Vayechi – the Molding of the Future Am Yisrael

 

This week’s parashah “Vayechi,” the last parashah of Bresheet, opens with a brief look at Ya’akov’s life in Egypt and his approaching death.

At the center of the parashah, however, stands the list of the blessings which Ya’acov bestows upon his sons and their offspring. His words can be perceived as an epilogue which sums up the history of the family. His language suggests, on the one hand, that he is offering a prayer or expressing a wish. On the other hand, some of his words can be interpreted more as a reproof or even a curse. Most likely, though, they can also serve as Ya’akov’s last will and testament, a projection, a portrayal or even a prophecy of what lies ahead and what is to become of his sons and their tribes in the future, in general, “Gather around so I can tell you what will happen to you in the days to come” (Chapter 49:1).

Initially, Ya’akov wishes to bless Ephraim and Menasheh, Yoseph’s sons. His blessing to them is the one that Jewish parents grant their children every Friday night. Though Yoseph is also, later, blessed (48:21-22), one may wonder as to why this blessing of all the blessings in the Torah. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, adopts the answer given by his predecessor, Lord Jakobovitz, who said, “all the others {blessings) are from fathers to sons – and between fathers and sons there can be tension.” According to Jakobovitz, “Ephraim and Menasheh is the only instance in the Torah of a grandparent blessing a grandchild. And between grandparents and children, there is no tension, only pure love.”

Judging by the nature of the blessing to Ephraim and Menasheh, one can view it as Ya’akov’s strive to upgrade their status to that of a “tribe.” In Ya’akov’s own words “Now then, your two sons born to you in Egypt before I came to you here will be reckoned as mine; Ephraim and Menasheh will be mine, just as Reuven and Shimon are mine” (48:5). In other words, Yoseph’s sons become equal in status to that of Ya’akov’s other sons.

This measure or step taken by Ya’akov makes Ephraim and Menasheh not only, officially, part of the tribes. It also doubles Yoseph’s share of the inheritance and, according to some commentators such as Rashba”m and Ramba”n, establishes his rank and prominence as firstborn. They base their assertion on Devarin (Deuteronomy) 21:17 which states that a father should give his firstborn “a double share of all he has,” because that son “is the first sign of his father’s strength.”

The significance of Ya’akov’s words further increases as the parashah brings to closure the theme of sibling rivalry which runs like a golden thread through the book of Bresheet. Rivalry was the reason for tension between Caine who ends up killing Abel. That was the underlying factor in the conflict between Sarah and Hagar resulting in Yishmael and Hagar being banished. Later, we encountered the tensions between Ya’acov and Esav and most recently between Yoseph and his brothers where both cases almost ended in murder.

 Following the death of Ya’akov, the brothers ask Yoseph to forgive them. Their fear that he might avenge them for the wrong that they had done to him is dispelled when Yoseph tells them “You intended to harm me, but G-d intended it for good” (50:20).

“The Torah,” writes Rabbi Sacks, “is telling us an unexpected message here: the family is prior to all else, to the land, the nation, politics economics, the pursuit of power and the accumulation of wealth.”

This was, I believe Ya’acov’s intended legacy and wish for his future generations, the future Am Yisrael. His yearning to ensure that rivalry among his children and their posterity is removed and replaced’ instead, by sharing, love and compassion was the driving force that pushed him to deliver the detailed, eloquent, and powerful monologue on his deathbed.

“That,” according to Rabbi Sacks, “is what Genesis {Bresheet} is about. Not about the creation of the world, which occupies only one chapter, but about how to handle family conflict. As soon as Avraham’s descendants can create strong families, they can move from Genesis to Exodus {Shemot} and their birth as a nation. Rabbi Sacks believes “that family is the birthplace of freedom. Caring for one another, we learn to care for the common good.”

I could not agree more.

Shabbat Shalom, Fellow Jews and a wonderful weekend to all.

Vayera – A Lesson in Hospitality, Manners, and Personal Relationships

 

This week’s Parashah, “Vayera” recounts two stories. The first stresses Avraham’s humanness and kindness which is rewarded by the blessed promise of eternity. The second shares the tale of the wickedness and evil acts of the people of Sedom and Amorah followed by their punishment.

I elected to dwell on the first part which, I feel, has not been accentuated enough. I did it in the hope that its message and lesson will emanate and continue to fill our universe with every blessing.

The opening scene of the Parashah describes Avraham sitting at the entrance to his tent when G-d appears to him. The text mentions that it was an especially hot day. The purpose of G-d’s visit or what is being discussed is not mentioned. Some commentators suggest that G-d is performing the Mitzvah of “Bikur Cholim” (visiting the sick) to check on Avraham’s recovery after he had circumcised himself at the advanced age of ninety-nine (Chapter 17).

Suddenly, Avraham notices three men standing at a distance as if deliberating which way to turn. Avraham does not yet know that they are messengers (mala’chim) of G-d, nor does he know the purpose of their visit. To him, they are nothing but three strangers who seem stranded and lost. Nevertheless, despite his age, his, still, delicate physical condition, and the heat, he runs towards them, bows down, invites them into his tent and offers them food, drink, and respite.

Avraham’s words in Chapter 18 verse 3 “If I have found favour in your eyes, my Lord, do not pass your servant by,” can be interpreted, according to Rashi, in two ways.

The first, and most important, can be viewed as Avraham’s speaking to G-d with the intent of showing his respect to Him. G-d’s visit should be of top priority and attended to first. After all, it is not everyday one gets bestowed with such a great honour and such a privilege. To neglect G-d and attend to unfamiliar people would be rude and show lack of mannerism on the part of Avraham. He, therefore, excuses himself and apologizes to G-d before attending to the strangers.

There is, however, another angle of looking at this verse. This one points at Avraham’s hospitality and generosity. Avraham is almost begging the strangers to be his guests and enter his modest abode where he and Sarah welcome them warmly and affectionately. While Sarah is preparing and baking bread, the Torah tells us that Avraham “ran to the herd and selected a choice, tender calf and gave it to a servant, who hurried to prepare it. He then,” the account continues to share with us, “brought some curds and milk… and set these before them.” (18:7-8).

Moreover, as we are told, “While they ate,” Avraham, “stood near them under the tree. Now, do not Avraham’s conduct and attitude display the epitome of kindness?

But it is not only towards G-d and strangers that Avraham and Sarah show respect and thoughtfulness. They also demonstrate it towards each other, as the Parashah continues to unveil to us.

When the messengers ask to see Sarah to announce to her that she will bear a son in a year’s time, Sarah, who “was listening at the entrance of the tent, which was behind him…….laughed to herself as she thought, ‘After I am worn out and my lord is old, will I now have this pleasure?’” (18:10,12).

Evidently, Sarah did not know that G-d had already shared this news with Avraham earlier. In Chapter 17, G-d tells Avraham, “I will bless her and will surely give you a son by her.” (Verse 16). Upon hearing that, “Avraham fell face down; he laughed and said to himself, ‘will a son be born to a man a hundred years old? Will Sarah bear a child at the age of ninety?’” (Verse 17).

Both Avraham and Sarah respond by first describing themselves as old and worn out and only then mention that their respective spouses endure a similar existence. They assume responsibility for their condition first and do not point a blaming finger at the other, an instinctive trap that so many of us fall into easily. What a blessed connection and bond they share. What a wonderful example for a marital relationship, or for that matter, any relationship.

May we all continue to be blessed through Avraham, the father of many nations and Sarah, the mother of Am Yisrael our Jewish People.

Shavua tov, fellow Jews and a great week to all.

“We Shall Ascribe Holiness to This Day”

 

The titular quote is derived from a Hebrew Piyyut (liturgical poem), “Unetaneh Tokef,” recited by Jews on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

As a child, I remember joining my father to attend Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services. I also recall the tears rolling down my father’s cheeks when this prayer was recited. It was then that I began to grasp its solemn meaning and magnitude.

In it, Judgement Day is described in a succinct and powerful way. The depiction of G-d, the ultimate judge, sitting on His bench examining our deeds and ruling on our fate for the coming year, sends shivers through the body and soul of the faithful.

Though some suggest that the piyyut was written before the tenth century C.E., others attribute it to Rabbi Amnon of Mainz (11^th century).

According to the account, Rabbi Amnon was urged by the bishop of Mainz to convert to Christianity. He requested to be given three days to consider the bishop’s offer. Soon thereafter, Rabbi Amnon regretted not having refused the proposal for apostacy promptly and did not appear at the bishop’s place on the agreed time.

When he was finally brought, against his will, in front of the bishop, Rabbi Amnon requested that his tongue be cut out for not refusing to convert instantly. Instead, his limbs, which did not bring him on the set time, were chopped.

When he was brought to synagogue on Rosh Hashanah, he asked to pray and at that time composed the piyyut.

Despite the intense message of this prayer, G-d is still described as the merciful judge who recognizes the weaknesses of human beings. The poem juxtaposes the ephemeral nature of our existence as opposed to G-d’s perpetuity. Unlike G-d who has “no limit to His years,” “no end to” His years and “no measure to the hosts of” His “glory,” we, humans, are “like dry grass, a withered flower,” a “passing shadow and a vanishing cloud.”

G-d, the benevolent, understands the fragility of humans and as the piyyut suggests does provide us with hope and allows us to avert the harsh decree of the penalty of death. He, as always, gives us another chance.

According to our wise sages, three things can avert G-d’s ruling, “prayer, charity and repentance.” (Bresheet Rabba 42:12). All three, according to Rabbi Yudan, in the name of Rabbi Elazar, are mentioned in one verse, “When My people, who bear My name, humble themselves, pray [prayer], and seek My ways [charity] and turn from their evil ways [repentance], I will hear in My heavenly abode and forgive their sins and heal their land.” (2 Chronicles, 7:14).

May we have a good year, Am Yisrael and fellow Jews, a year of repentance, abundant with good deeds, forgiveness, and the healing of our fractured Jewish Homeland.

Mitzvot, a Code for a Better Tomorrow

 

“If you are not a better person tomorrow than you are today, what need have you for a tomorrow?” – Rabbe Nachman of Breslov

This week’s Parasha, “Ki Tetze” contains the largest number of Mitzvot in all the five books that compose the Torah. In contrast to last week’s parashah which addressed the appointment of public officials and their duties, this one focuses on private matters of individual, familial and neighbourly nature.

Rabbi Saadiah Gaon, (“Book of Beliefs and Opinions,” Chapter 3) divides the Mitzvot into two kinds. The first are the intellectual kind. These are the ones we can understand rationally and see the benefit of following them or abstaining from performing the ones we are prohibited because we recognize their denigrating or disparaging nature.

The second kind are a G-dly decree and are beyond the grasp of humans. Rambam elaborates on that and adds that these are the kind of Mitzvot that only G-d, in His infinite wisdom, can discern. We, humans, unlike Him, are limited and lack, in our mental faculties, the ability to see their rationale and reason (Ramabam, “A Guide to the Perplexed,” part 3, chapters 21-28).

 The Mitzvot that are listed in this Parashah belong to the former kind. They cover a wide range of our lives as Jews and as members of humanity and are aimed at ensuring the proper functioning of society and keeping it whole and continuous.

The Parashah is situated in the middle of the book of Devarim (Deuteronomy) and for a reason. It stresses what happened prior to it and what is about to happen in the future after Moshe is gone.  The Mitzvot are the elixir of Jewish Life. They are the axis of Jewish continuity. They define our past and are a guarantee to our future by providing us the tools and the guidelines to living and leading a more meaningful life. The Mitzvot and the Halachah are the key to understanding our Jewish essence as human beings. They provide an important foundation for a better as well as a rewarding tomorrow that is ingrained in them.

The first Mitzvah that the Parashah addresses is how to conduct oneself during war. According to Chaza”l, the enemy it refers to is not necessarily a national or physical enemy such as our Jewish People faces on a daily basis. It can also refer to the ongoing internal struggles that rage within us every day.

 The point raised by Chaza”l is reinforced by the fact that “Ki Tetze” is a Parashah that is read in the month of Elul, the last month of the Jewish year. During that month, we are expected to examine our conduct, resolve internal conflicts and assess how they are integrated in our general existence as human beings and our eternal Jewish chronicle.

Another Mitzvah, one I, personally, was unfailingly raised on and one I to adhere to is mentioned in verses 14-15: “Thou shalt not oppress a hired servant that is poor and needy, whether he be of thy brethren, or of thy strangers that are in thy land within thy gates. In the same day thou shalt give him his hire, neither shall the sun go down upon it; for he is poor, and setteth his heart upon it: lest he cry against thee unto the Lord and it be sin in thee.”

The moral obligation to pay promptly for labour performed was hammered into my brain since early childhood. “When, for instance,” my mother used to say, “you give a shoemaker a shoe to be repaired, while working on your shoe, he is already planning what he would do with the money you will pay him.” That is the logic behind such a very important decree.

There, as I stated in the past, are rewards and benefits to following the Mitzvot.

The Book of Mishlei (Proverbs), for instance, where the Mistvot are referred to as “your father’s instructions and your mother’s teaching” (1:8), likens them, in several verses, to jewels. In 1:9, it describes them as “For they shall be an ornament of grace to your head and chains around your neck.” These words of wisdom add elegance and beauty to the one who internalizes and follows them. In Mishlei 4:8-9, the wisdom and understanding of the Torah and the Mitzvot passed on to us by our parents, “will be a garland to grace your head and present you with a glorious crown.” They will add speldour and grandour to the wisdom that man learns throughout life. In the words of Rabbi Pinchas Bar Chama, “Wherever you go, the Mitzvot will follow you.” (Devarim Raba, 6).

The greatest and most important reward of the Mitzvot, however, is that the wisdom instilled in them will paint present and future life, for those who adhere to them, as more meaningful and fulfilling.

What is more important than a satisfying life? Could there be a better recipe for a long, gratifying life to all, especially the followers of a tradition which, above all, sanctifies Life, commands us to “Choose Life” and hang on to the “Tree of Life?”

May the promise of an improved world and a better tomorrow continue to emanate from those who follow the Mitzvot and those whose life they touch.

"The Fewest of All Peoples"

 

“The LORD did not set His love upon you, nor choose you, because ye were more in number than any people--for ye were the fewest of all peoples,” Devarim 7:7.

This verse, as the Torah cites, states that one of the reasons, if not the main one, as to why G-d elected Am Yisrael, gave them the Torah and declared them to be to be His “first born son,” which in Biblical times bore great significance, especially in matters of inheritance.  In a way, it is our smallness, so it seems, that has defined our essence.

In addition to providing the reason for choosing Am Yisrael, the verse is also a prediction, a form of prophecy. Judging by Jewish history, our tiny size is how it has always been and how, so it seems, it was always meant to be, and I doubt that there is a person who would not recognize the reality that Jews are indeed but a small sliver of humanity, a mere speck among the nations.

Before anyone jumps at me and claims that such “choseness” implies some kind of elitism, a religious or “racial superiority” (Mordechai M. Kaplan, Judaism as a Civilization), let me suggest that nothing could be further from the truth. Such an assertion would go against any of the highest ethical values and ideals prescribed by the Torah, which, according to tradition, is the word of G-d. Furthermore, lest some feel superior and conclude that since Yisrael was singled out, others were rejected, the prophet Amos, in an effort to curtail such arrogance, declared, “Concerning the whole family that I brought up from the land of Egypt: You alone have I singled out of all the families of the earth—That is why I will call you to account for all your inequities,” (Amos 3:2).

In my last article, I mentioned the Midrash which explains that G-d peddled the Torah among other nations that existed at that time. As the Midrash further states, they all refused. When He reached Am Yisrael, they responded unanimously, “we shall abide, and we shall listen,” (Shemot 24:3).

Israel Zangvill explains the matter of “choseness” most aptly. According to him, “It is not so much a matter of the chosen People as the choosing People.” This suggests a process of reciprocity. There are strings attached to the “choseness.”

The most important one is invariably linked to a telos, more precisely, a spiritual vocation.

According to Yehezkel Kaufmann, the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah perceived G-d’s choice of Am Yisrael as a means to a final end. The choice, which includes Torah, Shabbat, Mitzvot, sanctity of Life and service to G-d is for the purpose of teaching monotheism, removing idolatry, suppressing human arrogance, ending wars, violence, greed lust and building a better world for all humanity. This is clearly expressed in the directive mentioned in Vayikra (Leviticus) 19:2, “You shall be holy, for I the Lord, your G-d, am holy.” Prior to that, in Shemot 19:2, G-d instructs Moshe to speak to Am Yisrael and tell them: “you shall be to me a kingdom of priests.”

Our wise sages interpreted these two verses to mean, “You must consider yourselves part of the King’s retinue and emulate Him. Just as He is compassionate and merciful, so shall you be.” [Sifra (ed. Weiss), p. 86b]. This is the core of reciprocal holiness. Piety and becoming “G-d - like” requires the chosen to engage in imitatio dei.

Another reason for our minuteness being such an important factor in defining our Divine role rests in the message delivered by the annals of history.

Being so small in numbers, our Jewish People should have, according to laws of logic, history, and nature, disappeared either through persecution or assimilation. Our ongoing presence is a miracle. The fact that we have not only survived all the harsh onslaughts, past and present, but that we have also thrived, impacted, and contributed to world civilization is a living testimony to the existence of G-d and His Divine promise to Jews, in particular, and mankind, in general.

Shavua tov, Am Yisrael and a wonderful week to all.

For the sake of historical accuracy, it is Palestine, not Falestine

Anyone can and should have the privilege to choose the name they wish to be known as. That entitlement needs to be respected.

However, and it is a BIG however, if the choice of name is made for the mere intention of establishing proof of legitimacy, then the onerous task of forming such validation rests entirely on the party that elected to be called by that name.

This principle is, especially, important in the negotiation of historical facts. For the sake of posterity, historical facts cannot and should not be tempered with to win one propaganda battle or another. When they are, they become narratives of the worst, twisted kind.

Accuracy, particularly when it comes to the middle east conflict, is of utmost importance regardless of which side of the conflict one supports.

The recent Gaza war, in my view, not only reinforces this notion, but it also brings to light, yet again, the demand of its dwellers to have a state of their own. Regardless of whether their claim to statehood is right or wrong, I wish to address their designated name for that political entity if and when it is founded.

Those who call themselves “Palestinians,” which, as I stated above, have every right to call themselves by whatever name they wish, did that with unequivocal tendentiousness. The sole intention of adopting that name in 1967, was to “educate” the world that they were here first, before the United Nations General Assembly voted to create the Jewish state, in 1947. It was a means of the well-oiled Arab propaganda machine to start the process of delegitimization of the only Jewish state, Yisrael.

For those who are not familiar with the history of the region, let me give you a bird’s eye view of it.

In the year 135 C.E., a Roman emperor by the name of Hadrian, out of sheer hatred to the Jewish nation, which was exiled out of their home in Eretz Yisrael, decided to arbitrarily change the name of the land to “Palestine,” or more precisely, “Palaestina.” The purpose of such a move was to sever any connection between the Jews and their Homeland.

The name “Palestine” was selected by the Romans in a deliberate effort to add insult to injury to the already beaten, broken and exiled Jewish nation. The Romans named the area after the Philistines, one of the worst enemies of Am Yisrael. The Philistines were heathen sea faring people who, as the meaning of their names suggests, invaded (the root of the word Philistine is “to invade”) the Levant region in the 12^th century B.C.E.

Are you still with me?

In 1920, when the League of Nations voted to establish a National Jewish Home in Eretz Yisrael, Britain was granted a Mandate over the area and was entrusted with the task of preparing the ground for such an eventuality. At that time, the original name “Eretz Yisrael” was officially added and became synonymous with “Palestine,” as the acronym in the parenthesis on both the coin and the stamp below suggests.

 

Since the letter “P” does not exist in the Arabic language, the language of those who elected to call themselves “Palestinians,” they had no choice but to pronounce the original name as “Falestine” and call themselves “Falestinians.” Quite a distortion of the name, wouldn’t you say so, especially when one wishes to establish themselves as the rightful inheritors and owners of a place called “Palestine?”

This leaves inquiring minds such as mine with two questions.

The first is, if anyone wishes to claim legitimate ownership over a territory, why of all names do they choose to be called after invaders, the Philistines, which are recorded as such in the annals of history? Strange, isn’t it?

The second question I have is, if one cannot pronounce the name which one opts to embrace, for the mere purpose of establishing legality of ownership over a territory or any other entity, why use that name? It defeats their goal, does it not?

Again, I have no problem with the right of anyone to be called by the name of their choice. It should be respected. Likewise, though, no one should be denied the right to ask what sounds like valid questions, albeit uncomfortable, questions that are begging to be asked. That, too, should be respected. 

Yisrael - The National Jewish Home or a home for Jews?

 Special thanks Moshe Schwartz who inspired the titular question of this article

Almost three quarters of a century after its birth, who would have imagined that the essence of the State of Yisrael would still be a focus of debate and mostly among Yisraelis?

The subject was brought to my attention a couple of weeks ago. One of my friends told me that her youngest son who is in high school was given an assignment on the issue. Students, she told me, were requested to deliberate on whether Yisrael’s National anthem, “Ha’Tikvah,” which includes expressions to the yearning of the “soul of a Jew” to Zion should be revisited. Following such pondering, the students were instructed to express an opinion on whether its lyrics which, do not mention non-Jews should be modified and include other minorities such as Druze, Muslim, Christians, and others who are Yisraeli citizens.

As a frame of reference, the teacher suggested a few sources. One of them was an article entitled “Lost in Translation – Hatikva in Arabic Too” was written by Gadi Benmark. In it, Benmark evokes that Yisrael follows the example of Canada. There, the anthem, “Oh Canada” was originally written in French, in the seventeenth century when Canada was “The New France.” The British, who arrived much later, explains Benmark, evidently felt that the French version excluded them and hence added an English language version, which is not a translation of the French one. “So now,” comments Benmark, “it is a national universal song that every Canadian, of every origin, can sing proudly.” In conclusion, Benmark suggests that Yisrael duplicates the Canadian experience so that every Yisraeli can sing the version that suits them.

With all due respect to Canada, not only do I consider such an analogy inappropriate, I also deem it an insult.

I am afraid that no matter how one addresses it, neither the French, nor the English possess the same bond to Canada, which is a few hundred years old, as the one that Jews have forged with the Land of Yisrael for over a few millennia. And I am not even touching upon the Biblical connection, as I much as I hold it true, simply because I believe that in today’s geo-political environment, religious arguments are irrelevant. The union between the People and the Land, in the case of the Jews, reflected itself for thousands of years not only in religious rituals and customs. It also paraded itself in Literature, Art, Archeology and documented historical accounts.

Canada, unlike Yisrael, was created in a unilateral move by the British in 1867. The British Parliament then passed the North America Act. Canada was introduced into the family of nations in an arbitrary step by a colonial power. Its purpose, its goal, its core, and its nature were left undefined.

The creation of the State of Yisrael was anything but an arbitrary move by one government. No act of one state, one parliament or a single colonial power decreed its  foundation or created it. Its idea, yes, but not its actual creation.

From the very first moment of the inception of the notion, starting with the Balfour Declaration, Yisrael (AKA Palestine, the artificial name given to it by the Romans in 135 C.E.) was defined as the place where a National Home for the Jewish People, not just a home for Jews, would be erected. The State of Yisrael was decreed as Jewish in its essence and by more than one source.

The Jewish character of Yisrael was further reinforced in the San Remo Accord of 1920 which was voted upon by the Supreme Council of Five that acted as an International Court of Law. It was an International Order, not just an Act of Parliament of one power.

And then, of course there was U.N resolution 181 of November 29, 1947. In it, the family of nations, voted to establish two states in Eretz Yisrael, one Arab, and one Jewish. The Jewish State was born following a democratic vote after a long painful labour period.

Ironically enough, more than the Jews defined the nature of their state, the Gentiles did.

As a Jewish state, the only Jewish state on the globe, might I add, Yisrael should adhere to the designated nature and substance decreed to it. It should keep the blue and white flag with the powerful symmetric Star of David at its center. It should maintain the emblem of the Menorah that adorned the Temple of Solomon and it should keep the words of Ha’Tikvah intact.

If someone feels that certain lines in Yisrael’s Jewish National Anthem are hard for them to digest, I suggest they refrain from singing it. Losing our national identity at the cost of accommodating others is not an option, I am afraid. Turning Yisrael from the Jewish National Home to merely a home for Jews is a risk we cannot afford to take. That is one of the most important lessons that our Jewish history curriculum has taught us.

We cannot and should not allow ourselves to fail that course.

Am Yisraek Chai 

The Weakest Link

 

We are all part of a chain in one way or another. Some are a link in a family line, others are the connectors in the history of an ethnic group, a nation, a social, cultural or any other assembly.

That link is not always staring at us or is clearly visible. Sometimes, we need to search for it, join scattered dots, cross- check facts or dig deep to discover it. In some instances, we may be lucky enough and discover that tiny clue which will lead us to the component that we are in search of. In others, unfortunately, we may find that the weakest link is not only weak, but also nonexistent.

In 2002, I embarked on the quest for one.

It happened when my daughter and I attended a summer school programme in Yiddish studies at the University of Vilnius, Yiddish Institute.

Over one weekend, we went to visit both my parents’ hometowns.  My mother’s, Smorgon, was first on the list. Since I had visited the place two years earlier, I was rather familiar with its layout which, incidentally, unlike that of my father’s and others that I visited, changed considerably since the time my mother had lived there.  

My mother’s house was no longer there. The large and menacing grey Pravoslav Church that had once stood there and which my mother could see through her bedroom window, was demolished once the Soviets entered town. The only remnant of the days gone by was the habitual market day which took place on Wednesdays.

Just as I had in my first visit, two years earlier, I tried, again, to find some information about my family’s history, a shred of evidence, a weak link that could reconnect me to that place.

Our tour guide, Regina, a Yiddish speaker herself, was immensely helpful. She was able to find one man who was seventeen years old when WWII broke out. Surely, I thought to myself, he would have heard of the Kozlowsky family (fictitious name, for obvious reasons). My grandfather owned a big, successful wholesale business. He was the richest man in town and their big spacious home was located near the city square.

The old man we met (in the photo below) who was eighty years old at the time, was blind and could not remember much. I tried to help revive his memory and mentioned the name of my grandfather’s competitor, Bernstein (likewise, a fictitious name) but to no avail. Nothing!

I felt empty. I had brought my daughter all the way for nothing, no proof, whatsoever, of a world, part of her world, that once was. The missing link was nowhere to be found.

Our next stop was my father’s hometown. A poor place with a few scattered houses where time stood still. No slight chance of finding the long searched for missing link, there, it was obvious.

“Is there another place you wish to visit before we head back to Vilna?” Regina asked me, noticing my great disappointment.

“Oshmiany,” I responded automatically.

Both my daughter and Regina looked surprised. “Why?” probed Regina, “did you have any family there?”

“No,” I said, “But my parents used to mention that name more than once. I am curious to see it.”
“Interesting,” observed Regina, “I happen to know a Jewish family there, the only Jewish family left there.”

Like my father’s hometown, not much seemed to have changed in that small community since the war ended, according to Bluma De Leon.

Bluma, a woman in her eighties, lived with her daughter, her son in law and two granddaughters in a small house, surrounded by farms, in an area sprinkled with what seemed to have been semi built houses, and many ruined ones.

Somehow, she managed to survive the war and moved to Oshmiany after it ended.

“I was born in Kreve,” she started her story, in Yiddish, of course, “where my father owned a small retail store.”

“Kreve?” I asked, “it was not far from Smorgon, was it not?” I knew the name since my grandmother used to tell me stories, in Yiddish, about life in those little shtetles. I could see them in my mind’s eye. I could draw a map and place each and everyone of them on their approximate locations.

“Yes, I knew Smorgon. I used to go there with my father,” she answered without hesitation. A glimmer of hope was ignited in me. A sliver of light was shinning towards me from afar.

“You have been to Smorgon as a child?” I asked with my mouth wide open and sparkling eyes. “What did you go there for?” I persisted as if clinging to the edge of a lifeline.

“My father used to buy supplies such as flour and sugar from Bernstein.”

“Wrong name, wrong link,” a tiny voice whispered to me as I sank deeper into the armchair in which I was seated. And just when I was ready to give up, I suddenly heard Bluma’s voice as if in a dream, “herring, however, the best herring, he bought from Kozlowsky."

I jumped in my seat. “Did you say, ‘Kozlowsky?’” I heard myself saying.

“Yes, because he was famous for his herring. It was the best there was.” As the tears began gushing down my face, I stood up, walked to Bluma, hugged her and in a strained voice said, "I am his granddaughter. You are the evidence I have been looking for, the living proof, the confirmation that the chain has never been broken. Thank you,"

“But I am just a weak eighty years old woman,” she added, as she was wiping her tears.

“Even the weakest link can, sometimes, become the strongest one.” I whispered to her as we stood there holding each other for a long while.

A Miracle called "The Jewish People"

 

“Every day, many a miracle happens to the sons of Israel. Were it not for G-d’s miracles, we should -Heaven forbid! – have perished long ago” – Yonatan Eibschutz

“There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” – Albert Einstein

Our long and eventful Jewish history is without doubt a testimonial to the first quote. Channukah, but one example, is always reminiscent of G-d’s marvels, past and present. Our entire Jewish existence, I believe, is a unique phenomenon. Each Jew, irrelevant of whether they regard themselves as such or not, is a miracle.

Some Jews, unfortunately, fail to see their lives as such. They are the ones Einstein is referring to in the former part of his quote. Others, like myself, live our lives as Jews “as though everything is a miracle,” as though each and every one of us is a wonder on their own.

Before anyone jumps at me and accuses me of arrogance or practicing some form of  “Jewish elitism,” let me explain.

As many of my readers know, both my parents were Shoah survivors. To have come out of the abyss, from the netherworld, to have survived its infernal fires, to have been reborn, gather the shambles of one’s life and build a bigger better temple, raise a family and rebuild trust in a vile world is miraculous. That, coupled with resuming to live one’s life as though “everything is a miracle,” eventually turns one into a miracle.

The fabric of our Jewish history is woven with many such astounding stories. “Miracle” is our Jewish middle name.

Much to my dismay, though, some fellow Jews continue to regard our existence as the first part of Einstein’s words suggest. “We were always meant to be a small nation,” told me a Jewish acquaintance once when I bemoaned that we are losing too many Jews to assimilation. According to her, there is nothing miraculous about our two thousand years of enduring, persecution, pogroms, discrimination and forced conversion. These were, if I follow her logic, merely some milestones to ensure that we fulfilled our destiny to remain a small nation. What a slap in the face of our Jewish heritage such a view is. In her perspective, so it seems, we are just like everyone else, just a nation among the nations with no unusual history, no unique set of beliefs and no Torah. She is, of course, entitled to hold that belief.

I, however, refuse to prescribe to that kind of a notion. I believe in miracles.

I consider my parents’ survival and the survival of many of our Jewish brothers and sisters through hard and dangerous times, a miracle. Moreover, to have been born to a miracle, by default, makes one a miracle. I am a daughter of two miracles. Hence, my birth, my gift of Life is, itself, a miracle.

Furthermore, I hold the view that a miracle should never be wasted. To preserve one’s life as a miracle, one needs to recreate miracles, spend their time on this earth, strive relentlessly and act constantly in a way that would keep the miracle going.

In the words of our wise Talmud, “Hope for a miracle but don’t depend on one.” (Megillah 7b)

In other words, miracles do not just happen. One should never depend on them.

In my words, one should keep the faith, never give up and create a fertile ground for miracles to transpire. That, too, as our few millennia old Jewish history, has proven, is attainable .

May this Channukah season be full of miracles and every blessing to all

"Germany, at Odds" - by Eldad Beck

 

The first time that I experienced anti-Semitism it came from a young German man.

It was in the seventies when I attended school in England.

One morning, a fellow student, Alfred, a pleasant young man from Frankfurt, came into class, sat next to me, and said, “I have a joke for you.”

“There was, once, a military base,” started Alfred in a thick German accent as a wide smile was spreading over his face. “English soldiers were prohibited to smoke in the bathroom, the French in the kitchen but Jews were allowed to smoke in the ammunition room.”

The truth? I did not know how to react. For a split second, I did not even comprehend the anti-Semitic nature of the joke. I liked Alfred and, as an optimist, I tried to console myself, after I sobered up, that he, himself, failed to understand the essence of his joke and, especially, the fact that he told it to a Jew and a daughter of Shoah survivors.

Deep inside of me, I was hoping that the German people of that era had not yet digested the crime which, part of their parents’ generation, were guilty of. I was expecting a different Germany, a better one, one that assumes responsibility of its past, internalizes its lessons, and contributes to creating a more sensible world.

Beck’s excellent book, “Germany – at Odds,” was an ear deafening wake up call.

It is for a reason that Beck elected to entitle his book by that name, a choice which, in my view, leaves no room for doubt. Beck does not present the essence of today’s Germany as a question which he is about to research. Beck has already conducted the research, and thoroughly. He cites and documents, in his book, the reality that exists in that country, a reality that is clear and obvious. Germany, as described in Beck’s book, is, indeed, different. It is different than what many wished it to be, especially those who carry the scars of its past and their offspring who carry them on their soul.

The series of shuddering descriptions and documentations, which Beck weaves artfully and skillfully into his book, exposes growing tendencies in certain segments of the German population to hide that which their country had experienced and sweep the Shoah under the carpet. Sadly, in many cases, it is done to please a reality which is dictated by demographic, political or ideological factors.

A captivating, very well documented and thought-provoking book. Highly recommended.

Be Beautiful

 

We have entered the Ten Days of Awe which is the period between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

For many Jews, it means days of introspection and re-evaluation of their demeanor during the previous year. It is a solemn period which many take very seriously.

For the sake of our People and the future of our Jewish Homeland, I sincerely hope that many do examine their actions, improve their deeds and continue to choose Life.

Yes, I know, Life is not always what we want it to be. We are faced with choices, good and bad, daily. To exist in this world is to survive unfair choices. But are we here just to exist? No, we are here not merely to exist or survive, we are here to Live. I believe that everyone of us, born into and reared in our wonderful Jewish tradition and legacy has the power to make a difference. All they need to do is want. Some,  unfortunately, are forlorn and need guidance and support along that journey.

The notion of providing people with tools, that I had only recently discovered, to help them through the “road less traveled” first  sprouted in me when I lived in New Zealand.

It was the early years of this century. I had just gone through a very traumatic business experience which nearly destroyed my life. I could not indulge in the status of victimhood for too long. I had a daughter, whom I raised single handedly after I divorced her father, to support. I needed to be strong for her.

In the midst of the chaos, an inner voice told me to join a gym and engage a personal trainer. That was one of the most meaningful milestones in my life.

Two years later, I participated in a body sculpting competition and won first prize in the senior category. As I stood there holding the trophy, I felt the inner glow of timeless beauty. The discovery of a new layer in me, one I had never known existed was overwhelming. A decision sprouted in me to become a personal trainer in health and fitness and a Life Coach. I chose to focus on maturing women, a segment in our population which was rather neglected.

Towards that end, I set up my own business, “The Art of Living Well,” (http://www.bat-zion.name/html/the_art_of_living_well.html) (http://www.bat-zion.name/artoflivingwell/)

The underlying concept of my practice was to help women peel off dusted inner covers and bring out the hidden beauty in each one. “Be Beautiful” became my motto.

To emphasize that goal, I even ordered a personal license plate for my car which reads:   

Some might read it as “Be Buttfull” but that would be dichotomous to my mission. After all no one hires a personal trainer to increase the size of their behind…….

Beautiful, not just pretty (for that we have beauticians and plastic surgeons) is what I was hoping to help bring out in them.

I was not always successful. However, those lives that I was able to touch cloaked  me with optimism. It was wonderful to see them discover the divine present of their inner essence, to see frozen rivers in them gradually melting away. The wonderful process through which they learn to be grateful for the small miracles in their lives and to be witness to them starting to live as they had never lived before was the greatest reward.

Discovering one’s inner beauty, the one that has been part of us since time immemorial, is the key to healing ourselves. We need to stop looking at each other with superficial eyes. We are each a universe with similar desires, dreams, and urges.

If we learn to recognize the beauty that is hidden in each of us and bring it out, we could light our Life’s path that will help guide us through the forests of reality and reshape the terrain of our lives. It will put us in charge of our destiny.

Amazing, as I am writing these lines, I hear the Shofar blowing loudly outside my home (because of the pandemic, it was sounded outdoors, this year) for Am Yisrael to hear. I can feel my eyes welling and the pressure of the growing lump in my throat. I cannot help but see the symbolism in the timing of it all.

The word Shofar originates from the same root of the word “improve.” The Shofar is blown to remind us that on Rosh Hashanah we need to improve ourselves and our ways. It is believed that if one makes a wish during the sounding of the Shofar, that wish will come true.

Remain beautiful, dear people and get better at it. That is my wish.

Shanah Tova Am Yisrael and fellow Jews.

 

Yes to Brit Mila Simply Because We Are Jews

This article was written by Tal Gilad in Hebrew and was published first in Walla on November 29^th, 2013, during a public debate that was raging over on the subject of Brit Milah  which ensued following a fine imposed on a woman who refused to have her son circumcised. It was translated into English by Bat-Zion Susskind-Sacks.

I am circumcised. My son is circumcised. Anyone that I know in my close surrounding is circumcised. I presume that with certainty even though I never checked. Not one of us remembers his circumcision as a horrible and traumatic event since we were only eight days then and no one remembers anything of that age.

A baby eight days old does not possess enough awareness to be afraid of what they are about to do to him, develop trauma or treat this pain as no more than a momentary unpleasant discomfort. He does not fear the consequences it might bear on his sex life, on his masculinity or his male identity. He does not see it as an attack on his legal rights as a human being. He does not know anything about any of these issues. All he knows is that it hurts during that moment and then it stops and that is all because he is merely eight days old. That is why the ceremony is performed when he is eight days old.

I do not wish to enter the issue of the penalty which the rabbinical court decreed. I do not know all the details and wish to avoid the issue of whether any institution has the jurisdiction to impose that. That is not the topic.

Brit Mila (circumcision) is a directive that Jews have been following for four thousand years. It does not cause any medical problems (possibly the opposite) and poses no national or personal tragedy that is imprinted on  the memory of our genetic code.

I need to confess that I, too, was nervous during the Brit Milah of my son. I also remember that I felt like hitting everyone. The bottom line, however, is that we are Jews and it would be more stupid and selfish if, because of my belligerence he will have to face this predicament of whether to do or not do it at the age of twenty, with all the fears that were mentioned earlier which are nonexistent at the age of eight days. I do not wish to mention another faith which performs this ceremony when the boy is thirteen, when one is fearful and is forced to go through that. This way, it is one unpleasant minute for the baby, one nervous minute for the parents and over.

It is by far less worse than other events that the child undergoes in his life, starting with birth, a scary experience in itself, through ear aches, teething aches, inoculations, fear and sadness during those moments when a determined brave mother who refuses to circumcise her son goes out to have a good time because it is her right and no one will decide for her. There are other more traumatic events in a person’s life such as, the first day in the nursery, kindergarten and a whole host of occurrences which are far less pleasant than Brit Milah which one overcomes and continues to grow.

And no contentious organization sees in it anything that hurts the child’s rights.
That is so, perhaps since it does not carry the intoxicating  scent of was against religious imposition and no one can bask in the words, “primitive ritual.”

By the way, interesting to notice that part of the primitive and cruel People that lives in America do the same to their children without the noise and the commotion and human rights. Oh, those cruel Gentiles 😉

One Should not be afraid to speak of the Palestinian Naqba

Yom Ha’atzmaoot and what surrounds it has turned into a teasing holy day in recent years. A high-profile memorial service for the terrorist (sorry, for “all victims”) and soon Naqba Day slowly approaching to be commemorated on the same Gregorian calendar date as Yisrael’s Independence Day.

I have no issue with the Palestinian point of view. All they want is to live calmly, cultivate their land and slaughter the Jews like any normative nation that is contented with its lot. One can understand their anguish at the fact that they have been deprived of that right. Likewise, one can understand the crocodile’s disappointment when the antelope fled and now it is left without breakfast. It is also easy to understand how difficult it was for the Nazis to witness their dream to destroy the Jews shattering in front of their very eyes when the Russians and Americans liberated the camps. It must have really hurt. It is alright. This is how they see it when the stress is on the word “see.” The problem begins when the victim starts sliding from understanding to empathy and from there justifying those who come to slaughter him and his family. How unfortunate is the crocodile, perhaps I should give him half of my derriere? I will manage. I will sit on my side.

There is no doubt that the Palestinians have experienced a tragedy. So did the Nazis. Mistaken is the person who does not think that the next stage is a joint and flattering Yom Hashoah for “all victims.” It will happen. The deranged ones among us will ensure it does.

The Yisraeli empathy towards the Palestinian failure is a twisted version of the American and European guilt feelings regarding colonialism. We copied it, albeit as a response to the wrong question. The Yisraeli sees himself as a cavalier who is destoying a Native American village and stealing its land or hauling Africans to a slave ship. Except, in this case, it is just the opposite, Watson. Here we are the Native Americans, the one in a thousand cases in which the intended victim was able to overcome the murderous attacker and push him back.

Hungary and Slovakia refuse, and tenaciously, to accept Muslim immigrants. Anyone who is incensed at them for not partaking in the festival of European guilt feelings towards anyone whose skin is slightly darker than theirs, does not know that there, the story is different: Hungary was conquered and enslaved, in the past, by the Turkish Muslims who pushed them northward and only after many generations were liberated by the Austrians. The Hungarians and the Slovaks never conquered one centimeter of Africa or Asia and did not burn Native American villages. Neither did we. They do, however, remember what happened to them five hundred years ago. We, on the other hand, have forgotten what happened to us merely seventy years ago. The fact that we are successful at constantly our neighbours’ plan to destroy us, does not make us conquering colonialists in the microscopic tiny piece of land resting at the heart of 13 million square kilometres which are inhabited by 300 million Arabs.

What characterizes the Arab – Yisraeli wars is its totality. One side comes out with a declared goal to destroy the other side entirely. Not winning, not subduing, not imposing demands of conditions or to conquer land. Annihilate everyone to the last one. They lost? They deserve it. Suffering, let them do some reflections, learn from their mistakes and rebuild their lives. Damn, a thousand organizations and states funnel aid and assistance, incessantly, solely for that purpose. The Palestinians, though, have for four generations have been making a living off misery and at the same time refuse to give up the dream of extermination They refuse to disembark this monstrous idea. They are already lying on the ground with broken limbs, without teeth and, still, what preoccupies them is not getting to the emergency room but instead obstinately insists “now, I will really kill them.” Just like the dark knight of Monty Python.

On Yisrael’s Independence Day, one should not be intimidated to talk about the Palestinian Naqba. On the contrary, it should be taught quite openly. Here once stood an Arab village. Its residents fled because of a war that Arabs started. Here was another one and now stands in its place a flourishing Jewish town, founded by the ones destined to an impeded slaughter. Ah, and there, too, was some small village. Alas, what can one do? This is the fate of the villain that muddles with Yisrael.

Sorry, dear world, the show is over. Sorry, dear neighbours but the slaughter of the Hevron Jews, the slaughter of Zefati Jews, khybar, khybar Ya Yahud and the eradication of an entire Jewish entity, raping and forcefully Islamizing its women and children – all this will only remain in your harsh nostalgic rhymes. And from year to year, as Yisrael gets stronger and mightier, this is getting less and less attainable. Sad, but c’est la vie.

The Perpetual Desert Generation?

Two weeks ago, Jews the world over celebrated Pesach, the Holy Day marking our People’s Exodus from Egypt and embarking on our journey from slavery into freedom. For me, at least, it bears a very meaningful period in our Jewish timeline.

Unfortunately, this Pesach was quite a different one, one that we are not going to forget anytime soon. This year, it was celebrated in the shadow of Corona, serving as a reminder of the fragility of the fabric of our existence.

It is not just Corona, however, that served as a wakeup call for many. For some, myself included, this Pesach, unfortunately, presented, yet another proof that though we may have physically come out of bondage, mentally and emotionally, we are still drenched and perceptually bear the yoke of serfdom. We are still in the Sinai desert trying to make our way to the Promised Land.

Remember how our forefathers complained to Moshe on a regular basis during that time? Here are some examples.

Exodus 16:3 : “If only we had died by the Lord’s hand in Egypt! There we sat around pots of meat and ate all the food we wanted, but you have brought us out into this desert to starve this entire assembly to death.”

In Exodus 17:3, we hear a similar gripe when they accuse Moshe of trying to kill them. This time, though, they add, “children and livestock,” thus making the accusations against him even more severe by including these two feeble and vulnerable groups. “Why did you bring us up out of Egypt to make us and our children and livestock die of thirst?”

Later, in Exodus 32, when Moshe is away on Mount Sinai, receiving the Torah, the Yisraelites lose patience and continue with their complaints. Aharon, who is not well versed in the art of leadership, caves in and erects the golden calf.

This was going on for forty years when all that Moshe wanted was to deliver our People to their own Land and secure their future.

Fast forward a few thousand years. That brings us to the modern-day Jewish state of Yisrael.

Looking around me nowadays, I see members of a Nation and a country that I love so dearly. Although we have moved forward and are experiencing the opulence of the Age of Technology with its many conveniences, something that did not exist during the Exodus, attitude wise, not much seems to have changed. Our mindsets and reactions to serious issues has unfortunately remained pretty much the same. It pangs me to see that we are still doing what our forefathers did thousands of years ago during what should have been considered a landmark in our history.

We are still complaining precisely as did the Biblical desert generation.

When we could celebrate Pesach freely among family and friends, many Yisraelis preferred to do it on some remote exotic island. It is probably and most likely because they did not want to be in the company of salivating auntie Frida and blabbering uncle Maurice.

Now, we have an epidemic, rather a pandemic which forces us into a new reality. “Now” they told us, “you are relieved of the company of auntie Frida and uncle Maurice. In fact, we forbid you to spend any time with them.”

And what do some do in response? Yes, they complain, as did the desert generation. .

The Yisraeli Health Ministry issued some extremely strict guidelines in order to stamp out a virus that has claimed many lives. These directives have one goal and one goal only. It is to secure the health well-being of Yisraelis (a tactic which, by the way, proved itself as remarkably effective).

And how do we react? You guessed right again. Just like them.

We keep complaining while some still refuse to cooperate and to adhere to the instructions.

I could come up with some more examples to prove my point. But you do get my gist, don’t you?

For a nation, a People that has been through so much in history, witnessed so many miracles, saw devastation and renewal, death, and rebirth we, Jews have much to be grateful for.

But hey, if we follow the logic of Cohen’s quote above, I guess the question that is begging to be asked is, if we drop our complaints, would we still be Jewish?

Happy Independence Day, Medinat Yisrael and Am Yisrael.

The Eighty First Blow

I first heard about the story that I am about to unfold to you here, dear readers, when I was a young child in Yisrael. The year was 1961.

In April of that year, Adolph Eichmann, the notorious Nazi criminal who was one of the initiators and implementors of the “Final Solution” for our Jewish People, stood trial in Yisrael, the National Home of the Jewish People after he had been kidnapped and brought to Yisrael.

The trial was broadcasted live over the radio. As a young child, I would never forget those long nights of pain, heartache and endless tears that poured like rivers from my parents’ eyes as the atrocious stories were being told, stories that no sane mind can digest. Those were the nights Yisrael stood still as witness after witness took the stand to point at this evil man and repeat two words that have become part of our Jewish DNA, “J’accuse!”

This is also where the story you are about to read was first told. This is where, my parents, two Shoah survivors, and I heard it for the first time.

It starts in the Przemysl ghetto. One of its inmates, a thin young man, age 16-17, along with a group of others were appointed as the “Transport Commando” where they were employed as carriers. Their duties consisted of emptying Jewish homes and transferring the content to storage.

One day, in the summer of 1943, close to the liquidation of the ghetto, the Nazis executed the train station manager. His crime, he was a Jew (though he had converted to Christianity earlier in his life). His wife who was not Jewish was shot as well.

Along with his team, this young man was assigned to empty is home. The place, as it turned out, housed many books,  a large portion, of which studied the subject of trains. The occupants of the ghetto had already heard about the trains and their destinations.

While removing the content of the train station manager’s residence, our young man decided to take some of the books and upon their arrival back in the ghetto hide them. Being aware that such a move was akin to signing one’s death warrant, did not deter the young man from pursuing his plan. He was adamant that those books should never fall into German hands.

A few days later, he was called into the yard. There, he saw the Jewish camp commander standing next to Yosef Schwammberger, the SS commander in charge of the camp. The latter was holding a leather strap which was tied to a dog’s collar. The strap was thick. On one side, it had a buckle.

The young boy had already witnessed the way the Nazi commander had employed the dog and on more than one occasion before. “Man, go get the dog,” was one of his favourite methods of punishment.

It was clear that something horrible was about to happen. One does not get to see commander Schwammberger for any minor issue.

“Where did you hide the books ?” roared the SS man after removing the strap from the collar.

Initially, the young man was unaware of his “crime.” When he realized what it was, he explained that when he got back to the ghetto, it was “lunch time” and by the time it was over, the books had disappeared so he had assumed that people had already taken them to read.

Wrong answer!

Yosef Schwammberger, raised the strap and hit the boy over his neck. He then ordered someone to bring in “the bench.” It was a special bench. On it, they would   lay the “culprits” or the victims and deal them twenty-five (25!) blows with no less than the buckle. After fifty (50!) blows, Yosef would produce his gun and shoot the victim. It was common knowledge.

The uncertainty of his fate was just as devastating as punishment by death.

When the strokes commenced, our young man started counting them. Surely, he felt, he could count to 25. After the 13^th and 14^th blows, he fainted. When he came to himself, he was hit again. He fainted several times. The other residents of the ghetto were asked to come out and watch it.

Suddenly, he felt nothing.

There were eighty (80!) blows, so the witnesses counted.

This young man was a miracle, the embodiment of one! Let me tell you why.

According to the Talmud, punishment by lashes, which was common in ancient times, should not surpass 39 for fear that the 40^th strike might be detrimental to them. The guilty person may be weak, can get sick or die as a result of them. The number of the lashes the accused was dealt was always measured against his health status for fear that such a practice might endanger him. But there were never more than thirty-nine. Thirty-Nine, NOT Eighty! To survive 80, it must be, it can only be a miracle

When he finally came to himself, our young man heard Schwammberger yelling : ”In three minutes, I want the books back in the library.”

Where he got the energy and the strength to get up and run to the piles of books, is an enigma to this young man who is now B’H 95 years old. He stood there with his back bleeding, waiting for Schwammberger’s orders. The latter pulled a Psalms book and asked him whether it was one of them. After, he confirmed it, the young man was ordered to go but not before he was dealt one more blow on his neck. For a few days afterwards, our young heroic man spent several days in the corridor.

This young man survived that horrific experience but lost his whole family. He survived Auschwitz. He clung to life, been to hell and came out of it ready to avenge the demons with staunch determination, a determination understood by very few.

During the Death March, when the Nazis were hastily moving the inmates westward, in the freezing winter, he was able to escape with a couple of friends. They were hiding until the arrival of the Russians at which time, our hero joined Red Army, learned to drive a tank and fought against the Nazi army, on the Czech front.

After the war he made it to Eretz Yisrael on a refugee boat. The boat was captured by the British sent to a detention camp in Cyprus and eventually married, set up a family, joined the police force, became a police officer and was appointed to be one of Eichmann’s, the now miserable, dismal creature that the former Nazi had become, interrogators.

Amazingly enough, our hero told his story only once. It was the first and the last time he had shared it, until Eichmann’s trial.

One of the witnesses in the Eichmann trial was Dr. Bushminsky, one of the ghetto residents who had seen what had happened in that yard, in the Przemysl ghetto, on that dreary day in the summer of 1943. When they first met and our young man introduced himself. The doctor, who evidently did not recognize him, said “I knew someone by that name in our ghetto. He was dealt 80 blows by Schwammberger. “Last I heard, he added, “he was dead.”

"He is not dead, he is standing right in front of you,” answered our friend.

Dr. Bushminsky must have shared that with Gideon Hausner, the Chief Prosecutor at the Eichmann trial. When Dr. Bushminsky took the witness stand he also shared the story about the young man who was beaten 80 times. Suddenly and unexpectedly, Hausner turned to Dr. Bushminsky and asked: “Can you point that young man to us?” “Yes, your honour,” answered Dr. Bushminsky, “he is sitting right next to you and is wearing a police officer’s uniform.”

Later, when asked by  Gideon Hausenr, the chief prosecutor in the Eichmann trial why he never shared his story more than once, the proud man unveiled a very sad reality that many of the other survivors faced upon sharing their story.

Disbelief.

As it turns out, our friend, did try to share history once with a couple who he had met. When  he finished his recount, he saw the man turn to his wife and say to her in Hebrew: “Shoah survivors had been through so much, sometimes they tend to mix truth with imagination.”

“That’s it,” he resolved right there and then and later disclosed to Hausner and others during one meeting, “I am not telling anymore fantasies.” The silence that cloaked the room was deafening.

“And that, for me,“ he added to their blank faces, “was……”
“Your Eighty First Blow,” uttered one of those present.

This hero is B”H still with us today. His name is Michael Goldman Gilad. He is the father of our dear friend here, Tal Gilad.