Detailed Instructions: In this task, you are given a text of many news articles seperated by special token "|||||". Your task is to summarize them.
Q: Judah Samet was four minutes late to synagogue. 
  
 Services at Tree of Life Congregation in Pittsburgh start at 9:45 A.M. Samet, who is 80 years old, pulled into a handicapped spot in front of the building on the morning of October 27 at 9:49. 
  
 “Somebody knocked on my window,” Samet said the next day. “There was this guy. Very calm and respectful. [He] told me, you better back up, there is an active shooting going on in your synagogue.” 
  
 It took Samet sixty seconds to process what the man was saying. Samet was born in Hungary. He turned eight years old at the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in Germany. He spent five and a half years in an orphanage in Israel. He has been a member of Tree of Life Congregation for fifty-five years. 
  
 “My God, my story doesn’t end,” he said. 
  
 Samet turned. Standing three feet away from him, on the other side of the car, was a police officer with a pistol drawn. “He was popping his head out from behind a wall and shooting,” Samet said. 
  
 Samet looked to see who the police officer was shooting, and saw a man aiming an automatic weapon in his direction. “He was shooting towards the cop, who was about four feet away from me,” Samet said. He saw the men exchange fire. 
  
 “I saw smoking coming out of his muzzle,” Samet said. “I was in the line of fire.” 
  
 Samet tried to back his car out of the parking lot, but other cars were trying to do the same thing. The attacker wasn’t aiming at him. “None of the bullets hit me or hit my car,” Samet said. “The policeman could kill him.” 
  
 Samet knew virtually everyone who the attacker, Robert Bowers, allegedly murdered that day. He was a leading figure at Tree of Life; had been the designated Torah chanter for four decades, and had led morning services for years. Two years ago, he led services at the shiva for synagogue member Joyce Fienberg’s husband. She was shot dead on Saturday morning. “She was a real lady,” Samet said. “She completely dedicated her life to the synagogue since her husband died.” 
  
 Samet was friendly with Sylvan and Bernice Simon, the 86 and 84 year old who were murdered together in the synagogue sanctuary. Samet and Sylvan Simon would talk about their time as paratroopers, Samet in the Israeli army and Sylvan in the U.S. army. 
  
 Irving Younger, 69, usually stood by the door of the sanctuary, Samet said, and greeted people as they arrived. He would have been the first person the attacker saw when he assaulted the service. Younter was among the dead on Saturday. 
  
 Cecil Rosenthal, 59, who was developmentally disabled, also sat near the door. “Everybody loved him,” Samet said. He and his brother, David Rosenthal, were both murdered. 
  
 Samet said that Rose Mallinger, who was in her 90’s, would attend the service each week with her daughter. “They sit behind me,” Samet said. “If I was inside the synagogue, I would be in the line of fire.” 
  
 More than anything on Sunday, Samet seemed to be going back in his mind to the 1940s, when the Nazis tortured and murdered his family. His father died of typhoid shortly after the war. 
  
 “My mother was the interpreter,” he said. “She spoke fluent German. She saved hundreds of Jews.” 
  
 The Nazis put Samet’s family on a train to Auschwitz, but Slovakian partisans blew up the railroad line. The Samets ended up in a large lumberyard owned by a man with a large swastika tattooed on his chest, which he would show the family. 
  
 “My mother taught us never listen what they have to say,” Samet said. “Look at their hands. Because words cannot kill you.” 
  
 On Sunday afternoon, Samet was preparing to travel to a local church to tell the story of his family’s experience in the Holocaust. He said he would likely say something about what he had been through the day before. 
  
 Asked what his mother, Rachel Samet, would have said about the massacre he survived on Saturday, Samet said: “It just never ends.” 
  
 Contact Josh Nathan-Kazis at nathankazis@forward.com or on Twitter, @joshnathankazis |||||  
  
 Judah Samet, 80, survived the Holocaust as a child. He was four minutes late to services at Tree of Life synagogue on Saturday and narrowly missed being inside when the deadly shooting unfolded. (Screen grab via YouTube) 
  
 Twice now, Judah Samet has almost paid with his life for being Jewish. 
  
 More than 70 years ago, he narrowly escaped death in Germany’s Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. Again Saturday, he looked death in the face — not in his native Hungary, where nationalism is resurgent, but in the country where he found sanctuary after the Second World War. 
  
 Samet, 80, almost died in the parking lot of Pittsburgh’s Tree of Life synagogue, his place of worship, when a man who “wanted all Jews to die” allegedly killed 11 people during morning services. It was the deadliest attack against Jews in U.S. history. 
  
 “I survived the second time yesterday,” he said in an interview on Sunday. The question put to him repeatedly following the attack, he said, was whether memories of the Holocaust had flashed before his eyes as he watched anti-Semitic violence convulse his adopted home. “And I said, ‘It never stops,’ ” he told The Washington Post. 
  
 The octogenarian’s recollections are particularly noteworthy as more information emerges about the victims of Saturday’s massacre. They ranged from 54 to 97, ages that made them more conscious than most of the ghastly outcome in the previous century of anti-Jewish hatred. 
  
 “I used to say, ‘I can’t look back,’ ” Samet said. “But then, about seven or eight years ago, I looked around and noticed that most survivors were in their 90s and that pretty soon there wouldn’t be anyone else in Pittsburgh to talk.” 
  
 Samet has been a member of the Conservative congregation for 54 years, he said. For four decades, he was a part-time cantor, chanting prayers and helping to lead worship. 
  
 On Saturday morning, he did what he always does on the Sabbath — he went to the synagogue. Services start at 9:45 a.m. Yet that morning, Samet was delayed. 
  
 “I was talking to my housekeeper here; she comes once a week,” he said in a phone conversation from his condominium, where he lives alone. He needs only a few minutes to drive the leafy streets to his synagogue in Squirrel Hill, the nucleus of Jewish Pittsburgh. “I was four minutes late. Instead of 9:45, I got there about 9:49, maybe 9:50.” 
  
 Those four minutes may have saved his life. 
  
 He entered the parking lot and was pulling into a handicapped spot when someone knocked on his window. A man dressed in black advised him to back out carefully. 
  
 “He said there was an active shooting going on inside the synagogue,” Samet recalled. That’s when he saw an officer crouched on his passenger side, several feet ahead of his car, popping his head out from behind a barrier to fire in the opposite direction. He was close enough to see smoke rising from the muzzle of his gun. 
  
 “I wanted to see who he was shooting,” Samet said. The gunman had emerged from inside the building, he said, “and had a shootout with police, then he went back and finished the job in my synagogue.” 
  
 He heard three or four salvos before he pulled out of the parking lot, unharmed. “I was in the line of fire,” he said. “Luckily, I wasn’t hit.” 
  
 At home, he switched on Fox, his network of choice. “I’m very unique,” he said. “I’m a Jewish Republican.” 
  
 Seeing a phone number on the screen, he dialed in to investigators. They later used his description of the suspect on TV, he said — tall with short hair, dressed in blue jeans. 
  
 Samet prides himself on his powers of recollection. He can remember the name of a customer who bought an engagement ring 30 years ago, he said. 
  
 And he still remembers how Jewish life was annihilated by the Nazis when they invaded Hungary in 1944. 
  
 Born in Debrecen, Hungary’s second-largest city, he was 6 years old when his family of six was put on a train to Auschwitz. But the route was blocked by Slovak resistance fighters, who blew up the railroads in what was then Czechoslovakia. “Hungary didn’t want us, so they took us to Austria,” he said. 
  
 His family was stationed at a “huge lumberyard owned by a major Austrian Nazi,” where his parents toiled 12 to 14 hours a day, before they were redirected to Bergen-Belsen. They were held there for more than 10 months, he said. He turned 7 at the camp. 
  
 “I’m basically a very strong person, and I went through a lot, but nothing, nothing ever defeated me,” Samet said. “In the camp, I was out all the time. I found a friend. My brothers were in the bunk. My mother couldn’t hold me in.” 
  
 An estimated 50,000 people, including the child diarist Anne Frank, died in Bergen-Belsen, according to the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum. Before the camp was liberated by the British forces in April 1945, Samet’s family boarded a train, along with about 2,500 others, intended for Theresienstadt concentration camp but liberated by American troops before it reached its destination. 
  
 “Americans!” cheered Samet’s father, who was studying English, according to an article last year in the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review. His father soon died of typhoid, while the rest of the family went to Paris and then to Marseille, on France’s southern coast, where they boarded a boat to Israel. There, Samet spent time in an Orthodox orphanage, completed high school and entered the Israeli army. 
  
 He joined an uncle in Toronto in 1961 but didn’t like the cold and relocated to New York, where he also had family. At a bar mitzvah on Long Island, he met the woman who would become his wife, a teacher in Pittsburgh. Samet owns a downtown jewelry shop that he inherited from his father-in-law. 
  
 “Tonight I spoke about my life to about 200 people in a church,” Samet said on Sunday, weary from a day spent telling his story to a community desperate for answers. “They asked me, ‘What brought you to Pittsburgh?’ I said, ‘Love.’ " 
  
 Now, the city where he found love will also serve as a painful reminder that history doesn’t end, he observed. Having lived through the Holocaust, he said, “It’s almost like, ‘Here we go again.' We’re now more than 70 years away from it, and here it happens all over again.” 
  
 He said he feared rising anti-Semitism and the prevalence of white-supremacist groups in western Pennsylvania and West Virginia, even though he has rarely encountered direct prejudice. Once, he said, a woman bought an item from his store and told him, “I don’t mean to Jew you down.” 
  
 At the same time, Samet dismissed the notion that President Trump bears responsibility for inciting anti-Semitic violence. He supports the president. 
  
 “I don’t fall in love with people, except my family, but I love him for what he’s doing,” Samet said. “Our economy is fantastic. Obama was a jerk and hated Israel,” he added. 
  
 Samet also said he was unconcerned by Trump’s declaration last week that he was a “nationalist,” a label associated with some of the worst crimes of the 20th century. So, too, he waved away objections to the president’s criticism of “globalists,” language that has historically encoded anti-Jewish prejudice, and his promotion of a conspiracy theory about George Soros, the liberal, Jewish philanthropist and a fellow Hungarian and Holocaust survivor. Soros was one of the targets of last week’s pipe bombs. 
  
 “Is he a nationalist? To me, America comes first,” Samet said. “Israel is important, but since I’ve been living here all this time, I’m very patriotic.” 
  
 For Samet, Judaism is essential, second only to his family in importance. And he sees violence as anathema. “Hatred is not in the Jewish DNA,” he said at an event in April near Pittsburgh. “I mean, everybody tried to kill us, destroy us. Can we hate everybody in the whole world? No, we don’t hate.” 
  
 But he also said he could never forgive the Germans: “Because if I forgive, I’m talking for 6 million Jews.” 
  
 Although he withholds forgiveness, his faith has helped him come to terms with what happened to him when he was a child. At first, he blamed God. Deeper knowledge of the story of Genesis, however, changed his perspective. 
  
 Now, even as he grieves the murder of 11 Jews, he is marveling that he was spared — again. 
  
 “God gave us a choice, and we chose to have freedom, which is a great thing,” he said. “You know the size of the universe? You think we are his only subjects? Maybe I survived this weekend because of him.” 
  
 More from Morning Mix: 
  
 ‘He is not welcome here’: Thousands back call by Jewish leaders for Trump to denounce white nationalism 
  
 Before synagogue mass shooting, the 1986 murder of a rabbinical student shook Pittsburgh’s Jewish community |||||
A:
Judah Samet arrived at Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh at 9:49am Saturday, delayed four minutes because of a conversation with his housekeeper. Those four minutes likely saved the 80-year-old's life. "If I was inside the synagogue, I would be in the line of fire," Samet tells Forward as he recounts the 11 victims, where they sat, and what they were like; he knew almost all of them after 55 years at Tree of Life, where he had led morning services for years and chanted the Torah for four decades. Samet, who turned 7 while at Germany's Bergen-Belsen concentration camp during the Holocaust and also spent more than five years at an orphanage in Israel after his parents died, says someone knocked on his window as he arrived to warn him there was a shooter. He saw the gunman exchange fire with police officers in the parking lot, bullets whizzing by his car. But "I survived the second time yesterday," he tells the Washington Post. Did memories of the Holocaust come to him as he sat watching the shooting, the deadliest attack against Jews in US history? "I said, 'It never stops,'" he recalls. (Muslims have raised more than $100,000 for synagogue victims.)