To suggest that the Holocaust was the necessary price the Jews had to pay to return to their homeland after almost 2,000 years of destruction, exile and persecution, borders on the blasphemous.
However to overlook the inextricable juxtaposition of these two nationally defining events - the first bringing us down to the hellish depths of despair and the second raising us up to the dizzying heights of redemption- would be blinding oneself to the commanding voice of Jewish history.
And so I begin this essay with my first lesson in Zionism, which emerged from the ashes of Auschwitz.
It was the Shabbas of the weekly portion Ki Tavo, toward the end of the summer of 1952. I had known that the Rebbe of Sanz-Klausenburg had taken over the Beth Moses Hospital, where he had built a very large Bais-Medrish as well as a printing press to teach his disciples a trade, and I wanted to pray with the Chassidim that Shabbas morning.
When I arrived at the Bais-Medrish, I was amazed by the sea of black and white swaying figures that greeted my eyes, all newly immigrant Holocaust survivors. It was said about the Rebbe that although his wife and 13 children had been murdered, he had not sat shiva for any of them; he preached that those still alive must be saved with exit visas before one could be allowed the luxury of mourning for the dead. The Rebbe himself was among the last to leave Europe, insisting that the captain does not leave the sinking ship before its passengers.
I took a seat directly behind the Rebbe, who stood at his lectern facing the eastern wall and the Holy Ark, with his back to the congregation. The prayer was the most intense I had ever experienced, with no talking whatsoever, and chance individuals even bursting out in tears during varying parts of the service, apparently in response to a sudden association with painful memory.
Then the Torah reader began to chant the weekly portion. When he came to the passage known as the Tochecha, consisting of the curses that would befall the Israelites, he began to read (in accordance with the time-honoured custom) in a whisper and very quickly.
A sound suddenly came from the place of the Rebbe; he said only one word: "Hecher, Louder."
The Torah reader immediately stopped reading, and seemed to hesitate for a few moments. I could almost hear him pondering. Did the Rebbe actually say "louder"? Would the Rebbe go against the custom of Jews in all congregations to chant the curses rapidly and in a barely audible voice? The reader apparently decided that he had been mistaken in what he thought the Rebbe had said, and continued reading in a whisper.
The Rebbe turned around to face the congregation, banged on the lectern, his eyes blazing:
"Ich hub gezugt hecher, I said louder," he shouted out. "Let the RBS"O hear! We have nothing to be afraid of. We have already received all of the curses- and more. Let the Almighty hear, and let Him understand that the time has come to send the blessings!"
I was trembling, my body bathed in sweat. Many people around me were silently sobbing. The Rebbe turned back to his lectern, facing the wall. The Torah reader continued to chant the curses loudly, and distinctively, and in a much slower cadence.
At the end of the additional prayers, after Aleinu, the Rebbe once again turned to his congregation, but this time with his eyes conveying deep love,
"Mein tayere shevestern un brider, my beloved sisters and brothers, the blessings will come, but not from America. Indeed, G-d has promised the blessings after the curses, and He has already begun to fulfil His promise by bringing us home to Israel. May more blessings await us, but they will only come from Israel. Let us pack our bags for the last time. Our community is setting out for Kiryat Sanz, in Netanya, Israel."
Signed
Shlomo Riskin
Efrat
THANKS SO MUCH,, IT MEANS THE WORLD TO US IN THESE DIFFICULT TIME
1 comment:
I think he lost 11 children and a wife in Auschwitz.
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