Is This Irony?

He, among others like him, inheritors
of an ancient creed whose heritage
bound its tribe to their forefathers and the 
land flowing with milk and honey
had the misfortune to be named a
pestilence upon the face of the Earth
their presence an affliction, an assault
on the refined sensibilities of a cultured
people whose leader decreed they be
exterminated as one would threats to
civilization. Vast resources were thrown
into the resolution to rid the world of
their presence, a refinement of technical
resources capable of 'processing' those
whose charred and powdered remains
were destined to fertilize the fields of
Europe, their ashes seeping into the
crops that those who preferred to become
oblivious to the carnage would so
greatly appreciate in a time of scarcity.
But this man, a maker of sweets, somehow
survived the far-reaching solution of
annihilation of his people, to live another
day, while mourning the passage to death
of all those he had loved. Now, he lives
in the land of his ancestors, claiming a 
new life, his tormentors quiescent for
the moment, while he is feted as the 
oldest man in the world, outliving the
vast calamity that was the Holocaust.