PESACH 1941

Occasionally, one memory escapes from the vault that holds the terror of those years. One Passover, my three-year old grandchild looked up at me from his chair at the seder table. I don't even know what he said, because the rush of Passover 1941 blocked everything else. I was a young girl hidden in a dark cellar in central France. I was without other family - alone with four other children, all of us strangers.

Today and in recent years, as I celebrate Passover surrounded by the comforts and luxury of our London flat and the security of more than a dozen relatives and friends, I realize that for all of their splendor, these holidays cannot compare in my heart to that unique event 62 years ago. 1941 was the most extraordinary Passover of my life. But before I describe it, let me explain how I got to that cellar.

I was born in the years preceding World War II and lived content and well loved by my family in Nurnberg. By 1933, however, my world was getting darker till, one day, Nazi storm troopers marched into Nurnberg ordering that all major buildings must fly the swastika flag by evening. In 1936, my parents took us to Paris, as my father had been appointed rabbi of the prominent Rue Cadet synagogue. Within a few years, as the political situation deteriorated, my father was conscripted into the army and had to leave us. In 1940, when the Nazis began bombing Paris, my mother fled with us - her four children - on the last train before the main onslaught. It was the eve of the Jewish holiday of Shavuot.

The mass of people on that train - a tornado of humanity - repeatedly wrenched us from one another. Months later, on another leg of our desperate journey I lost track of my family altogether and began to wander from village to village. Lone children all over were doing the same.

One night just before dawn I could go no further. I knocked on the farmhouse door of what turned out to be a kind, courageous gentile farmer. He took me to his cellar where I found another little girl. Eventually two boys and another girl joined us. None of us admitted we were Jewish for several days.

It was a dire winter. Each morning, a few rays of light would poke their way into the cellar through two windows high on the wall - our only eyes to the world outside. The farmer had lowered us into the cellar through those windows and every day through one of them he lowered a net with five morsels of food and a bucket for our natural needs. Strange as it sounds, we were very lucky. In that difficult winter, five homeless children developed values so different from those today - as well as a bond of lifelong friendship.

One day, peering from the cellar up through the windows one of us noticed a streak of sunlight in blue sky. A few days later, another saw blades of grass penetrating the frozen terrain. We had no calendar or sense of time, but we concluded that, if the weather was indeed changing with spring on its way, maybe we were nearing Passover. Each of us children came from a different range of Jewish commitment, yet we shared a strong desire to do something to celebrate what we sensed was the upcoming Passover holiday.

When the farmer appeared with our food the next morning, we asked if he would lower in tomorrow's basket a small amount of flour, a bottle of water, a newspaper and a match. Two days later we received a small bottle of water, but we had to wait several days for the flour. The entire region was drained of provisions, with everything being transported north to Germany. Our host the farmer had himself barely anything to eat.

A day later, a newspaper came through - and then a match. We waited a few more days. We saw a full day of sunshine and blue skies, and we decided that, in order to cultivate a festive spirit, we would switch clothing with one another and wear them as if new. So we changed clothes; the two boys trading and the girls exchanging dresses. Before evening we baked our matzah, though we hadn't a clue how to do so. We poured water into the flour and held the dough in our bare hands over the burning newspaper on the floor. We produced something which resembled matzah and, whatever it was provided enough for the five of us.

That night we celebrated Passover. One of us recalled by heart the kiddush - the blessing that sanctifies the Passover night. Another remembered the Four Questions - the part of the seder the young children recite. We told a few stories of the Exodus that we remembered having heard from our parents. Finally, we managed to reconstruct "One Kid, Which my Father Bought for Two Zuzim," the song which typically ends the evening.

We had a Passover to remember. With no festive food, no silver candlesticks and no wine - with only our simple desire to connect with God - we had a holiday more profound than any we have known since. I thank God for allowing me to live to be able to tell my children and grandchildren about it. Even more, I feel obligated to the younger generations of my family, who never experienced what I did, to pass on the clarity it gave me - the vivid appreciation of God's presence in my life, of His constant blessings, wonders and teachings…and of His commitment to the survival of the Jewish people.

By Lady Amelie Jacobovits
(Adapted from The Jewish Women's Journal, Summer 1993)
Women in Judaism, Copyright (c) 2002 by Mrs. Leah Kohn and Project Genesis, Inc.

The Black Couches

It was an exciting time for our family. We were moving out from a tiny apartment to a new home. I was pleased to think that this was the time to buy furniture, matching accessories and more fixtures for our new home. While shopping around, we were absolutely ecstatic to find a wholesale furniture company that offered magnificent discounts.

On Sunday, we set up an appointment to see the show room. We easily chose furniture for the kids' rooms, master bedroom, and the kitchen. Yet, there was nothing that we liked for our living room. Seeing our difficulty at picking from the available living room sets, the owner of the warehouse suggested that we take a set of three black couches that included an armchair, a love seat and a sofa for almost no cost. This was his last set and he wanted to give it away. While my husband found this to be a tremendous financial savings opportunity, I was not thrilled. The couches were black and did not match my ideal design of the new living room. Yet, my husband kept insisting that the set was almost free and we can make it work for the time being. I reluctantly agreed.

The owner of the store offered to deliver our purchased furniture in his truck. While following the truck home, my mother called me to share great news. She decided to give us a new living room set. It was a set of white leather couches that I always dreamed of. Now the question was, what we were to do with the set of black couches that we agreed to take. Since we practically received them as a gift, we decided to use this opportunity and donate the set to anyone who might need the furniture. I called my friend and asked if she or anyone she knows might need a new set of couches. She told me that they recently bought new furniture, however her sister-in-law is looking for new couches. Then my friend paused and added that that family is very particular and only want furniture in black color.

We later learned that exactly one year ago, the sister-in-law of my friend lost her precious three year old daughter. She fell asleep on the couch and died in her sleep from brain aneurysm. In absolute grief and despair, the family threw away the old couches and decided not to have any living room furniture for the entire year. As time went on and the horrific year was coming to the end, the family symbolically decided to purchase a set of black living room couches. Yet, due to the overwhelming depression, the family also suffered financial difficulties and were struggling to make the ends meet. I was not aware that I called my friend just few days before the anniversary of the tragic event. We were in complete shock. It was clear that without understanding the 'plan', we were part of something bigger then we thought. Here we were, buying furniture for our new home and moments later we were at the door of the family who suffered unimaginable loss. I knew that we were at the right time in the right place.

We rang the bell and I introduced myself to my friend's sister–in-law and her husband. It was difficult to conceal my emotions but I casually mentioned that my friend suggested that the set of new black couches might find its home here. The family was surprised at our visit but agreed to accept our delivery. It was absolutely indescribable to observe their reaction as the new couches were being unloaded from the truck. They couldn’t believe their eyes. "It's a miracle", I heard the woman say. My husband and I stood in silence, as the family saw the black couches simply appear in front of their house at the time they needed it. There are no words to describe what it felt like to be a small puzzle piece of someone else's Miracle.

Born to Save a Life

Yoav, a young IDF (Israeli Defense Force) soldier was stationed in the city of Chevron. Suddenly, he was shot by an Arab sniper and left for dead. As it was four o'clock in the morning, and no imminent attack was expected; no one was awake to hear the shot and rush to his aid. It appeared as though Yoav was doomed to bleed to death before anybody would ever find him. His short life would come to a tragic silent end. One other soldier however, did happen to hear something. Though not totally sure, he suspected it might be a rifle shot so he went to investigate. He spotted Yoav, who was lying on the ground, bleeding to death. He immediately began to stabilize Yoav's wound and arrange for emergency transport to a medical facility. It took time for help to get to the scene, so he needed to apply manual pressure and any other trick he could think of to keep Yoav alive in the interim - he was literally holding Yoav's life in his hands. Eventually, Yoav arrived at a proper medical facility where he was treated by surgeons. Yoav's parents were notified and rushed to the hospital. The doctors told them that had it not been for the immediate and appropriate actions of the other soldier, their son Yoav would definitely not have survived. It was indeed a miracle that the other soldier heard what no one else heard, and managed to locate Yoav as quickly as he did. They went to thank him, but he had already left the hospital. After Yoav was home recuperating, and everyone was settled, they called the army to find out the name of the other soldier so they could thank him personally. Unfortunately, the other soldier's name had not been recorded in the incident report, so they now had no way of ever contacting him. Yoav's parents owned a makolet (grocery store) in Kiryat Malachi, so they put up a poster in their store, describing the miracle that occurred and asking if anyone knew the identity of Yoav's savior. They figured that Israel is a small country and someone might know someone who knows something. Months passed with no response. Finally after a year, a woman entered the store and saw the sign. She was positive that her son Doron had mentioned such an account. She took out her cellphone and called Doron on the spot. Sure enough, he remembered the incident quite well - it was he who had saved Yoav's life. Soon, all the families gathered together for a joyful tearful 'reunion.' Doron's mother pulled Yoav's mother aside and told her, "There is a specific reason I came to your store today. You don't remember me, but twenty years ago, I was standing in your store feeling lost and forlorn. You and your wonderful husband noticed how sad I looked and asked me what was the matter. I explained that I was pregnant and was overwhelmed. There were so many unbearable difficulties; financially, socially and emotionally. I decided that the only way out was to have an abortion." "You both stopped everything, and calmly and lovingly sat with me. You listened to me. Then you offered so much encouragement and support. Because of you, everything began to look different and I chose to keep my baby. I no longer live around here, but I happened to be passing through and I figured it would be nice to visit your store again to thank you once again for all that you did. The name of that precious baby was Doron." "My beloved Doron, who would not have been born were it not for you, grew up to save your son Yoav's life." (©2015. Printed with permission from Rabbi Baruch Lederman, author of Shulweek www.kehillastorah.org.)

Paper Airplane

A  young man from Long Island once approached a Rabbi to ask that a memorial prayer, called kaddish be recited for his recently departed father. Kaddish is recited every day for a year after a person's death, usually by a family member. The young man made it clear that he would not be saying the kaddish himself but would pay for the Rabbi to arrange for someone else to say the kaddish on his deceased father's behalf.

Some time passed and the young man suddenly began showing up in the synagogue and reciting kaddish himself. The Rabbi asked the young fellow what had changed and he told him the following:

When I was growing up, my father never showed any warmth or affection. He was always cold and uninvolved. One incident that always epitomized this for me was when I was in 5th grade. We had a paper airplane contest in school. I worked real hard to make a great airplane. When it was finished I wrote DAD on it with a bold blue marker. The plane won 1st Prize. When I came home I was so excited, I ran over to my dad, gave him the plane and told him I won. He showed no reaction. He didn't say a thing, he just took the plane and shoved it away somewhere. Not one kind word or even a smile. That incident told me that my father didn't care a bit about me. I knew he didn't love me.

When he passed away, I realized my kaddish obligation, but I just could not say kaddish for such a man. I came to you to arrange for the kaddish to be said by someone else. This way my obligation would be dispensed but I wouldn't have to physically say it.

Yesterday I went downtown to his office to clean out his desk. His secretary let me into the room and I got to work. When I went through his top drawer I found the paper airplane that I made in fifth grade. I picked it up and held it. I stared at it. When I eyed the word DAD written in blue, a lump formed in my throat. At that moment, his secretary walked into the room and said to me, "Your father used to stare intently at that plane with the exact same misty eyed look you have now. I always wondered what was so special about that plane." I wanted to answer her but I couldn't speak.

I realized that my dad cared about me all along. He just wasn't a man of many words. He didn't show his emotions and I didn't know how to see them but now I understand that they were always there. He did love me. Today I came to say kaddish for that wonderful man - my staunchest admirer, my hero, my dad. (©2014. Printed with permission from Rabbi Baruch Lederman, author of Shulweek www.kehillastorah.org.)

A Hanukkah Menorah

Private Stephen Winneger was on patrol one night during WWII when he saw a figure running through a field. He shouted, "Halt or I'll shoot." The figure ducked behind a tree and started to dig. Stephen again shouted, "Halt or I'll shoot!"  He didn't halt. Stephen caught up with him and tackled him to the ground. To his surprise, he found he had captured a young boy. An ornate Menorah had fallen from the boy's hands in the scuffle and Stephen picked it up. The boy tried desparately to grab it back shouting in Yiddish, "Give it to me! It's mine!" Stephen assured the boy that he was among friends, and that, furthermore, he himself was Jewish.
         The boy had just survived several long, tortuous years of the Holocaust in a concentration camp and was naturally mistrustful of all men in uniforms. He had come back to retrieve the menorah he had hidden there. It was all he had left in the world. He had been forced to watch the shooting of his father, and had no idea what had become of his mother.

        Stephen took the boy, whose name was David, under his wing. As they became closer and closer, Stephen's heart went out to the boy. He offered David the opportunity to come back to New York City with him. He accepted and underwent official adoption procedures.

        Back home, a curator of the Jewish Museum in Manhattan, saw the menorah and told David it was a very valuable, historic, European Menorah and that it should be shared with the entire Jewish Community. He offered David $2,500 for the menorah—a staggering sum of money in the late 1940’s!  But David refused the incredible offer, emphatically stating that the menorah had been in his family for over 200 years and that no amount of money could ever make him sell it. He would not part with a family mitzvah tradition.

        When Hanukkah came, David and Stephen lit the menorah in the window of their home in New York City. An hour later there was a knock on the door. When Stephen went to answer he found a woman with a strong German accent who said that she was walking down the street when she saw the menorah in the window. She said that she had once had one just like it in her family and had never seen any other like it. Could she possibly come inside and take a closer look?

        Winneger invited her in and said that the menorah belonged to his son, David, who could perhaps tell her more about it. He went upstairs and called David down to talk to the woman. And that is how David was reunited with his mother. (©2014. Printed with permission from Rabbi Baruch Lederman, author of Shulweek www.kehillastorah.org.)

A Blessing from India

On November 26, 2008 Rabbi Gabi and Rivky Holzberg were murdered in a terror attack in Mumbai, India. This tragedy was horrific. After the murder of the family, many people shared stories of how Holzbergs lived their lives helping people around them. Yet, there is one very special story that was shared by their brother-in-law Morchechai Kaler that was absolutely life changing.

The Kalers married in March of 2005. Right after the wedding they hoped and prayed to start a family. However, it soon became apparent that their path to parenthood was not going as smooth as they had imagined. After more than a year, they were diagnosed with “unexplained infertility”. To a young couple in their early twenties this diagnosis was absolutely devastating. They traveled from doctor to doctor, yet these visits did not bring the desired result. A few years passed and the pain of being childless became deeper and stronger. They tried fertility treatments but were unsuccessful. They were drained emotionally, physically and financially. Slowly, they were giving up hope to ever become parents.

Throughout this entire process, Gabi and Rivky Holzberg were the couple’s strongest supports. They offered encouragement in every possible way. On the 18^th day of the Jewish month of Elul on September 18, 2008, Kalers called Gabi to inform him that they are giving up on the dream to ever have a child. Gabi would not hear of it and he relentlessly tried to convince the couple to continue with the fertility treatments. He suggested that they contact an organization that could provide financial support. After a long conversation, the Kalers felt that they have what it takes to continue to fight for their dream. Before Gabi ended the call, he blessed the couple to have a child during the coming year.

As Gabi suggested, the Kalers contacted an organization that helped them set up an appointment with a great doctor and they immediately began treatment again. As time went on, the doctor recommended a more invasive approach. The Kalers were hesitant to continue, but yet again, the Holzbergs cheered them on, advising the couple not to give up.

The first of the invasive treatments was scheduled for November 26^th, 2008. As they were driving to the appointment that afternoon, they received a call from a family member. They were told that “something happened in Mumbai and no one can get in touch with Gabi or Rivky”. The couple debated whether to continue to the appointment or immediately turn around and head back, but after much consideration for what Gabi and Rivky would have wanted them to do, they decided to go to the appointment. It was not long after they left the doctor’s office when they heard of the terror attack in Mumbai….

The turmoil and sadness was beyond words. Yet, as a legacy to Gabi and Rivky, they agreed to complete the cycle of new treatments. It took every ounce of their faith and determination to go to these appointments and after the treatment was completed, they received a call of their lifetime. “Congratulations! Your test came back positive! You are expecting!”

It was a dream come true when nine and a half months later, on the 18th day of the Jewish month of Elul in 2009, exactly one year from the day that Gabi Holzberg had blessed them, their precious baby girl has entered this world. 

A Message from a Mother

Miriam Perlstein was one of eight siblings who survived Auschwitz.  It was so unusual for a family of eight—seven sisters and one brother – to emerge intact from the notorious death camp that when they landed on Ellis Island after the War, they became a media sensation.  Repeatedly photographed and interviewed, they were besieged by reporters who wanted to know : How was this possible?  What made you so unique?  Practically everyone else’s family was decimated.  Most of the survivors who limped into “The New World” had lost parents, children, spouses, siblings.  But for an entire family of eight to have survived and found each other!  How could it happen?

                “Miracles,” the siblings answered patiently to everyone who asked.

                And it was true.  Miracles had abounded in all of their lives during their incarceration at Auschwtiz, but Miriam’s, they agreed, was vastly different from those experienced by Esther, Faigy, Sima, Yitu, Monci, Binyamin,  and Leishu.  While their miracles fell under the realm of what could be called the rational, Miriam’s belonged to a different category altogether.

                Several weeks after her arrival at Auschwitz—after having survived several “selections” and having kept death at bay—sixteen-year-old Miriam was suddenly pulled out of the row of prisoners lining up for “roll call” one morning, and transported to a separate section of the camp  where a different procession was in place.  Perhaps something about Miriam’s demeanor that day had displeased the Nazi soldier whose gaze had settled upon her, or perhaps there was simply a quota to fill.  For whatever random reason that no one could ever explain (and was there an explanation, after all, for the Nazis’ haphazard and merciless decrees?) Miriam had been directed to join the column of prisoners marching slowly towards the crematorium that would turn them into ash.

                At first, Miriam thought that she might have been sent on a new work detail.  But the women in front of her and the women behind disabused her of that notion.   “Isn’t there anything we can do?” she begged them.  “Look around you,” they whispered.  “Nazi soldiers with guns everywhere. How can we possibly escape?”

                Miriam looked at where the women pointed.  Unlike them, however, she didn’t see the menacing guards with their drawn guns, nor the German shepherds who helped herd the pitiful tatters to their inevitable fate.  What she saw instead…several yards from where she stood…was the thoroughly unexpected but utterly beloved visage of her mother, Chinka Chaya Baba, who had been transported with her daughters to Auschwitz and then transferred to a different barracks somewhere else.  All these weeks, the daughters hadn’t had any contact with their mother, and couldn’t find her.   What was she doing here of all places, Miriam wondered, right near the crematorium, and why were the soldiers oblivious to her presence?  It was an incongruous emotion to be sure, but even as she trudged towards certain death, Miriam’s heart exploded with joy to see her mother again.   But why was her head not shaved like everybody else?

                As Miriam studied her mother in shock and bewilderment, her mother raised a scrawny arm, motioning that she should join her. Miriam glanced meaningfully at the guards nearby.  I can’t, she signaled with her eyes.  Her mother nodded her head encouragingly and beckoned her again.  How could her mother think that she could escape?   Miriam waved her hand at the soldiers who flanked her.  It’s impossible, her movements said.  But suddenly, there was a commotion in the back of the procession, and several guards dropped behind to investigate.  NOW! her mother gesticulated wildly.  It made no sense, it was doomed to fail, but Miriam obeyed her mother’s command.  She broke from the line and ran for her life, back to her barracks, back to where her sisters tensely waited and plied her with kisses and extra crusts of day-old bread.

                “What happened to you?” they demanded.  “Where did they take you?  Where did you go?”

                She told them everything: how her mother had astonishingly appeared at the precise place where she and the others had been rounded up, how the Nazis had been  oddly unaware of her mother’s presence, how she had  insistently pantomimed  that Miriam should run.  “And I was so overjoyed to see Mamma again!” she babbled almost incoherently, still dazed by her experience.  “She looked exactly as she always looked, they didn’t even shave her head!”

                The other sisters looked at one another wordlessly.  They too were shaken by Miriam’s recital: Her near-brush with death made them shudder in fear, but it was their mother’s intercession that made them tremble in awe. 

                “Miriam,” one of them said gently, tenderly caressing her cheek to soften the blow.“We didn’t want to tell you before, because you’re the most sensitive among us.  But we received reliable reports from several different prisoners working at the crematorium.  Mamma was killed the first day she arrived, weeks ago.”

                “But I saw her clearly,” Miriam wept.  “If she hadn’t signaled me to escape, I never would have tried.”

     As recounted by Hindy Rozenberg, Miriam’s daughter to Yitta Halberstam

 

The story is excerpted from "Small Miracles From Beyond:  Dreams, Visions and Signs that Link Us to the Other Side" and you can include the amazon.com  link if you wish, which currently offers 40% off the price.