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    John Sack : An Eye for An Eye
    JOHN SACK
    AN
    EYE
    FOR AN
    EYE
    The Story of Jews Who Sought Revenge For the
    Holocaust
    Revised, Updated and Illustrated
    First published : 1993
    Internet
    AAARGH
    2007
    — 2 —
    John Sack : An Eye for An Eye
    ISBN 0o-9675691-0-9
    Fourth Edition
    Some of this book first appeared, in much different form, in
    California
    and
    The Village Voice.
    First edition, 1993, published by BasicBooks, a division of HarperCollins.
    Second edition, 1995, (additional preface) published by BasicBooks.
    Third edition, 1997, (electronic : revised and updated) published by CompuServe. This edition do not
    seem to be online.
    Fourth edition (revised, updated, illustrated — The present edition), 2000, published by John Sack. In
    other words, no publishing company was willing to publish this book. Since the author’s death in
    2004, it seems the book has not been available for sale, anymore.
    ISBN 0-9675691-0-9
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    AAARGH, TO AVOID DYING STUPID.
    — 3 —
    John Sack : An Eye for An Eye
    OTHER BOOKS BY JOHN SACK
    The Butcher
    From Here to Shimbashi
    Report from Practically Nowhere
    M
    Lieutenant Calley
    The Man-Eating Machine
    Fingerprint
    Company C
    for all who died
    and for all who because of this story
    might live
    — 4 —
    John Sack : An Eye for An Eye
    Contents
    An Eyefor an Eye 1-143
    Update:
    The Flight of Shlomo Morel 159
    Update:
    The Book An Eye for an Eye 173
    Notes.179
    Sources 239
    Acknowlegments 257
    Query 261
    Index 263
    [ix]
    Preface
    M
    y mother's mother was from Cracow, thirty miles from Auschwitz, and I must assume that if
    she (and my other grandparents) hadn't left in the i890s and sailed to America, that I’d have been sent
    to Auschwitz in the 1940s. I'd have been about twelve years old. Like other boys then, I’d have been
    wearing a drab gray suit and a flat gray "golfer" cap, and I'd have stepped from the train with my
    mother, father, and freckle-cheeked sister nine years old, and onto the concrete platform inside of the
    Auschwitz wires. As it happened, I didn't go to Auschwitz until ten years ago, when I was almost sixty
    and it was safe to do so. I stood on the wide concrete platform and stared at the tracks where the train
    would have been, but I couldn’t picture myself getting off it. I tried, but the "when, where and what” of
    Auschwitz were so remote from my own remembered world that I felt I was trying to see myself as I or
    my atoms were just before the Big Bang.
    I'd read about Auschwitz, and I knew that Mengele would have been on this platform that day,
    and I went to where he'd have stood. I knew he'd have told my mother and father, "Go right," and my
    sister and me, "Go left,” but I still couldn't picture it. I went to the ruins of the dressing room—the
    undressing room—then of the cyanide chamber, which now had no roof and was full of old roof-
    components, of dirt, grass and dandelions, and (as I looked closely) of tiny white chips of bone that, in
    the 1940s, had fallen there from the sky. Again, I tried to picture my sister and me in this cyanide
    chamber, undressed, our two bodies touching and one thousand people around us, all screaming, the
    gas coming down upon us, and I simply couldn't see it, my mind had no hook that could hold it, I
    might as well have been groping for "Why does the universe exist? What if it didn’t?" I left without
    taking notes, but I remember that I felt some sympathy for the men and women who say that the
    Holocaust didn’t happen. The people who say it are fools, maybe worse, but I can commiserate with
    them. The thought the Holocaust did, indeed, happen is too enormous for one little volleball
    [x] brain.
    I'd come to Auschwitz and this part of Poland to research this book. I had heard of a Jewish girl,
    Lola, who, after onc-and-one-half years at Auschwitz, had turned the Holocaust upside-down by
    becoming the commandant of the big prison for Germans at Gleiwitz, thirty miles away, and in some
    ways by imitating the SS women at Auschwitz, and I wanted to write about her. Lola wasn’t in Poland
    anymore, but as I spoke to Jews, Poles and Germans about her and as I studied documents in a
    cobwebbed cellar in Poland and a concrete castle over the Rhine, I slowly became aware that the truth
    was much, much larger than Lola. I learned that hundreds of Jews and probably thousands of Jews
    — 5 —
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