymore.

She'd come and assist him.

On hot days she'd stand

beside him during a surgery

and wipe the sweat

off his forehead.

She'd console him

when he lost a patient.

Dozens would die each day, and he

needed comforting over each one.

Yes, Tilda?

Yes, the secretary has left.

I'm not cold.

Yes, the fireplace is lit.

So sit by the fireplace

in the living room and light it.

The matches are on the mantel.

If you wouldn't call me every

five minutes, I'd be home by now.

After Sarah was sent to Auschwitz,

he caught the two Jewish policemen

who captured her during the roundup.

To save on bullets,

he broke their necks.

When I arrived in Auschwitz,

I was made assistant

to the registration officer.

I could've stayed in that job,

but a week later, an SS officer

shot the block leader

because the morning roll call

started late.

The prisoners themselves offered

to appoint me for his position.

They knew I was a doctor,

and that I was in the underground.

They thought I could defend them

against the Germans.

Yes, I was thinking

about myself too.

About Sarah.

I had better chances of survival

doing this job.

I wasn't naive.

I knew that a block leader

is part of the killing system,

but being surrounded

by so much death,

I realized I had to pretend

to be part of this system

so I could save

whoever I could.

In my block we had a carpenter

who worked in the women's camp.

He told me

she was still alive.

I'd send her notes

from time to time.

When we got to Jerusalem,

Bruno started working

at the Heath Service.

We had the wedding

at Dr. Dubnov's yard,

who was then chairman

of the Medical Association.

He was Bruno's teacher

in Warsaw.

On the day of the wedding,

the British imposed a curfew.

Bruno was stuck at the clinic

and couldn't leave.

Dr. Dubnov sent over

an ambulance to get him.

My groom arrived at the ceremony

in an ambulance.

A few minutes later,

a postman arrived

with a congratulation telegram

from the conservatorium.

The telegram was addressed

to me, Sarah Reich.

When he saw Bruno,

he started yelling out

that Bruno had tortured him when he

was his block leader in Auschwitz.

Hearing that, the rabbi decided

not to perform the wedding ceremony.

Bruno didn't argue.

God hadn't been on his side

in Auschwitz.

He didn't need Him

at his wedding either.

I open the gate,

take out the telegram,

hand it to the bride

and suddenly he's there

standing right before me.

I fainted.

I just...

What is this monster

doing in Jerusalem? I was sure that...

that he fled to Argentina

with the Nazis he worked for.

He was the biggest sadist

in Auschwitz.

The first night we arrived,

we got off the train and...

there he was.

It was so crowded

on the platform,

that I'd lost my child.

I lost my child.

I run around yelling for him

and he hits me with his club.

He hit a son helping

his father stand on his feet,

hit a sick elderly man,

hit a woman...

By morning he had killed

five people.

Bruno Kaminski was my student

at the Warsaw medical school.

An outstanding student.

I liked him even though

he was a communist.

He came from a poor family.

His father died

when he was a child,

and his mother had a fish stand

at the market.

He'd wake up early

every morning to help her.

When we immigrated here

in 1932,

we lost touch with him.

And one day,

six months after the war,

we heard a knock on the door.

We embraced.

He said that after what happened

in Auschwitz,

human civilization had

to be reestablished,

and here in Jerusalem,

on purpose.

I arranged a job for him

at the Health Service and he...

We didn't know Sarah,

but we'd heard about her.

She was a wonder child

in Warsaw.

At the age of 12 she was

already playing with a symphony.

I hit prisoners

the night they arrived.

When I heard about a transport

from Poland, I waited on the platform,

looking for friends.

But as soon as they set foot

on the ground,

it was like a strike of lightning,

with shouts in German, dogs,

whipping.

Families were torn apart.

Their belongings were taken

from them, their hats, shoes, clothes.

Babies were thrown

onto the trucks.

They didn't understand

the SS orders,

if they were supposed to stand

or walk, to turn right or left.

If I hadn't hit them, they'd be shot.

But I didn't kill anyone.

I didn't kill.

Those who died on the platform are

the ones who didn't survive the ride.

They're the ones who were dying

in the closed train cars

with no air, no food and no water.

I didn't kill.

While I was there,

I got word of what Bruno

had done in his block.

At first I didn't believe it,

but I kept hearing more rumors.

Our block leader would also

whip prisoners,

she'd sell their food for vodka,

for cigarettes,

for soap.

After the war...

After the war, when...

when Bruno came to visit me

at the American army's hospital,

I didn't want to talk to him.

I told Sarah about it.

On the first day I visited her

at the American hospital,

I held nothing back.

She was too weak

to even blink.

The next day I continued telling her.

I continued day after day.

For three months I'd feed her,

bathe her and tell her.

For three months

she didn't speak.

Doctor,

my back is aching.

I can hardly walk.

Hand me the rifle.

On Christmas eve 1943,

one of the SS officers got drunk

and started shooting in my block.

It was a massacre.

I fled from there looking

for another block to hide in.

No place would let me in.

Suddenly I see him standing

at the entrance to one of the blocks.

He immediately recognized me

and let me in

along with 30-40 others.

He knew that if he

let more people in,

the Germans would find out

he's hiding them.

So the ones he didn't let in

accused him of working for the SS.

Him? Working for the SS...?

He hid sick people so they don't

get sent to the gas chambers.

He asked the registration officers

to write down the Jews in his barrack

as being younger, so the SS

let them live.

He urged me to sabotage

the electrical system

to disrupt the weapon production.

He helped anyone

who tried to escape.

Lazer, your weapon.

Take the pill I gave you.

The ache go away in no time.

Oven, this is 4. We can't

wait for you any longer, over.

They're bombarding them

with cannons and shells.

Soon they'll be attacking them.

If Ramat Rachel goes down,

the Egyptians invade Jerusalem.

But... Roger, copy.

I was scared of him,

so I kept quiet.

I went with him once to get blankets

from the laundry room.

On the way back we saw

a young Czech girl

escaping from block 24,

the SS brothel.

He covered her with a blanket

and told her to hide in our block.

She was in his room

for three hours.

Then he passed her on to his friend,

the block 32 leader, who also...

The next day I went down

to the Health Service

to tell his manager about him,

about the man that he is.

But he knew that I'm a poet

and that I was close

with the nationalists,

he didn't want to hear me out.

I went back to Dr. Dubnov.

I told him: "Don't you realize

"that if the Nazis kept him

as block leader for two years,

"then they must've been

pleased with him?"

No.

He must have done

some good work for them.

No one listened.

Zimmerman was a famous

poet in Warsaw,

but he returned from

Auschwitz a different man.

His entire family

perished there.

I had trouble believing him...

But he wouldn't give up.

He brought more and more

survivors who also testified.

My cousin was in his block.

After the war, he wrote to us

from America.

"When he realized I had stolen

the blanket off a dead prisoner

"and used it to sew a lining

for my jacket,

"he beat me up ruthlessly."

Yes, I'd hit prisoners

even during food distribution.

They'd attack each other

like beasts.

Sometimes stabbing people

for an extra portion.

Other block leaders preferred to

spill the leftover soup on the ground

to avoid chaos,

but I instilled discipline

to enable me to distribute all the

soup, so in my block they ate more.

And I didn't take advantage

of my status.

I could've eaten by myself, but I ate

from the same pot with the others.

One day an SS officer told me

to bring over muselmenn from block 7

to fix the fences that

collapsed in the snow.

I told him: "They can't even move",

and he said: "We'll see about that."

He took a few pieces of bread

and tossed them to the muselmenn.

They crawled towards

the crumbs.

The ones who couldn't move

simply reached out

hoping that a piece of bread

would fall on them.

One dying man

choked another dying man

to steal a chewed up

piece of bread out of his mouth.

Do you hear the piano?

It's calling me,

"come to me, come to me."

When I can't hear

the noises anymore,

I sit down and play

and the noises dissipate.

The screaming, the moaning

and the cries.

Sometimes when it doesn't comply,

I bite my hands to keep myself

from smashing it,

ripping out its cords and

running to lay on the train tracks.

When the damned SS guards

would wander the blocks,

looking for a Jews to abuse,

he'd place me at the entrance

to the block

and I'd sing to them:

"Ring far out

"Where blossoms sprout

"If you find a rose about

"Say hello for me."

They'd stop and listen,

and move on to another block.

They didn't know this song

was written by two Jews,

Heine and Mendelssohn.

Bruno tried to disprove

the allegations against him.

He brought witnesses

to the hospital

to tell me about what

he did in Auschwitz,

how he took care of people,

saved them and protected them.

But I knew these witnesses

stayed alive because he helped them,

that's why they testified

in his favor.

Go on, take the lentils

and go home.

Go already!

I wanted to testify

in his favor,

but I knew it would

cost me my clients.

No other block leader cared

for his prisoners like he did.

He got us thicker soup

from the kitchen.

Every few weeks he'd get

replacement clothes for us

from the laundry room.

Several times he even got us

some underwear.

He set up a shoemaking workshop

inside our block.

It saved our lives. Over there,

death started from the shoes.

If your shoes were torn

and you started limping,

you'd be immediately sent

to the gas chambers.

Those who accuse him of sending

people to the gas chambers,

don't understand how

that machine functioned.

Only the SS sent people there.

Yes?

-Got any eggs today?

Do you have stubs today?

-I'll pay you extra.

Will you also do my time in jail?

Go away. -Come on...

-No, get out.

The shop is closed.

Go away.

One day, when he sat beside me

in the hospital,

messengers from the Jewish Agency

walked in

and said they've got an immigration

certificate to Israel for him.

Bruno said he won't leave

without me.

They told him they won't

have another certificate,

but he insisted.

He was a doctor,

they needed him,

so they issued

one for me as well.

He carried me in his arms

to the ship

and cared for me the whole trip.

I said to myself,

if he had any doubts about

his actions in Auschwitz,

he wouldn't immigrate

to Israel.

Shhh...

Shhh... go to sleep, Booboo.

Evil Shoshana is coming tomorrow,

and you mustn't be tired.

Go to sleep, shhhh...

Good night, sleep tight.

I also took bread

from the prisoners.

Once every two weeks

when the SS gave me a list of people

who'd be gassed the next day.

I knew they didn't stand

a chance,

so I gave their bread to those

who had a chance to survive.

I also took their clothes

and gave them to others.

A good coat and shoes

could prolong lives.

So they hated me and cursed me,

but it was necessary.

Obviously the Nazis

planned to terminate us all,

but I set some rules to help

the prisoners hold on.

Most of them understood

my intentions.

They saw that my block

had the lowest death rate.

During the sail,

I thought a lot

about what Bruno did there.

But also about what I did.

I survived

because when my shoe tore,

I stole one from the woman

who slept on the bunk above me

even though I knew the sergeant

would see her barefoot and shoot her.

I stole clothes from a woman

in the shower,

stole a blanket from

a sick woman,

and pushed old women and

little girls in the soup line.

I stole a slice of bread from

my aunt who had dysentery,

though I knew she'd die

of starvation the next day.

She didn't die.

The next day she stole a slice

of bread from a woman

more sick than her,

and stayed alive.

Had I been in his block,

he'd beat me up.

My aunt will remember

that slice of bread all her life.

After the war I met her

on a ship sailing to Israel.

Bruno took me for a walk

around the deck,

and she was sitting on a pile

of ropes, fixing a torn coat.

She saw me...

and looked away.

I counted them.

238 men from my block survived

the death march to Mauthausen.

Those living here, ask:

"So few?"

Those who were there, say:

"So many."

I waited.

I thought they'd come

and speak up.

One time, I had a high fever.

I asked him for an exemption

from work duty.

He was a doctor,

he knew it was pneumonia,

but he didn't exempt me.

A flea?

Get out.

Out!

He knew there was no chance of

survival in the sick people's block

but if someone caught typhus

he sent him there right away

so that others don't

get infected.

When he got typhus, he didn't go there.

He made us take care of him.

My best friend Yanek Tauber

caught it from him and died.

Yanek!

But for some there was

nothing to be done.

They lay exhausted on the bunks,

without moving or speaking.

They were too weak

to crawl to the electric fence.

After they died, I hid their

bodies for a few days

so I could give their share of food

to those who had a chance.

When I met Sarah

at the American hospital,

she was just like them.

Her heart was barely beating.

She wanted to...

but I didn't let her.

Only when she arrived in Jerusalem

did she realize she was capable,

capable of love.

She said she forgave me.

Lazer, come back here!

Lazer!

Yaakov, Eliyahu, quickly,

open the gate!

Eliyahu, clear the sacs quickly,

before they butcher him!

He's running straight towards

the Arabs,

they'll torture him

and slaughter him!

What about Ramat Rachel?

-We'll get him back and head there.

What if you don't come back?

-Doctor, stay out of this.

They need us more in Ramat Rachel.

-What are you doing? Doctor!

We'll save him from being slaughtered.

-Doc, put down the rifle!

Do you hear me?

Put down the rifle!

In early 1947, Zimmerman

the poet asked me

to testify at Dr. Dubnov's.

I'd waited for that moment.

I had plenty to say about him

but I mentioned only one incident.

In April 1944, the Germans started

building new blocks in Birkenau.

I was a construction engineer,

they took me from the coal mines

to work in the camp.

One day it was raining.

The work was stopped,

and when I returned to the block

I saw Bruno

putting a coat

over a prisoner's face

and choking him.

The prisoners knew I'd helped

muselmenn die. They thanked me.

The only one who complained

at Dr. Dubnov's was a survivor

who saw his son

being shot dead by the SS.

His name was Antman.

I wouldn't let him leave the block

to help the boy

because I knew that the Germans

would kill him too if he did.

He heard his son moan

all night.

He never forgave me for that,

nor himself.

He stopped eating,

stopped working,

and when he was dying

he urged me to help him die.

I couldn't play God any longer.

I told him to crawl to the fence.

But he didn't have the courage.

The next day he started

eating again.

That's why he blames me.

Because of me he's guilty to this day.

Antman doesn't owe me a thing,

certainly not his life.

I owe him.

When I saw him eating

and working, I realized

that even at the pit of hell

a man can remain a man

and fight for his life.

Antman ended up

beating the Germans.

They tried to take away his will

to live, but didn't succeed.

He was dying the whole night,

outside by the door.

Bruno wouldn't let me

go to him,

to cover him with a blanket,

to wet his lips with water.

I asked him how many

people he'd killed.

He thought a bit and said: "Five".

He killed more.

I picked up the phone

and told him I'm calling the police,

but he took it from me

and said no judge

could judge him

any better than he

judges himself.

He asked me to think it over

for five minutes

and promised that if I still

want to call the police,

he'll turn himself in.

Thank you.

We had two Slovak Jews

who planned to escape.

Bruno got them some knives,

clothes and some food.

It was October 1944.

They waited for rainfall,

so they have better chances.

One night I heard two

muselmenn say

that they'd give the Slovaks

to the SS for some bread.

I told Bruno.

He interrogated them

and told me to choke them.

I could see he couldn't

do it himself anymore,

so I choked them.

And the Slovaks escaped.

To this day I think that was

the best thing I've ever done

and I thank Bruno for giving me

the power to do it.

In my block there were Kapos

who kept alive the prisoners

who begged to die.

We called them "murderers".

The Kapos who helped women die,

were called "angels".

The Germans didn't urge Bruno

to kill.

They wanted the Jews

to be tortured as much as possible.

Bruno killed in order

to spare those poor people

a few more days in hell.

Had the Germans known this,

they'd have killed him.

I didn't choke them with a coat,

only my bare hands,

so I could see their faces.

So that if they change their mind,

I could let go.

But they couldn't talk.

They barely opened their eyes.

Sometimes their eyes

would slightly crack open.

None of them were scared,

nor regretted it.

Their eyes

were saying "thank you".

Shlomo, stack it up high.

Yaakov, take it easy.

Go back to work.

Oven, this is 4,

do you copy? Over.

If you're not here in ten minutes,

we're leaving.

Half the kibbutz is burnt down,

they won't last long.

You're still a baby, my child,

but you must watch out for Mom.

Watch out for her

and look after her.

When she's out on the balcony

hanging laundry,

when she slices bread

with a knife,

when she lights fire in the burner.

When she cries.

When she laughs.

When she's silent.

Shhh...

"Go to sleep already,

my beautiful Yankele

"Close your dark little eyes

"A little boy who

already has all his teeth..."

Come, we brought water.

"Still needs his mother

to sing him a lullaby?"

Want some water?

Doctor, don't you want

some water?

Let's go.

Applebaum was 46,

from Katowice.

Tarnopolski was 42, from Kielce.

Cantor was 40, from Bedzin.

Zuckerman and Edelman

were 38, from Warsaw.

They were muselmenn.

In Auschwitz I shortened

their suffering out of mercy,

but I also despised and hated them

for giving up.

Today, when I think of

the gratitude in their eyes,

I don't think they gave up.

Nor do I think that they thanked me

for preventing their suffering.

They thanked me for giving them

that brief moment

to feel like humans again,

who can decide their own fate.

Them and not the SS.

When my father died

in that block,

they threw his body

onto the pile.

I knew he had a piece

of bread in his pocket,

so I ran to get it.

But some bastard realized that,

and beat me to it.

Bruno saw him

and made him

give it back to me.

Call Bruno!

Call Bruno over right now!

I want to see him! -Calm down.

-I want to talk to him!

I want him to get me out of here.

Bruno...

Bruno!

"Softly singing measures wing

"Sweetly, through my mind

"Ring out, little song of spring

"Ring out unconfined!"

When we'd return from work,

Bruno would give us soup.

Good, thick soup.

One pot could feed

1.000 people.

At night he would pass

from one bunk to another

and cure the sick,

resurrect the dead.

After hearing him out, I realized

I just don't understand it.

The evidence against him

was very compelling

but so were his answers.

I couldn't decide whether he did it

for his own sake or for the prisoners.

Of course he wanted

to survive,

but in many cases

he also saved lives.

I couldn't decide on the matter.

-It was a big mistake.

Because he wasn't suspended,

he fooled himself that his actions

would be understood,

so he could live here.

I didn't fall for his charm.

It was clear to me

that he'd been corrupted by

the power the Nazis gave him.

I never trusted a communist,

especially one who turned Zionist

and immigrated to Israel.

The Nazis weren't stupid.

It's unreasonable to think

that for two whole years

they were convinced he was

working for them,

while secretly working

for the Jews.

Stop it, will you?!

When I saw that Dr. Dubnov

wasn't suspending him,

I went to tell the press

about what he did in Auschwitz.

So "Haaretz" published

a short story on the last page.

It quoted one stanza

from my poem "Our Graves"

Here.

"Here lie my father, mother

and sister.

"On this stone my wife's

ashes have set.

"The wind carries the dust

of my son and daughter

"Between these linden trees

my soul hovers."

Two days later,

two British policemen

came here

and said:

"You have tuberculosis."

They put me in confinement

in a hospital in Netanya.

I did have TB.

He was the only one

who knew about it.

One day I found the word "Kapo"

written on my door at the clinic.

The nurses were whispering,

the doctors started enquiring,

and the patients stopped coming.

I was repeatedly asked:

"Why didn't you tell the prisoners

"to rebel or escape?"

I once walked into a block with

400 political prisoners on death row.

Two sentries were guarding them.

I told them they should escape,

that if 400 of them charge the gates,

some will surely make it to the woods,

but if they keep sitting and waiting

to be taken to the gas chambers,

nobody will survive.

They didn't respond.

They all kept to themselves,

not out of fear, I believe,

they were just

hoping for a miracle.

They heard from the Germans

that the Russians had arrived,

that the war will end soon,

so they had no reason

to revolt or escape.

The main cause of death

in Auschwitz

was hope.

When I saw he was

still working there,

I turned to the Health Service

branch manager,

but he told me he can't

fire him without fair trial.

So one morning,

before the patients got there,

I walked in there

and wrote "Kapo" in black

on his door.

Rumors about the investigation

reached the conservatorium.

Both the teachers and students

would ask questions.

I heard them whispering

behind my back.

One day the director

calls me over and...

tells me she's cancelling

my end of the year concert.

She said it's due to the war,

the Arabs' shooting.

I told her other concerts

weren't canceled.

She said that sometimes

it's possible.

The next day they held a concert

for a pianist who immigrated

from Germany in 1933.

When the audience

entered the hall,

I got on stage before him

and played.

He understood and waited.

The director sat

in the first row.

When I was done,

she applauded.

She didn't dare fire me.

I didn't tell Bruno.

The Health Service manager

said he wasn't going to fire him,

but a few weeks later,

Bruno told me he quit.

He knew he'd be fired.

He quit because he couldn't take

all that suspicion.

He ended up opening a private clinic

in Musrara neighborhood,

facing his apartment.

I sometimes came to visit them.

Unfortunately, I couldn't

invite them over.

One day, an Orthodox couple

came to his clinic.

The woman had a throat infection.

When her husband saw Bruno,

he became furious.

I could hear him shout

all the way here.

He made us shave our beards

and side curls,

forbade us to pray and mocked us

for not eating un-kosher food.

One Friday night he entered

the block and saw us praying.

He hit us with his club

and threatened us

that if we don't stop,

we don't get any bread the next day.

"No God can save you,

only I can.

"So don't worship Him,

worship me."

"No God can save you!"

he'd yell at us.

No God can save us.

On Rosh Hashanah eve

he demanded that our rabbi,

Rabbi Israel Mintz from Krakow,

cancel all prayers,

and told him that if he didn't

forbid us to fast on Yom Kippur,

he wouldn't give him

the ointment

the rabbi needed for the sores

on his feet.

When he saw

that we all fasted,

he sent Rabbi Mintz,

may God avenge his soul,

to the clinic in block 7.

There they gave him an injection

to the heart.

When I saw that murderer

in his clinic here

wearing his white robe

and smiling, my blood boiled.

I grabbed the nurse's scissors

and tried to stab him.

Suddenly his wife walked in

and started screaming.

"No God can save you..."

When we got home, we saw

he was stabbed in the shoulder.

The blade pierced through

the robe and his shirt.

I licked the blood

off the wound,

just like we did back there.

I wanted to go to the police,

but I feared that if Weissman

is put on trial,

it could persuade other Orthodox

survivors to slander me.

I knew they hated me.

They never understood

that I made them shave off

their beards and side curls

so that the Germans

don't torture them,

that I forbade them to pray

because then the Germans

would pull them out of roll call

and make them do exercise

in the cold and the rain,

till they collapsed.

They hate me because they're scared

to hate their God.

The God that didn't save them.

It's much easier to hate me.

I didn't go to the police,

but I bought a gun.

Doctor?

If anything happens to me,

send this to my parents, okay?

Why are you giving this to me?

If you survived Auschwitz,

you must be a lucky man.

Take it.

When I heard about

the attempt to stab him,

I rushed to his clinic.

The door was locked.

He opened up only after

seeing me through the peep hole.

I told him he shouldn't risk his life

nor Sarah's.

I suggested he leave

the country.

I could've arranged a visa

to England for him,

but he refused.

Had you told him the truth,

he'd have left. -I did.

You didn't tell him he's

being ostracized,

that there's no chance

he'll ever be forgiven,

that anyone who was in his block

is waiting for a chance to kill him.

I did tell him that!

I should've acquitted him and

cleared his name once and for all,

but I didn't want

to interrogate him.

I just didn't.

Because my parents and siblings

and their children,

were all there.

I didn't want to know

how they were tortured,

how they were murdered,

while I was here,

in Jerusalem.

After the liberation,

he immigrated to Israel.

I stayed in Europe

with several other survivors.

We had a list of SS men

who worked in Auschwitz.

Eventually we met up with some

soldiers and officers

who'd been discharged

from the Jewish Brigade.

We killed off many Nazis.

In April 1946 we managed to infiltrate

Stalag 13 near Nurnberg,

where German POWs

were held,

and smeared arsenic

over 3.000 loaves of bread.

9.000 SS men got sick,

but unfortunately,

only 200 of them died.

After that I immigrated to Israel

and started working in this factory.

I knew about the allegations

against Bruno.

I feared to speak up for him.

I had started a new life.

I wanted to forget the past

and erase it.

I didn't want to have to explain

how I survived.

Didn't want any rumors

about how I took my revenge.

The suitcase tore because

you're over-stuffing it.

Why two jackets?

I don't need a jacket.

Fine.

Why don't you take a pill?

Okay, I'll get you

another suitcase.

Hello, sir.

I'm sorry, Mr. Zimmerman,

you have to hurry up.

-Yes, I know.

You've got three more sacs.

The postmen are coming in

to work tomorrow morning, and...

Yes. -What will they give out?

-I know, I know.

I'll stay here all night.

Don't forget to lock up.

-I won't.

I was hospitalized in Netanya

for a few weeks.

By the time I returned to Jerusalem

it was obvious to me

that neither the Jewish Agency

nor the Union would do anything.

He was already one of them.

After all, he'd fought in the Warsaw

ghetto along with Mordechai Anielewicz.

So I turned to

the Nationalist Underground.

I was friendly with some of them

back in Poland,

and they agreed to settle

the score with him.

I felt that death by gunshot

was too easy.

I wanted him to be

beaten to death.

Beaten to death.

So I went with them,

waited for him

outside his clinic,

and...

When he came out, we closed in

on him with toques over our faces

and clubs under our clothes.

It was dark,

but one street light was lit,

and I could see his face

while we were beating him up.

He showed no fear.

He was...

Suddenly I heard an inner voice

that wasn't my own

saying, "leave him alone.

"Leave him alone,

this is a mistake."

They left him there

and went away.

He was left lying on the ground.

He didn't see my face

because it was covered, but...

He heard my voice.

That he heard.

I never wrote anything else

after that.

Stand against the wall!

Yuvel, run to the gate!

Yes, I recognized Zimmerman's voice.

I wasn't surprised.

I knew him well,

he was a famous poet in Warsaw.

I had respect for him

and his poetry,

but he felt it earned him

some special status.

He wanted easy jobs,

new shoes, extra soup.

His wife was pregnant.

She was gassed the night they arrived

with the two little children.

His odds were against him too.

He wasn't used to working.

He didn't know how to use a shovel,

a hammer, or how to steal.

But he could speak pretentiously

about the spirit of man,

faith, compassion and hope.

He ended up as a rat for the SS.

For a few slices of bread

he ratted out those who were sick,

slacking off or stealing.

Even me.

He knew that I knew about it.

Every day there

I told him:

"Have mercy.

"Have mercy, Bruno Kaminski."

Those damned Nazis haven't got

a shred of mercy in them.

Had he shown a bit more mercy,

we'd have had the strength

to bear it.

That night, Bruno returned

beaten up.

He had to stitch up

his own cheek.

I told him that maybe

we should go somewhere far away.

Maybe a kibbutz,

where we wouldn't run into

people who knew us back then.

But Bruno refused.

He was sure of his innocence

and claimed that running away

would be an admission of guilt.

I didn't want to run away

because there was nowhere to go.

There were thousands

of survivors in Israel

and I had to clear my name.

I turned to the Communist Party

in Jerusalem,

and asked them to put me

on trial.

But they were busy fighting off

the British

and getting ready for

war with the Arabs.

They had no time to meddle

in the past.

Oven, this is 4,

we're going in.

I'm not asking for confirmation,

I'm informing you.

So come back at night with ammo,

or we won't last out there.

I'll explain it to you

after the war!

Listen up, everyone.

In ten minutes we pull out,

we're done waiting for them.

Get your gear, come on.

Gear up, everyone.

Every morning Sarah would

escort me to the clinic

and back home every evening,

and lock me at home.

She'd play for me,

tried to teach me

to play the piano.

I liked being her prisoner.

I couldn't bear the thought

that he's alive,

and just two streets

away from me.

I went to Rabbi Landau and...

He told me:

"Forget it, Weismann.

"Fix shoes, pray, give charity,

"and God will give you

the strength to go on."

I fixed shoes, prayed

and gave charity,

but every day I'd walk to the

Western Wall through Musrara

and pass by his clinic.

As fate would have it,

I passed there one evening

and saw him slicing a loaf of bread

and eating it on his way out.

At night I returned there

with a canister of petrol,

poured on the door

and lit it up.

I wanted to burn down

his apartment too,

but his wife was from

a family of rabbis

who'd perished in Treblinka.

I didn't want to harm her.

We had an idea who set

the clinic on fire.

But Bruno insisted

not to go to the police.

He didn't want to settle the score

or to punish.

He started seeing patients

at home.

I told him I'm scared someone

might burn down the apartment.

But he said it's close

to other apartments,

and that the bastards wouldn't

dare to harm the neighbors.

Then I found out I'm pregnant.

I've never seen Bruno so happy.

We went to a restaurant

and after that to a bar

on Ben Yehuda street.

Luckily,

no one knew him there.

We danced till dawn.

Bruno...

He was a dancer.

The band played the foxtrot.

But when we returned home,

I felt I couldn't raise a child

in a home someone might set fire to.

Go hang yourself, Buchman!

I'm not scared of the police,

and if you don't stop

knocking on the door,

I'll poison your cats

who meow all night long!

Tomorrow morning that witch

will come and smell the stain.

She'll think the child threw up,

that I don't look after him properly,

that I neglect him, that I'm

irresponsible or crazy.

Take me in your arms, Bruno,

lay me in your bed,

remove my nightgown

and whisper something magical

that would lift my spirits.

At least he's running

to Jerusalem.

When we found out

Sarah was pregnant,

we went to the American consulate

to get a visa.

I also didn't want my child to have

to bear my cross when he grows up.

We thought people would understand

after a few years time,

and we could return.

They interrogated us for almost

two hours at the consulate.

Doctors are a wanted profession.

The interrogator was also impressed

by Sarah being a pianist.

He just wanted to make sure

we're not communists

and most of all, he wanted

to know how we survived the camps.

He was Jewish,

his family must've

perished there.

It was obvious we had no chance

at getting a visa.

One of the consulate visitors

must've heard the clerk

call out Bruno's name,

and so he followed us

when we left.

When we crossed the

Muslim cemetery in Mammilla,

he popped up behind one

of the graves

with a drawn gun.

His name was Mishka Weiss.

Bruno was in shock. He was sure

this Mishka had died there, but...

he was very much alive.

He claimed that Bruno sent him

to the gas chambers

and that the Nazis,

who were more decent than him,

recruited him to the Sonderkommando

at the crematorium.

Bruno feared that this Mishka

was going to shoot us,

so he drew his gun

and fired a shot.

Mishka collapsed.

Bruno ran to him,

but Mishka must've

still been alive,

so Bruno shot him again.

He took his papers

and his gun.

On the way home,

Bruno told me

that Mishka had killed

four prisoners in his block

for shoes, for a coat,

for a slice of bread.

Bruno always evaded my question

about the scar on his forehead.

When we got home he told me

that this Mishka

broke into his room one night

with a pack of criminals

and that they tried to kill him

with wood they broke off the bunks.

Mishka himself cut him

with a sharp piece of tin.

Had the prisoners not heard

Bruno scream and saved him,

this Mishka would've

slaughtered him.

I listened to his explanations

and I understood, but...

suddenly I also

started fearing him.

Sarah didn't sleep a wink

all night.

Whenever I looked at her,

she'd look down.

Like the time she was hospitalized

at the Displaced Persons camp.

She was silent.

Her expression said it all:

'You were too quick to shoot him.

This isn't Auschwitz.

'People's lives aren't cheap

like they were back there.'

Put it on quickly.

Go on.

Drop it down.

I told Mishka that Bruno

is a doctor in Jerusalem.

I knew he had a big score

to settle with him.

I never saw him since.

After the war

I tried to buy eggs

without stubs.

I was caught.

Yes,

I offered Mishka money

to kill him,

but I was glad it didn't

work out in the end.

I'm the victim.

I'm the witness.

But I'm neither the judge

nor his executer.

We tried to get a visa to Sweden,

France, Belgium.

Sarah could've gotten

a visa without me.

I begged her to think about herself

and the child. She refused.

Meanwhile the war broke out.

Our troops had been fighting

heavy battles,

so I decided to enlist.

I understood why

he wanted to enlist.

He didn't even have to say it,

the scars on his face said it all.

But he had fought enough.

He was wounded in the ghetto,

survived Auschwitz

and he was 40 years old.

He owed nothing to anyone.

Mommy's coming, Booboo.

She became terrified.

She had outburst of crying and rage,

her hair started falling out.

She stopped eating.

Anything she ate came right up.

One day she threatened me

with an abortion if I enlist,

and so I never left her alone.

I hid my medicine bag

from her, and my gun.

Doctor!

Lazer!

"Softly singing measures wing

"Sweetly, through my mind

"Ring out, little song of spring

"Ring out unconfined!"

On the 15th of May

the war broke out

and he decided to enlist.

I begged and cried.

I managed to hold him back

for three days.

On the 4th day he went down

to the recruiting office

at the Schneller camp.

I walked after him.

When I got there

I started yelling,

I told the officer that Bruno

was a Kapo in Auschwitz,

that he collaborated

with the SS,

that he's a murderer,

and that he murdered a man

in Jerusalem as well.

Then I saw Bruno's gun

tucked in his belt.

I grabbed it and threatened

to shoot myself.

Bruno hugged me,

held me,

took away the gun

and walked me back home.

She apologized, cried.

She swore...

but I knew she meant

every word.

I'm a murderer.

I'm a collaborator.

I can understand why anyone

who wasn't there

and didn't know who I was,

would doubt me.

But Sarah was there

and she did know me.

She wanted to kill herself

because she knew

she would never see me as

completely innocent.

But she was there.

She saw how they

got off the trains all battered up,

how they were defeated as

they were stripped

and dressed in prisoner uniforms,

how the moment they were

shaved and numbered

they became

a herd of cattle.

Doesn't she get it?

Doesn't she see they accuse me

to cover their own cowardice?

Their own helplessness

and wretchedness?

Their self-disgust and shame?

I who tried to save them, am I

to blame for their shame and misery?

Am I to blame for their deaths?

From the moment I was imprisoned

till the moment I was liberated,

I forced myself to believe

that people can stay humane

even in the face

of inhumane evil.

I forced myself to hope

that even when fearing death,

one can fight for life

with reason,

sanity and solidarity.

Doctor.

Doctor, we're going,

are you coming?

What was left for me

in that war? Mercy?

Was I to give up on the sanctity

of life in the name of mercy?

Is Sarah right? Is there

no sense in logic?

No value in thought?

No point in having a will?

Doctor... -If every choice we make

is worthy of contempt

if there's no point in sanity

and solidarity... -Let's go, Doc.

If every choice we make just brings

us closer to a senseless death,

then I should've run to the electric

fence the day I got there.

Doctor, come on,

we're going.

What is it?

Come, Doc.

Two days later, late at night,

there was a knock on the door.

Some officer or a doctor,

came to inform me.

They were on the way

to Ramat Rachel.

The Arabs ambushed them

with gunfire and mortar shells.

Bruno got up

to help a casualty.

He ran to him without ducking

despite the fire and the shells.

He knew

why he didn't duck.

So do I.

After all that's happened,

she tried killing herself

several times.

I sat by her side

day and night,

trying to save her from herself,

and the baby in her womb.

We had a daughter her age,

our only daughter.

Dina.

In the summer of 1939 she went

to visit her grandparents in Warsaw.

In September

the war broke out

and she never returned.

After the child was born, it was

very hard for me to care for him.

Sometimes I'd cry so loud,

that I couldn't hear him crying.

The welfare officer came

to take him to a kibbutz.

I didn't let them...

but they took him by force.

So I went there

and kidnapped him.

I hardly cry ever since.

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Kapo in Jerusalem (2015) - full transcript