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I went looking for Holocaust ‘upstanders.’ I found a Nazi rescuer who chose conscience over complicity.

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27.01.2026

After publishing two books in 2023 and 2024 for young readers in our “Upstander Stories—Brave People Who Saved Jews During the Holocaust” series, my granddaughter Lilly (illustrator) and I (author) began looking for another powerful story for a third book. The goal of the series is to gently introduce children ages 8 to 12 to stories of courage and sacrifice during the Holocaust, inspiring them to become Upstanders — champions for others in need of help.

What we found was a story of a little-known rescuer, the risks he took and the lives he saved.

In September 2024, after several weeks of intensive research for a new story to bring our young readers, I came upon a curious reference to a man named Otto Busse. An unsigned letter to the editor published in the Yiddish-language newspaper Naje Israel Zeitung (New Israel Newspaper, now defunct), dated Dec. 5, 1961, read:

I could not believe that there was a German, Mr. Otto Busse, who helped the Białystok [Poland] resistance fighters and the partisans in the forests, who risked his life and the life of his family in Germany. The faith in the human spirit is not lost…

What? I sat back in my chair and took a deep breath. I knew that there were stories — though very few — of Nazi Party members or party officials who subverted genocidal policies or party directives during the course of the war. (Oskar Schindler comes to mind.) But I had yet to hear a story of a Nazi who supported the organized Jewish resistance — ostensibly in a significant way.

I had to know more. And so, the deep dive began. In the end, after reading newspaper accounts, searching through Yad Vashem’s database, interviewing family members of survivors, and hours spent uncovering any archival digital evidence that could display the fullness of Otto’s risky, righteous actions, we were able to tell a story that revealed itself to be a shocking, often distressing and yet poignant account that has been overlooked for close to 60 years.

Otto Busse (pronounced “büss-uh”) was born in East Prussia (parts of which are are now in modern-day Poland and Russia) in September 1901 — the youngest of seven siblings. His devout Christian family lived and worked on a farm, yet Otto did not share his family’s penchant for a life of farming. He set out on his own, going from job to job to find an industry or a trade to pursue as a career. Soon, he decided to take up a course of study to become a master painter.

Otto and Erna Busse in Israel, where Otto was honored by Yad Vashem in 1968. A one-time member of the Nazi Party, he became involved in the Jewish resistance movement in Bialystok. (Courtesy Joyce Kamen)

In the early 1930s, Otto opened his own painting business and, like so many other master craftsmen of the time, he joined the National Socialist German Workers’ Party, known as the NSDAP, to procure more painting jobs through the organization’s business network. His company flourished — but only until 1935. That’s when the Nuremberg Laws were passed in Germany — antisemitic legislation that stripped Jews of their citizenship, banned marriage and sexual relations between Jews and non-Jews, and imposed severe social and economic restrictions. Although he carried the card of the NSDAP and wore the Nazi uniform as a member of the Third Reich’s Wehrmacht, or unified military forces, Otto — a devout Christian — was repulsed by the restrictive anti-Jewish covenants.

“In 1935, the party’s antisemitic campaign began,” Otto told an interviewer decades after the war. “I wondered how I could possibly get out of [the party].”

Soon after the Nuremberg Laws went into effect, Otto heard a radio broadcast featuring a swearing-in ceremony for new party members. Before the official swearing-in, Germany’s Deputy Führer Rudolph Hess gave potential party members time to reconsider joining the NSDAP, assuring them there would be no economic consequences if they chose to withdraw. Otto immediately wrote and submitted his resignation letter from the party — stipulating that he was leaving “due to illness and religious inhibitions.”

Unsurprisingly, the repercussions were swift. Party officials took away his uniform and barred him from receiving any further painting contracts from the party.

Despite false IDs that said otherwise, Chasia Bielicka from Grodno and Haika Grossman from Bialystok were Jewish and belonged to the leadership of a Jewish underground organization with a mission to mount an armed resistance against the Nazis in Bialystok. (Public Domain)

Still Otto struggled along, taking any painting job he could find to sustain his livelihood. In the summer of 1939, as Germany readied its armed services for their impending invasion of Poland, the Nazi Party came calling for Otto again.

This time, they gave him little choice. Rejoin the party — or be sent to a concentration camp, consigned to hard labor. So, in June of 1939, Otto grudgingly put on the party uniform.

Germany invaded........

© The Jewish Week