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One Step Ahead: David J. Azrieli (Azrylewicz): Memoirs, 1939–1950
Upon arriving at the kibbutz, after years of running and living in a constant state of fear and anxiety, I finally felt that I could unburden my heart and mind. I had dreamed of the day I would arrive, alive, in Eretz Israel. The constant stress of the last few years was made easier by my constant desire to achieve that goal. So, when I first arrived in the kibbutz dining hall, it was as if all my dreams had come true. David J. Azrieli was born in 1922 in Maków Mazowiecki, Poland. Written by his daughter Danna, this gripping account of survival during World War II describes David’s extraordinary travels, always just one step ahead of lifethreatening danger, which took him to the Soviet-occupied zones of Poland and later to Ukraine, Tashkent, and Buchara. He subsequently served in the Anders Army, before making his way from Baghdad to the frontiers of British-occupied Palestine. The memoir chronicles David J. Azrieli’s arrival in Palestine, his studies at the Technion in Haifa, his experiences as a soldier in the War of Independence, and his realization that most of his immediate family had perished in the Holocaust. Azrieli finally settled in Canada in 1954. There he married his wife, Stephanie, and together they raised four children—Rafi, Sharon, Naomi, and Danna. This story of survival is all the more remarkable given Azrieli’s later achievements as a successful real estate developer and philanthropist. One of the economic giants of the Jewish world, his many developments changed the face of Israel and stand as a striking testament to the strength and courage of a boy whom Hitler could not defeat. The highlight of his activities is the establishment of the Canadian and Israeli Azrieli Foundations, which focus on improving the lives of present and future generations through education, research, healthcare, and arts.
168 pages, Hardcover
Published February 21, 2023
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January 10, 2026
“Ever since the war, I have associated the Polish language with sheer hatred and destruction. In fact, it had been so long since I had uttered a Polish syllable that I was surprised to see how casily the words came out of my mouth. In semi-fluent Polish I arranged to meet the driver for an early morning departure to Maków.”
“I wanted to spend our first day following the castern route that I had outlined on our map in blue, while stopping in every small town I had passed through in September 1939. I also planned digressions from this route in order to visit the concentration camps Treblinka and Auschwitz-Birkenau. The next morning, we drove along the familiar road from Warsaw to Maków. The road has been modernized and is now a wo-lane highway, occasionally blocked by a slow-moving tractor or wagon.”
“In 1937, I attended school in Warsaw and was driven on this road many times. From the car window, I could still smell the white pine trees, which reminded me of the terrible homesickness I had felt during that year in school. Then, as now, the road was framed by trees so dense on top that barely any sun reaches the ground below. As I looked up at the tall white pines, I remembered that the earth beneath them was mossy and dry. Delicious edible mushrooms grow in this moss, and, every summer, when my family used to travel a few kilometers away from Maków and vacation in an old farmer's cottage at the edge of the forest, my mother would go outside after the rain and pick these mushrooms for supper.”
“Today, all of it is gone.
What stunned me most was the new soccer field in what used to be the Jewish cemetery. A stone path led to the field but, if you looked closely, you saw that they were not ordinary cobblestones but Jewish tombstones. I could see Hebrew letters and the occasional Star of David facing upward. Once again, I was overwhelmed with anger. My father's family had lived in Maków for hundreds of years. My great-great-grandparents had been buried in this cemetery and I had hoped to find a gravestone with a familiar name. Every trace of the Jewish community I had known had been destroyed by the Nazis.”
“There was one spot where, I remember, I could sit quietly at the end of a long day and listen to music. The old owner lived with his daughter, son-in-law, and their baby in a big house attached to the back of the mill. The son-in-law was a talented guitarist, and, often, I would pretend to work late so that I could listen to him play through an open window. I was struck by the irony of this man's situation as compared to my own. He had lost his business to the Russians and, as a result, I was the beneficiary of a secure government job. However, he was left with so many things that I longed for and lacked. He was surrounded by his family and could enjoy beautiful music after a long day. During these moments, when I sat quietly near the window vicariously sharing in his joy, I envied him. I was desperately lonely and ached to be reunited with my family, surrounded by warmth, and comforted by the people I loved.”
“I wanted to spend our first day following the castern route that I had outlined on our map in blue, while stopping in every small town I had passed through in September 1939. I also planned digressions from this route in order to visit the concentration camps Treblinka and Auschwitz-Birkenau. The next morning, we drove along the familiar road from Warsaw to Maków. The road has been modernized and is now a wo-lane highway, occasionally blocked by a slow-moving tractor or wagon.”
“In 1937, I attended school in Warsaw and was driven on this road many times. From the car window, I could still smell the white pine trees, which reminded me of the terrible homesickness I had felt during that year in school. Then, as now, the road was framed by trees so dense on top that barely any sun reaches the ground below. As I looked up at the tall white pines, I remembered that the earth beneath them was mossy and dry. Delicious edible mushrooms grow in this moss, and, every summer, when my family used to travel a few kilometers away from Maków and vacation in an old farmer's cottage at the edge of the forest, my mother would go outside after the rain and pick these mushrooms for supper.”
“Today, all of it is gone.
What stunned me most was the new soccer field in what used to be the Jewish cemetery. A stone path led to the field but, if you looked closely, you saw that they were not ordinary cobblestones but Jewish tombstones. I could see Hebrew letters and the occasional Star of David facing upward. Once again, I was overwhelmed with anger. My father's family had lived in Maków for hundreds of years. My great-great-grandparents had been buried in this cemetery and I had hoped to find a gravestone with a familiar name. Every trace of the Jewish community I had known had been destroyed by the Nazis.”
“There was one spot where, I remember, I could sit quietly at the end of a long day and listen to music. The old owner lived with his daughter, son-in-law, and their baby in a big house attached to the back of the mill. The son-in-law was a talented guitarist, and, often, I would pretend to work late so that I could listen to him play through an open window. I was struck by the irony of this man's situation as compared to my own. He had lost his business to the Russians and, as a result, I was the beneficiary of a secure government job. However, he was left with so many things that I longed for and lacked. He was surrounded by his family and could enjoy beautiful music after a long day. During these moments, when I sat quietly near the window vicariously sharing in his joy, I envied him. I was desperately lonely and ached to be reunited with my family, surrounded by warmth, and comforted by the people I loved.”
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