Survivor: Jean Greenstein

At 5 o’clock one morning in April 1944, Jean Greenstein — ne Egon Grünstein — heard the bell ringing at the front gate of his family’s home in Velky Sevlus, Czechoslovakia. Soon, two or three SS troopers, along with a couple of local youth, burst into Jean’s bedroom, then bound his hands and feet with rope. They dragged him outside and forced him to run alongside two SS troopers on bicycles, continually clubbing him on his shoulder with their rifle butts as they made their way to the Great Synagogue, about a mile away. There, outside the synagogue, stood the town’s SS commanding officer, Johann (Hans) Friedrich Schleier. Jean watched as one of the troopers whispered something into Schleier’s ear. “I’ll take care of it,” Schleier replied, leading Jean inside.

Schleier, who was a childhood friend of Jean’s, told him that the SS had requested permission to execute him. Jean figured out that one of the local men, who had a crush on Jean’s German girlfriend, had devised the scheme. Schleier also confided Germany’s plan to round up Sevlus’ Jews  and, with no other option, sent Jean to the ghetto.

Jean was born in Velky Sevlus (now Vynohradiv, Ukraine) on July 9, 1924, to Peter and Sari Grünstein. He was the second oldest of six children, two girls and four boys. 

Peter was a successful dentist, though he acquired most of his money in currency trading, and the family, which was secular, lived in a large house, part of a compound they owned. 

Jean attended public school and enjoyed playing with his friends, who were mostly ethnic Germans. “We got along so well,” he said. 

The Hungarians occupied Sevlus in March 1939, changing the town’s name to Nagyszollos. For the first few years, according to Jean, not much changed.

In June 1942, Jean graduated from engineering high school and, as one of three top students, was selected to work at the Manfred Weiss factory in Budapest, where he drew blueprints for German tank parts and other equipment. But as anti-Semitic measures were enacted, he was demoted to slave laborer, sweeping up and performing other menial tasks. 

Soon after Germany invaded Hungary on March 19, 1944, Jean’s father arranged to bring him home. By April, he was interned in the Sevlus ghetto, where his family joined him some weeks later. 

As Jews were being shipped out, Jean made plans to go into hiding with a small group of young people in a wine cellar beneath a house. Meanwhile, Schleier, the SS officer, sent his uncle to smuggle food to the Grünstein family, some of which was used to stock the cellar. The uncle also brought Jean the birth and baptismal certificates of Hans Karl Schleier, the officer’s deceased cousin, which Jean’s mother sewed into his jacket lining. 

Jean wanted to bring his brothers and sister Sidi (also profiled in this series) into hiding with him, but his father thought he should keep the rest of the family together. “Either you survive or they’ll survive,” he told Jean.

On June 2, Jean and three others entered the cellar, a small room with mud floors and three small air vents. They had three lamps, two 80-liter kegs of water, some smoked pork and some wine. A Jewish mason bricked them in, building a false wall.

The next day, the last transport left the Sevlus ghetto for Auschwitz. Jean’s entire family was deported.

By late August, with their water supply contaminated, the group was forced to leave. As they were exiting, however, an elderly Hungarian gendarme saw them, took aim with his rifle and escorted them to the local jail. 

They soon found themselves guarded by Hungarian gendarmes, on a passenger train headed for Auschwitz, but the train was eventually diverted to Budapest. 

As it approached Budapest’s Keleti station, Jean asked to use the bathroom. A guard stood outside the door while Jean slipped out the small window. But he was quickly recaptured by the train yard police and taken to Tolonchaz prison.

While there, Jean volunteered for a work detail, moving boxes of valuable books for the Hungarian government. After helping load them onto a flatbed truck with a canvas top, he hid behind a stack of boxes. At a traffic light, he escaped.

Jean found his way to the Jewish ghetto, where Adonyahu Bilitzer, a member of the Zionist underground, asked him to impersonate a Levente, a member of a Hungarian paramilitary group, and work as an underground messenger. 

In late September, at Bilitzer’s suggestion, Jean, who still had Hans Karl Schleier’s birth and baptismal certificates and who spoke fluent German, enlisted in the German Waffen SS. He explained that he was an ethnic German who had fled his hometown. 

After two weeks’ training, Jean was assigned a barracks, given a motorcycle and instructed to patrol for German deserters. With little supervision, he was free to continue working with the underground. 

Jean teamed up with a man named Hershi Reich, who was posing as an Arrow Cross (Hungarian Nazi) soldier. Together they searched for and intercepted groups of Jews being marched toward the Danube River, carted away in trucks or dispatched on death marches. Jean and Hershi confronted the soldiers, accusing them of misconduct or informing them the Jews were protected or had been reassigned and demanding their release. “If they didn’t let them go, we shot them,” Jean said. 

He and Hershi then returned the Jews to the ghetto or escorted them to the Glass House, a former glass factory under the protection of the Swiss Embassy, where, due to the work of Swiss Vice Consul Carl Lutz, more than 3,000 Jews were given refuge. 

Jean doesn’t know how many Jews he saved or helped save. “Hundreds and hundreds,” he estimates.

During this time, Jean met Giorgio Perlasca, an Italian businessman then under the protection of Spain’s Charge d’Affaires Angel Sanz Briz. Perlasca was helping Sanz Briz provide Jews with Schutzpasses (protective passports) and shelter in Spanish safe houses; Jean assisted them.

In late November, the Spanish government ordered Sanz Briz to Switzerland, and Perlasca, using the first name Jorge, appointed himself temporary charge d’affaires for Spain, continuing the rescue work. 

Sometime in December, Jean accompanied Perlasca to Budapest’s Jozsefvaros Railway Station. There he witnessed Raoul Wallenberg arguing with Adolf Eichmann over the fate of Jews headed to death camps, claiming they were protected Swiss citizens. Perlasca offered the same argument for Spain. During this encounter, Jean shook hands with Eichmann, who pinched his cheek and likened him to “a typical German.”

Another time, Jean, Hershi and two other underground members were sent to intercept a German military car carrying a high-ranking officer assigned to replace Eichmann. When the open cabriolet appeared, Jean held up a “Halt” sign and requested their papers. As the officer, who was sitting in the back seat, reached for the documents, Hershi shot him and the other soldiers in the head. They disposed of the bodies and the car.

In mid-January 1945, as the Russian assault on Budapest continued, Jean himself sought refuge in the Glass House; he was liberated on Jan. 18.

Jean made his way back to Sevlus, where he found his home vandalized and family absent. He later learned his sister Sidi had survived (she is also profiled in this series), and he reunited with her in Romania in late April. 

Jean eventually sailed to Palestine on an Aliyah Bet ship, ending up in Tel Aviv, where he studied dentistry. In late 1947, he was called up to the Haganah, fighting in the Jerusalem battles. He then transferred to the Israeli navy (Palyam) and was second in command of the Jaffa port until October 1949. 

Jean immigrated to New York two months later, working as a dental technician while studying to earn his certification.

In August 1951, Jean met Ruth Blumer, and they married on June 1, 1952. Their son Paul was born in July 1954; son Lawrence in December 1955; and daughter Sharon in July 1957. 

In 1961, the family moved to Los Angeles, where Jean opened Cerama-Dent, a dental laboratory. He sold it in 1972 and opened Creative Dental Ceramics, retiring in 1982. 

Now 90 and the grandfather of two, Jean has been a speaker at the Museum of Tolerance for the past five years. Every time he tells his story, he finds it surreal.

“You know,” he recently said, “I’m sitting here thinking how did I get away with this? Luck. Sheer luck.”