Lookouts were posted outside the synagogue, while inside, The Hidden Doorz the little band of Jews tried to sleep. They hoped to make contact with nearby partisans who could lead them to their forest hideout. Suddenly, the guards saw a wagon approaching filled with Ukrainian police. They dashed to the synagogue to warn the others, but the police had seen them. The Jews were trapped inside with Ukrainian police guarding the locked doors of the synagogue building.
There was no escape, and the terrified survivors of the massacre at Haditch waited in the darkness. In the adjacent Ohel, the Eternal Flame flickered as always above the grave of the Alter Rebbe. Aharon Ginzberg, the old caretaker of the cemetery, entered the Ohel and wept. He contemplated what lay ahead. Tomorrow would be the last day of his life, he thought.
"Holy Rebbe!" a cry escaped from his lips. "Your children are in desperate danger! You must pray for us! 'If not for the prayers of tzadikim in the Other World, this world could not exist for even one second...'"
Although Aharon Ginzberg's eyes were closed, he felt rather than saw a swell of brilliant light filling the room. It was emanating from all sides -- from up, from down, from the very walls of the structure itself. Then he heard a voice, a heavenly voice reverberating in his ears.
"I cannot bear it any longer!" the voice said. "The attribute of Yaakov is the attribute of mercy. Open the cave under the Eternal Flame."
Suddenly, the door to the synagogue was thrown open and three members of the S.S. and two Ukrainian policemen stormed in. "Here they are!" they cried triumphantly. "You will remain here until morning," the S.S. man snarled. All of the Jews who had been in the synagogue were now shoved into the Ohel. Locking them in, the murderers went into the synagogue, to wait for dawn. While the Jews spent the night immersed in prayer, their tormentors wiled away the hours drinking and laughing.
Aharon Ginzberg whispered to their leader, Binyamin: "Binyamin, I heard a voice telling me there is a cave under the eternal light." Binyamin had no idea what to think of these strange words. He walked over and moved the wooden desk which stood beneath the light. There, to his utter shock, was a trap door. He lifted the lid and peered into the mouth of a hidden cavern.
It was decided that Binyamin would lead the procession, with the women and children in the rear. Everyone descended the rickety steps into the dark tunnel except the old caretaker, Aharon Ginzberg. He had remained above and had carefully and silently replaced the wooden desk which had covered the cave's entrance. Then he resumed his recital of Psalms.
His son Leibke began to weep when he realized what his father had done. "Tatte," he sobbed, but he was quickly silenced. The group moved steadily through the thick darkness, stopping every so often to get their bearing. But then -- disappointment -- the exit was completely sealed with earth and gravel. They began to scrape at the loose earth with their bare hands. They dug until they were bathed in sweat, but their labors were rewarded, for just when they could dig no more, they found themselves standing beneath the cold night sky.
Only Leibke Ginzberg hesitated. How could he leave his father behind?
The others faced another kind of trial. There, before them, a freezing river separated them from the forest and the partisans' den. Binyamin was the first to spot a small, half-rotted boat on the other side of the river. He managed to bring it across and two by two, he ferried the survivors to the other side. Though exhausted, they continued on until they found the partisans' hideout.
Binyamin told the partisans of their narrow escape and that Aharon Ginzberg had remained behind. The partisans made their way through the forest until they reached the Ohel. There they found Leibke Ginzberg lying outside the building undetected by the soldiers but helpless to save his father, who had been discovered by the loathsome killers.
Finding their prey gone, the soldiers had turned their wrath on the old man. When he didn't respond to the curses and beatings, they shot him three times and he returned his holy soul to his Maker.
Leibke and the partisans had been the powerless witnesses of the murder. Now that the killers' weapons had been completely discharged, they waited for them to emerge. Five minutes later it was all over. The bodies of the soldiers were stripped, their weapons and uniforms confiscated. By the light of the partisans' lanterns, Leibke Ginzberg wept over his father's remains.
Reprinted from Reaching Out Newsletter
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