Sami Steigmann, 86, carries a history etched in unimaginable pain. As a toddler, he endured the horrors of Nazi medical experimentation, a trauma that continues to resonate with every breath he takes. Now, in the twilight of his life, he faces a new struggle: finding a safe and affordable place to live in New York City.
For decades, New York has been Steigmann’s sanctuary, a place of connection and purpose since he arrived in the 1980s. But his current second-story apartment in Harlem has become a prison, his aging body unable to navigate the stairs. He sought help from a local city leader, a mayor who campaigned on promises of affordable housing, hoping for a lifeline.
The meeting was scheduled, a glimmer of hope in a difficult situation. Yet, the appointment never materialized. Steigmann doesn’t express anger, only a weary acceptance. “Promises made, not kept,” he reflects, a quiet resignation coloring his words. He’s learned not to expect much from politicians.
New York City’s relentless climb in housing costs has created a crisis for many, but for Steigmann, living on a fixed income of just $1,649 a month, the situation is dire. A safe, accessible one-bedroom apartment now costs around $6,000. The financial reality is stark and unforgiving.
The physical consequences of his past haunt him daily. Deported to a Nazi labor camp with his parents as a two-year-old, he was subjected to brutal experiments for years. “I was subjected to medical experiments, so I’m in pain every single second,” he admits, “but I learned to live with it.” Now, age and the lingering effects of that trauma make even simple tasks a challenge.
Relocating seems logical, yet leaving New York isn’t simple. He’s built a network of support, agencies and neighbors who provide a crucial sense of security. “I’m very safe here,” he says, grateful for the community that watches over him. The thought of navigating a new city alone is daunting.
A nursing home looms as a last resort, a fate he desperately wants to avoid. “If I’m going to a nursing home…basically, it’s the way to die because there is no life there.” He remains active, capable of self-care, and determined to maintain his independence for as long as possible.
Recognizing his plight, advocates have launched “Project Ahava,” a fundraising initiative spearheaded by the Chicago Jewish Alliance. The goal is to raise $132,000 to cover five years of housing, bridging a $2,200 monthly gap. Already, $18,000 has been raised, a testament to Steigmann’s enduring spirit.
“Sami has never asked for a dime, and he has given back to so many people,” explains Susan Haggard, president of the Chicago Jewish Alliance. “That’s just another reason why we wanted to give back to him and make sure that he has safe housing.” Maintaining his independence is paramount, allowing him to continue his vital work.
Steigmann dedicates his days to sharing his story, volunteering on the Intrepid aircraft carrier and speaking to students about the Holocaust. This mission has become his life’s purpose, a powerful act of remembrance and a beacon of hope. “This is my life,” he says, his voice filled with conviction. “Without it, there’s nothing for me, no reason to live.”
