Much attention has been paid lately to “The Pianist,” a 2002 film that tells the true story of one Jewish man’s against-the-odds survival during the Holocaust.

The film earned critical raves, marked the return to prominence for director Roman Polanski and won Adrien Brody an Academy Award for Best Actor.

Leo Bretholz will not be among those viewing the film.

“I haven’t seen it, and I will not see it,” says Bretholz, 82.

He has nothing against Polanski, nor does he doubt the quality of the performances.

“I won’t see it because it would be preaching to the choir — it would not tell me anything I don’t know. It would only stir up bitter feelings,” he says. “I think people who don’t know about these things should see the film. I don’t need more reminders. I remember.”

Bretholz was a Jew in Hitler’s Europe, which meant he was automatically marked for death.

But he managed to cheat fate and survive the Holocaust, at one point jumping to freedom from a train carrying hundreds of Jews to Auschwitz.

Bretholz later recorded his experiences in a 1999 memoir, co-written with Baltimore Sun columnist Michael Olesker, “Leaping into Darkness: Seven Years on the Run in Wartime Europe.”

Bretholz, who lives in Baltimore with his wife, Flo, travels widely in the United States, speaking to students, church groups, synagogues and civic organizations.

“Leap into Darkness” has been incorporated as an educational tool in some school districts as a way to teach young people about European history and the Holocaust.

“I lost over 30 members of my family. But I’m still here talking and not giving up, and I’ll be talking as long as my voice carries and my legs can walk,” Bretholz says. “Remembrance is a great part of what this is all about because if we do not remember, then we give those who wanted us dead a posthumous victory.”

Survival based on fear, not courage

His story of close calls, escapes and struggles to survive during World War II are remarkable.

Bretholz’s mother urged him to flee Austria in 1938 — at the age of 17 — after the Anschluss, or absorption of that country by Nazi Germany.

He spent the next seven years crisscrossing Europe, desperately trying to evade the Nazis. Bretholz leaped from trains, outran police and hid anywhere that offered a few more moments of safety.

He crawled out from under the barbed wire of a French holding camp and hid while gendarmes searched it. And in the darkness of Nov. 6, 1942, he jumped from a train carrying 1,000 Jews bound for Auschwitz.

His mother, Dora Bretholz, and his sisters, Henrietta and Edith, were deported from Vienna in 1942 and transported to Chelmno, a death camp in Poland, where they were murdered.

His father died before the war, in 1930, when Bretholz was 9.

Bretholz explains what kept him going during those years spent alone and on the run.

“My survival was based on fear, not on courage. Fear is a two-edged sword. When you have fear, when you want to survive, when you are afraid to be killed, you can be paralyzed by fear, or you can be emboldened by it,” he says.

“There was no such thing as being courageous or a hero. I was running for my life. I believed all the rumors from the East, and I put two and two together. And when I was in that train from Drancy (the French transit camp), my gut feeling was that the rumors were true, and I didn’t want to test it.”

According to the Germans’ own numbers, 773 people on Bretholz’s transport were gassed on arrival at Auschwitz or died en route. Another 145 men and 82 women were selected for forced labor. Only four men survived.

Years later, Bretholz came across a book, “Le Memorial de la Deportation Des Juifs de France,” published in 1978. The book chronicles the arithmetic of the Holocaust that originated at the railroad station at Drancy.

In it, Bretholz was able to locate his own name. He was listed among the dead.

Jewish identity strengthened

It’s painful for Bretholz, who emigrated to the United States in 1947, to discuss how his experiences affected his faith in God.

He prefers to touch on the issue tangentially.

“I can’t address the question of God too well. I know that this comes up very often (in his talks), but I didn’t say one single prayer in that train. There were others who said prayers, and they went to their death,” he says.

But his identification with being Jewish was deeply strengthened by the Holocaust.

“Faith is esoteric, almost metaphysical. The practical point is that I feel more Jewish than ever. I have never wavered in my identity. I’m very strongly Jewish, pro Israel. I am a dedicated, very committed Jew.”

He is a member of an Orthodox synagogue located two blocks from his home in Baltimore, and he attends services regularly.

When Bretholz speaks to audiences, he tries to debunk misconceptions about the Holocaust.

“People said we went like lambs, we didn’t resist. If people think resisting means picking up a gun and fighting the Germans, I wouldn’t have lived 10 seconds. But surviving is the utmost in resisting,” he says.

“What sustained me was the hope that one day I would see my mother and my sisters again, and say to my mother, ‘You were right in sending me away.'”