Tucked away in the closets of Yevgeny Bistrizky’s new flat is a worn and dirty blanket — for nearly eight months it was the only bedding that the 71-year-old Holocaust survivor possessed.

Until two weeks ago Mr Bistrizky was homeless on the streets of Tel Aviv, living in a dog park, using several benches as a makeshift bed and relying on residents for food.

He slept there despite his dislike of dogs. One of his only memories of the Holocaust was watching dogs feed on the bodies near the killing fields of Babi Yar, where 33,771 Jews were shot in September 1941. Their bodies were thrown in a gorge outside Kiev in one of the largest massacres of the Holocaust.

Mr Bistrizky said: “I never thought that I would again be with nothing. I kept hoping that things would get better but I didn’t know what to do.”

How a Holocaust survivor could find himself homeless in Israel is a question that has gone unanswered since Mr Bistrizky’s story was published several weeks ago in a Hebrew daily newspaper.

More than 50,000 Holocaust survivors live below the poverty line in Israel. Mr Bistrizky’s is the only known case of a survivor who became homeless.

The Latet organisation, which provides aid to the needy, discovered him after concerned residents contacted the group. They were astonished to learn that he had been living in the dog park for eight months, cleaning himself with a garden hose inside the rubbish room of a building, and hoping that the faeces-littered park would deter people from trying to attack him in his sleep.

Latet was unable to find him a suitable flat and contacted a newspaper to publish his story. Since then it has received hundreds of calls from people offering food, clothing and rooms in their homes.

One company offered a flat in a building for the elderly. The room is sparse but clean. The only homely touch is two Ukrainian calendars with photographs of kittens above his single bed.

Mr Bistrizky said: “Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll wake up and it will all be gone. That I’ll be back on the park bench and this will all be a dream”.

Small but wiry, he moves gingerly around the room. His blue eyes light up as he points out the items people have donated: a microwave, stereo, gas burner and refrigerator.

His hands linger over the objects, stopping at an armchair that he placed by the window. In the afternoon a breeze wafts in: “It’s my favourite thing, my favourite time — this wind,” he says, using the Hebrew word for breeze with a brief, but proud smile. “I am so happy, so thankful to be given all this.”

Mr Bistrizky moved to Israel with his family in 1993. He worked in a factory until three years ago when, at the age of 69, he was dismissed.

Financial difficulties led to him losing his flat and eventually his wife. For the better part of a year Mr Bistrizky lived in an abandoned building with no water or electricity.

On the day that he was discovered and evicted, nearly all his belongings were stolen. He wandered the streets but was scared of the hardened homeless who were sleeping on the grass of parks in Tel Aviv. Eventually he settled at the dog park.

Because his marital status was unclear, social workers told him that he was ineligible for a subsidised flat. As he spoke only broken Hebrew, they asked him to come back with a translator or with working papers.

“It is unbelievable that this could happen,” Liron Yochai, the manager of Latet, said. “I still can’t believe that Holocaust survivors are needy in Israel. If it were not for them, we wouldn’t have this country. Because of what they went through we were allowed to build this country. It was their hands, their money.”

Latet provides food and services for 1,500 survivors but is aware of 50,000 more living below the poverty line in Israel.

In 2007 the Israeli Government approved a 1 billion shekel (£162 million) plan to assist Holocaust survivors. Most organisations said that it was too little and that hundreds of millions of dollars were being held in the coffers of organisations meant to distribute the funds.

Mr Yochai said: “They say they are saving this money but I don’t know for what. In 15 years there will not be any Holocaust survivors left. We have to give them what we can now.”

Mr Bistrizky, who works as a caretaker in a small supermarket in the evenings and receives a monthly ¤270 pension from Germany, said that he could not ask for more. Next week, for the first time, he will meet a fellow survivor of the Babi Yar massacre at a dinner for the Jewish New Year, which is organised by Latet.

There were days when he used to think that the world was made up of people who meant him harm. He was nervous to talk to anyone and was scared of being hurt.

He said: “Now I think — and I keep trying to think — that most people are good. Look at everything they’ve done for me. I used to feel very alone, now I feel good. It’s so good I am almost scared.”

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