The men sat together, crowded and bent in the large prison room. It was a common ward for Jews and Poles who were locked up for diverse and unusual reasons. Among the prisoners was an aging Rabbi caught by the Germans teaching Torah to his students in a secret basement.
In that dull, harsh dungeon everything had a dingy gray cast about it, as well as an aura of timelessness. It was impossible to distinguish between day and night. There were neither days of work nor days of rest, but rather each day brought with it its own torture. The only way to note the passage of time was by the arrival of the guards who came in to take one of the prisoners on his last ominous walk.
One day the entire jail room was aroused. Through the high, narrow window penetrated a pale ray of light. At that moment, the voice of the Rabbi was heard as he called out, "Gut Yom Tov, Jews! Why are you so quiet? Today is Passover! It's the first seder night!"
All the prisoners, including the Poles, treated the Rabbi with respect. He, the Rabbi, knew the reckoning of the Sabbaths and the weekdays, and even of day and night, and he would pray quietly, morning, afternoon and evening. At the time of even the most terrible tortures he would draw joy from his hidden, inner wellspring. This time he apparently sought to share his joy with all the Jews in the jail.
Some derisive remarks were heard in the crowd. "Nu, a Seder yet!" "Nu...and four cups of wine? Or at least one sip..." "And a piece of matza, if only for remembrance..."
The Rabbi did not seem to hear them. "My dear brother, Jews! The Hagada I know by heart. What does it say in the beginning of the Hagada?--`This year we are here, next year may we be in the Land of Israel! This year we are slaves, next year may we be free men!' Do you hear? We Jews, we are not slaves! A man is only a slave if he admits it, and we do not admit it! Next year free men, Jews!" The Jewish prisoners, old and young, religious and free-thinking, began to gather around the old Rabbi who had stirred them up, infusing them with hope for deliverance. At one corner of the room a "Seder table" was set up. There was no sign of the holiday, not even a single solitary candle, only the festive voice of the Rabbi reciting the story of the Exodus.
The old man recited the words of the Hagada and the entire assemblage repeated them after him, as if they had all been transported to an enchanted world.
Suddenly the chanting stopped. The Polish prisoners seemed to have been startled by the strange scene in front of their eyes. Some of them jumped up from their seats, madly furious. "That's Jewish impudence for you! Bojnitza (synagogue) you are making here?"
The head of the guards, a Storm Trooper, came in with a few soldiers. "Jews!" he snapped. "You can still think of praying and singing!"
And he turned to the loudest of the Polish prisoners and said to him, "Keep an eye on them! I appoint you supervisor of all the inmates. I have no time or patience for them now. But tomorrow I will let them have it."
An oppressive silence ensued. Even the organizer of the ruckus did not feel at ease. The voice of the Rabbi broke the silence, soft and tremulous. "Woe to him who of his own free will becomes a slave to the wicked."
"Shame on you, hiring yourself out to the henchman!" One of the young men suddenly stood up and faced the new "supervisor" of the jail.
After a long pause a voice was heard "Go ahead and pray as much as you want. It was the new "supervisor." A moment later he added, "But at least explain to me what you are saying with such enthusiasm!"
"By all means!" the young man responded. "That old man will continue and I will explain his words in Polish, so that everyone may understand."
The Seder celebration was resumed with renewed vigor.
"And this, this great faith, is what has kept the Jews going during the most difficult times of oppression, 'that not only one foe,' not only one Hitler has arisen to destroy us, but in every generation new enemies rise to wipe us off the face of the earth."
"We, the Polish people, we too are persecuted! We also have enemies on all sides!" the chief screamer interrupted him, all excited and agitated. "Boys! he turned to his Polish brethren, "listen to these wise words! The main thing is not to lose faith and hope! Let's learn from the Zhidki..."
Jews and Poles sat huddled together, listening to more of the story. "Aha!" the Pole interrupted in excitement, "how similar that history is to what is happening around us!"
"Blood, and fire, and billows of smoke...".
"Forgive me, old man," said the loud-mouthed supervisor. "You are a holy man," and he threw himself at the feet of the Rabbi.
The old man looked at him with eyes full of compassion, and began singing an old Chasidic folk song in Polish. Slowly, all of them, Jews and Poles, learned the old man's tune, and the melody passed from mouth to mouth, from heart to heart.
Suddenly, a shot was fired, and all eyes turned to the wide door. There stood a guard, gun in hand, mad with anger. "You are having a party, eh? To bed, or I'll empty all my bullets into your heads!"
No one was afraid of him. And no one, Jew or Pole, slept all night.
It was Layl Shimurim, the night of Pesach, a Night of Watching.
Excerpted with permission from Sparks of Glory, Moshe Prager, Mesorah Publications.
No comments:
Post a Comment