There were three constants in the years that Henry Aizenman spent in concentration camps.

“I was always cold, terrified, and hungry. That intense hunger drove me to risk my life one night. Out of desperation, my buddy and I took a chance and dug a hole under the inner fence. We found a railroad car full of cabbages, radishes, and potatoes, and climbed in through the top. Suddenly, I heard a dog barking in the distance. It had broken away from a guard and was quickly gaining on us. I told my friend to run, knowing that I couldn’t run fast enough to get away. The dog lunged upward, eager to attack. I was doomed. I needed a way to silence the dog. I looked around, and the only weapon available was a large cabbage. I frantically picked it up and aimed. Survival depended on that one shot. I had to hit my target to escape certain death.

“That cabbage didn’t save me from hunger that night. It saved my life.”