Harry Drucker had just turned 16 when the Nazis invaded his small town of Iwonicz in Poland. When the soldiers came to his house, they gave him and his family a half-hour to leave. Drucker remembers taking whatever he could carry. “Not much,” he said. At first glance, Drucker seems to live an unburdened life at Beacon Place in Squirrel Hill. He offered candy, posed for pictures and endured slight teasing for his tendency to not smile in photos. His daughter, Jean Reznick, encouraged him to think of his great-granddaughter Lily, someone who always makes him smile. He apologized for his shaking hands, which worsened as he described some of the most horrific parts of his life in Europe. After the soldiers forced him and his family out of their home, the Druckers walked an hour and a half to Rymanów, a nearby town. After a couple of months, the Nazis rounded them up in the center of town and loaded people onto trucks, whipping them. It was the last time he saw his mother, father and three sisters. He and his brother were taken to work on a highway. One day, a truck came and the soldiers on board asked if there were any tailors. Drucker was taught to sew in Krosno after the Nazi invasion forced him to stop his schooling. When he raised his hand, he was taken from his brother.

Photo Credit: Abigail Hakas/Pittsburgh Jewish Chronicle