A Father’s Request—and the Mitzvah That Saved His Son’s Life

A terrifying announcement spread through the town: “All Jews must report to the main square at 5:00 AM. Bring only one suitcase, no more than 10 kilograms. You are being transferred to a labor camp,” the Nazis said.

Some people had already heard whispers—rumors of killings, mass graves, extermination—but many couldn’t believe such evil. They took the Nazis at their word and began packing whatever valuables they could. Some sewed money into their coats, hid gold in their shoes, or even swallowed diamonds, hoping to recover them later. They dressed in layer after layer, either to save their belongings or to prepare for the cold. Who knew—maybe they were being sent to Siberia…

But my father—he acted differently. He didn’t pack a suitcase. He didn’t hide anything. Instead, he called me over and asked me to iron his shirt.

I looked at him in disbelief. I felt a wave of pity. “Father,” I said with tears, “why do you need an ironed shirt? Don’t you understand? We’re being sent to die—or at best, to hard labor!”

My father looked at me and said softly, “Still, please iron it.”

When I finished, he asked me to polish his shoes.

I couldn’t believe it. “Father! We’re out of time! This is all a waste—we haven’t even packed yet!”

But he didn’t answer. He calmly put on his freshly ironed shirt, tied his tie, and got dressed as if he were going to a wedding. When he saw my confused and worried face, he finally explained.

“My son, look around. People are hiding money and gold, packing their suitcases with valuables, thinking they can outsmart the Nazis, may their names be erased. But it won’t help. The Germans will steal everything—before or after death.

I, on the other hand, have given you a true treasure. A mitzvah. You honored your father in a time of fear and chaos. And the Torah says, ‘Honor your father and mother so that your days may be long.’ Because you’ve fulfilled this mitzvah now, in this difficult moment, I believe Hashem will protect you and give you life.”

Now I stand here, many years later, at my grandson’s wedding. Alive. One of the only survivors from my entire town.

And I know, deep in my heart, that it was the merit of honoring my father—the mitzvah of kibbud av—that saved me. Just as my dear father had said.