Laura: The man who survived Auschwitz, who lost his parents in the gas chambers, who saw the very worst of humanity, called himself 'The Happiest Man on Earth.' Sophia: That statement feels almost impossible, doesn't it? It’s a paradox that stops you in your tracks. Laura: It really does. And today, we're going to try and understand why it’s not impossible at all. That's the central, stunning idea in the book we're discussing: The Happiest Man on Earth by Eddie Jaku. Sophia: And what's just incredible is that he wrote this memoir when he was 100 years old. This isn't a story told in the immediate, raw aftermath of trauma, but a lifetime of wisdom distilled into this one, powerful book. Laura: Exactly. He became this beloved figure in Australia, an inspirational speaker whose TEDx talk has been seen by millions. He dedicated the last decades of his life to sharing his story, not of pain, but of hope. Sophia: Which is the big question, isn't it? How is hope even possible after what he went through? Where does it come from? Laura: Well, before he could find happiness, he had to survive hell. And his story shows that survival wasn't a passive act of endurance; it was an active, daily feat of engineering.

Sophia: Engineering? That’s a fascinating way to put it. It sounds so deliberate, so methodical, in the face of pure chaos. Laura: It was. His life before the war was normal. He was a German Jew from Leipzig, proud of his country. His father was a mechanical engineer who always taught him that education and skills were more precious than money. A lesson that would, quite literally, save his life. But then came November 9, 1938—Kristallnacht, the Night of Broken Glass. Sophia: I think many of us have heard the name, but what was it like for him, on the ground? Laura: It was a nightmare. He had just returned home from five years away at engineering school, living under a false name to get an education. He was asleep in his childhood bed when ten Nazis broke down the door. They beat him senseless. They took his family’s beloved dachshund, Lulu, and when the little dog tried to defend him, they bayoneted her, yelling, "Jewish dog!" Sophia: Oh, that's just horrific. The cruelty is so gratuitous. Laura: They dragged him into the street and made him watch as they destroyed his home, piece by piece. He saw his neighbors, people he grew up with, cheering them on. He later wrote, "What had happened to my German friends that they became murderers? How is it possible to create enemies from friends, to create such hate?" Sophia: That question hangs over the entire 20th century. To have your entire world, your sense of safety and belonging, shattered in a single night by the people you knew… I can't fathom it. Laura: From there, he was sent to Buchenwald, and then later, after a series of escapes and recaptures, to Auschwitz. And it's in Auschwitz, the epicenter of dehumanization, that we see this 'engineering of survival' in action. He arrived and was immediately separated from his parents. He never saw them again. An SS officer pointed to the smoke from a chimney and told him, "That’s where your father went. And your mother." Sophia: Wow. And in that moment, when you've lost everything, what is there left to hold onto? Laura: A friend. He found his friend Kurt Hirschfeld there. They had known each other before the war. And they made a promise: they would meet every single day. No matter what. This friendship became their lifeline. Sophia: It’s amazing how in a place designed to strip away every shred of humanity, the one thing that saves him is the most human thing of all—connection. Was it just emotional support, or was it practical too? Laura: Both. It was everything. They shared their meager rations. When Eddie had a sore throat, Kurt cut his own scarf in half to give him a piece. They would hide small gifts for each other. Eddie said that the average survival time for a prisoner in Auschwitz was seven months. He survived because of Kurt. He wrote, "One good friend is my whole world." Sophia: It’s like friendship becomes a form of resistance. The Nazis wanted them to be numbers, to be animals fighting over scraps. But by choosing to care for each other, they were refusing to be what their captors wanted them to be. Laura: Precisely. And his engineering skills played a huge role too. He was classified as an 'Economically Indispensable Jew' because he was a master toolmaker. This saved him from the gas chambers on three separate occasions. He was put to work in a factory for IG Farben, the company that also made the Zyklon B gas. Sophia: The irony is sickening. The skills his father gave him were being used by the very people who murdered his family, but those same skills kept him alive. Laura: And he even engineered a system to keep his fellow prisoners safe. He was in charge of 200 men maintaining high-pressure pipes. If one failed, they'd all be killed. It was an impossible task to monitor them all. So he fashioned 200 tiny whistles. He gave one to every prisoner and told them, "If you see the pressure drop, blow your whistle." And it worked. No machine ever broke down. Sophia: That's incredible. He's literally creating a system of survival, a network of communication, right under the noses of the SS. He’s using his mind not just to fix machines, but to hold a community together. Laura: It’s a perfect example of what he meant. Survival wasn't luck. It was work. It was ingenuity. It was friendship.

Sophia: Okay, so he survives through this incredible bond of friendship and his own resourcefulness. But survival is one thing. Becoming the happiest man on Earth after that? That feels like a completely different universe. How does that transformation even begin? Laura: It begins with a choice. After the war, after a death march he miraculously escaped, after being rescued by American soldiers while hiding in a forest and surviving on snails, he eventually made his way to Belgium. He reunited with his sister, Henni, and with Kurt. But he was adrift. He wrote, "Liberation is freedom, but freedom for what? To be alone?" He was haunted. Sophia: Of course. The trauma doesn't just end when the war does. The ghosts remain. Laura: Exactly. He describes seeing a former Kapo—a prisoner who collaborated with the Nazis—living freely in Brussels, protected by political connections. He saw the lingering antisemitism. He felt like an outcast everywhere. He even contemplated ending his life. Sophia: I can understand that. To survive all that, only to find the world hasn't really changed and justice is a fantasy... that must have been a crushing weight. Laura: It was. But then two things happened. He met a woman named Flore, who would become his wife of 74 years. And a few years later, their first son, Michael, was born. He describes holding his newborn son and making a promise. A promise to himself, to his son, and to the memory of his parents. From that day forward, he would be happy. He would be polite, helpful, and kind. Sophia: He made a promise to be happy. That is such a radical idea. It frames happiness not as a passive feeling that visits you, but as an active, daily commitment. A discipline. Laura: That is the absolute core of his philosophy. He says, "Happiness does not fall from thesky; it is in your hands." For him, it was the only way to honor those who were lost. To live a miserable life would be to let the Nazis win. To live a life full of love, family, and joy—that was his revenge. Sophia: I find this so powerful, but also so difficult. The idea of 'choosing happiness' can sometimes feel like it dismisses the depth of trauma. Did he ever talk about the struggle with that choice? Laura: He did. He makes it clear that it's not about forgetting or forgiving the perpetrators. He explicitly says he cannot forgive. But he chose not to live with hate. He says, "Hate is a disease. It may kill your enemy, but it will destroy you in the process too." His happiness wasn't about ignoring the darkness; it was about refusing to let the darkness become his home. Sophia: So it's not about ignoring the pain, but choosing not to be defined by it. The happiness is his rebellion. Laura: And he put that rebellion into practice. There's a powerful story from after the war. He and Kurt read in the paper about three young Jewish women, all survivors, who had tried to take their own lives after finding their families were gone. They were in a mental hospital. Eddie and Kurt went to the hospital, took responsibility for the girls, and brought them to live in their small apartment. They cared for them, nursed them back to health, and treated them like family. Sophia: Wow. They created a family out of the ashes. Laura: He called it making your own miracles. He says, "When there are no miracles, you can make them happen. With a simple act of kindness, you can save another person from despair, and that might just save their life. And this is the greatest miracle of all."

Laura: So Eddie's story really gives us this two-part blueprint for resilience. First, in the face of utter dehumanization, you survive by holding onto the smallest, most essential pieces of your humanity—a friend, a promise, a shared piece of bread. Sophia: And then, once you're free, you don't just live; you choose how to live. You turn survival into a statement. His happiness wasn't just a feeling; it was his life's work. It was his ultimate rebuttal to the ideology that tried to destroy him. It’s the most profound form of defiance. Laura: It truly is. He built a beautiful life in Australia, had a loving family, and spent his final years sharing his story at the Sydney Jewish Museum, which he helped found. He wanted to ensure no one would ever forget, but he also wanted to teach them how to live. Sophia: He proved that the human spirit is more resilient than any evil. That you can witness the absolute worst of what we are capable of and still choose to embody the best. Laura: There's a quote he often used, a simple proverb: "Shared sorrow is half sorrow; shared pleasure is double pleasure." Sophia: That really captures it all, doesn't it? The power of connection, both in enduring pain and in creating joy. Laura: It makes you wonder, in our own lives, what small acts of kindness could we perform that might, for someone else, feel like a miracle? Sophia: It’s a powerful thought. We’d love to hear what resonated with you all from Eddie’s story. Find us on our socials and share one lesson you're taking away. Laura: This is Aibrary, signing off.