Born in 1927 to a traditional Jewish family in south-west Poland, Chaim "Harry" Olmer was one of 1,000 children who found refuge in Britain in 1946 - landing in a bomber, where he remembers sitting on the floor singing Hebrew songs with the other children.
Now after a career as a dentist, the 88-year-old grandfather of eight lives in Mill Hill, north-west London, with his wife Margaret.
On February 11, 2015 - the day world leaders gathered in Minsk to hammer out a ceasefire deal for war-ravaged eastern Ukraine - more than 130 Jews were being safely transported out of the conflict zone to Dnepropetrovsk.
Europe is facing its largest and most complex surge in migration since the Second World War. According to the UN High Commissioner for Refugees , over 590,000 people have arrived by sea so far in 2015.
European governments are facing massive practical and policy challenges in addressing the needs of refugees, integrating them and dealing with the impact on national economies.
When night falls and most of the green spaces in Tel Aviv empty out, Lewinsky Park fills up. Men stand or sit around, some of them in circles, smoking and chatting. They talk mostly in Tigrinya and Arabic.
Lewinsky Park is the unofficial community centre of the thousands of Eritreans and Sudanese who have ended up in Tel Aviv.
When the European migration crisis reached its latest peak earlier this year, a Jewish friend said to me: ''This will come round to hurt the Jews - you'll see.'' At the time, I dismissed it. ''The only group this might affect are Muslims,'' I replied. He knew better. ''You'll see," he warned. And now I have.