Yaacov Rozenboim
His art and his story will remain
Allow us to share the story of Yaacov Rozenboim
Yaacov was born in 1924 to Miriam and Israel Rozenboim. His mother was a thoughtful and educated woman; his father—a painter and owner of a photography studio. Their home was full of life, full of books, full of dreams. They were a traditional, Zionist Jewish family. Yaacov was the eighth of nine children.
In 1939, when the Nazis invaded Poland, everything changed. Their family was deported to the Łuków Ghetto. It was there, amid hunger, disease, and death, that Yaacov — just a boy — began to witness the horrors that would shape the rest of his life.
In 1942, he received what he described as a vision “from above.” He escaped the ghetto while walking hand-in-hand with his father. He let go — and ran. His father’s voice, calling after him — “Yankele, Yankele, where are you running?” — haunted him for the rest of his life. That was the last time he saw his family.
Yaacov survived in the forests, among strangers, under suspicion. He was captured and sent to Auschwitz-Birkenau, where he was interned in Block 16, assigned to grueling labor in the
Rollwagen Kommando. Two years in forced labor, starving, freezing, forgotten. Later, he was transferred to Oranienburg where he was forced labor in the Heinkel-Werke aircraft factory,
lifting bombs weighing 150 kilos. He later joked, grimly, that this explained the intensity of his handshake. He was then sent to Kaufering camp near Landsberg.
In 1945, on a death march near Munich, Yaacov was liberated by American soldiers.
But freedom does not erase memory. He once wrote:
“Beatings and humiliation — not just humiliation, but the loss of all human value… I live the past. The entire Holocaust is immersed in the depths of my soul. I paint and write — and there is no other subject that bothers me except the Holocaust.”
After the war, Yaacov went to Rome. There, a teacher at the art academy told him: “We would be happy to accept you — not as a student, but as a teacher.”
In 1949, he arrived in the newly born State of Israel, by way of Cyprus. He joined the police, founded Jerusalem’s first mounted patrol, and married Nehama. But he never stopped painting. He painted what he had seen, what he had lost, what he still remembered. His works were filled with prayer shawls, memorial candles, broken figures, and burning skies.
Even after losing his eyesight in later years, Yaacov continued to paint—with his wife guiding his hand to the colors. That’s how deep the need to remember was. That’s how strong the will to create.
Yaacov Rozenboim died in 2015. But his art remains. His story remains. His soul remains — in every candle we light, in every child we teach, in every truth we choose to tell.
We would like to thank Shai Hod for donating two very special works of art by his grandfather, Yaacov Rozenboim, to the BIZ Hub. Since Yaacov Rozenboim painted what he had seen, what he had lost, and what he still remembered, these paintings are windows into living history – memories alive – or according to Jewish tradition:
May the memory of Yaacov Rozenboim be a blessing!