From an email:
SHALOM SWEETEST FRIENDS!!!!!
I CAN'T believe it but it is TRUE! Erev Yom Kippur is upon us! Ready or Not! [I am on the "Not" team"].
I would like to share a story that I read as a young boy that had a profound effect on me. It is from the fabulous book "Hasidic Tales Of The Holocaust" by Yaffa Eliach and was told by the Bluzhever Rebbe ztz"l Rav Yisrael Spira.
In the Janowska Concentration Camp, there was a Jewish brigadier (a foreman of a brigade) from Lvov by the name of Schneeweiss, one of those people one stays away from if he values his life. He had known Rabbi Israel Spira in Lemberg (Lvov), but was not aware that the latter was an inmate at the Janowska Road Camp. Only a handful of Chassidim who were close to the rabbi knew the rabbi’s identity and they kept it secret. The season of the Jewish holidays was approaching. As the date of Yom Kippur was nearing, the fears in the camp mounted. Everyone knew that the sadistic Germans especially liked to use Jewish holidays as days for inflicting terror and death. It was the eve of Yom Kippur. The tensions and the fears were at their height.
A few Chassidim came to the Rabbi of Bluzhov and asked him to approach Schneeweiss and request that on Yom Kippur his group not be assigned to any of the thirty-nine main categories of work, so that their transgression of the law by working on Yom Kippur would not be a major one. The rabbi was very moved by the request of his Chassidim and despite his fears, for he would have to disclose his identity, went to Schneeweiss. He knew quite well that Schneeweiss did not have much respect for Jewish tradition. Even prior to the outbreak of World War II, he had publicly violated the Jewish holidays and transgressed against Jewish law. Here in Janowska, he was a cruel man who knew no mercy.
With a heavy heart, the rabbi went before Schneeweiss. “You probably remember me. I am the Rabbi of Pruchnik, Rabbi Israel Spira.” Schneeweiss did not respond. “You are a Jew like myself,” the rabbi continued. “Tonight is Kol Nidrei night. There is a small group of young Jews who do not want to transgress any of the thirty-nine main categories of work. It means everything to them. It is the essence of their existence. Can you do something about it? Can you help?”
The rabbi noticed that a hidden shiver went through Schneeweiss as he listened to the rabbi’s strange request. The rabbi took Schneeweiss’s hand and said, “I promise you, as long as you live, it will be a good life. I beg you to do it for us so that we may still find some dignity in our humiliating existence.” The stern face of Schneeweiss changed. For the first time since his arrival at Janowska, there was a human spark in it. “Tonight I can’t do a thing.” said Schneeweiss, the first words he had uttered since the rabbi had come to him. “I have no jurisdiction over the night brigade. But tomorrow, on Yom Kippur, I will do for you whatever I can.” The rabbi shook Schneeweiss’s hand in gratitude and left.
That night, Kol Nidrei night, they were taken to work near the Lvov cemetery. To this very day, the rabbi has scars from the beatings of that night. They returned to their barracks at one o’clock in the morning exhausted, beaten, with blood flowing from fresh wounds. The rabbi was trying to make his way to his bed, one level of a five-tiered bunk bed made of a few wooden planks covered with straw. Vivid images from the past, of Yom Kippur at home with his family and Chassidim, passed before his tear-filled eyes that wretched night at Janowska. Suddenly the door opened and into the barracks came a young Chassid named Ben-Zion. “Rabbi, we must recite Kol Nidrei.” “Who can say Kol Nidrei now?” the rabbi replied. “The people can’t even stand on their feet.” “Rabbi, I used to pray in your shtibel. Do you remember the tune?” In the darkness of the barracks, among tens of hungry, beaten, exhausted Jews, a melody was heard, the soothing, comforting melody of Yom Kippur, as Ben-Zion chanted a prayer… And may the entire congregation of the children of Israel, as well as the proselyte who dwells among them, be forgiven, for all the people acted unwittingly. “Rabbi, the heart wants to hear a prayer, we must say Kol Nidrei…”
As Ben-Zion was talking to the rabbi, about twenty men gathered around them. How could he refuse? He took out his prayer shawl, which he kept hidden underneath the straw on his bunk bed, and was about to begin to chant the Kol Nidrei. No one knew how, but the news spread fast: In Barrack Number 12 they were chanting the Kol Nidrei. In the dark shadows of the Janowska barracks one could see dark shapes against the barrack walls as they made their way to Barracks Number 12. They recited with the rabbi whatever they could recall from memory. When they reached the prayer, Hear our voice, O L-rd our G-d; have pity and compassion… their voices were drowned in tears. In the morning, the rabbi and a small group of young Chassidim were summoned to Schneeweiss’s cottage. “I heard that you prayed last night. I don’t believe in prayers,” Schneeweiss told them. “On principle, I even oppose them. But I admire your courage. For you all know well that the penalty for prayer in Janowska is death.” With that, he motioned them to follow him. He took them to the S.S. Quarters in the camp, to a large wooden house. “You fellows will shine the floor without any polish or wax. And you, rabbi, will clean the windows with dry rags, so that you will not transgress any of the thirty-nine major categories of work.” He left the room abruptly without saying another word. The rabbi was standing on a ladder with rags in his hand, cleaning the huge windows while chanting prayers, and his companions were on the floor polishing the wood and praying with him.
“The floor was wet with our tears. You can imagine the prayers of that Yom Kippur,” said the rabbi to the Chassidim who were listening to his tale while he was wiping away a tear. At about twelve o’clock noon, the door opened wide and into the room stormed two angels of death, S.S. men in their black uniforms, may their names be obliterated. They were followed by a food cart filled to capacity.
“Noontime, time to eat bread, soup, and meat,” announced one of the two S.S. Men. The room was filled with an aroma of freshly cooked food, such food as they had not seen since the German occupation: white bread, steaming hot vegetable soup, and huge portions of meat. The tall S.S. man commanded in a high-pitched voice, “You must eat immediately, otherwise you will be shot on the spot!” None of them moved. The rabbi remained on the ladder, the Chassidim on the floor. The German repeated the orders. The rabbi and the Chassidim remained glued to their places. The S.S. men called in Schneeweiss. “Schneeweiss, if the dirty dogs refuse to eat, I will kill you along with them.”
Schneeweiss pulled himself to attention, looked the German directly in the eyes, and said in a very quiet tone, “We Jews do not eat today. Today is Yom Kippur, our most holy day, the Day of Atonement.” “You don’t understand, Jewish dog,” roared the taller of the two. “I command you in the name of the Fuhrer and the Third Reich, fress!” Schneeweiss, composed, his head high, repeated the same answer. “We Jews obey the law of our tradition. Today is Yom Kippur, a day of fasting.” The German took out his revolver from its holster and pointed it at Schneeweiss’s temple. Schneeweiss remained calm. He stood still, at attention, his head high. A shot pierced the room. Schneeweiss fell. On the freshly polished floor, a puddle of blood was growing bigger and bigger. The rabbi and the Chassidim stood as if frozen in their places. They could not believe what their eyes had just witnessed. Schneeweiss, the man who in the past had publicly transgressed against the Jewish tradition, had sanctified G-d’s name publicly and died a martyr’s death for the sake of Jewish honor. “Only then, on that Yom Kippur day in Janowska,” said the rabbi to his Chassidim, “did I understand the meaning of the statement in the Talmud: Even the transgressors in Israel are as full of good deeds as a pomegranate is filled with seeds.”
What happened here? How did this renegade Jew suddenly become a Tzadik?
It has already been pointed out that the holiest day of the year, itzumo shel yom, touches and awakes the core essence – the pintele Yid – of every Jew, even it is completely dormant. The Mekubalim and Tzadikim call it "yechida" of the soul – the root center of a Jewish neshama, which is revealed on the one day a year, achas b’shana, when the oneness (achas) of the Divine and of the yechida shines forth. Schneeweiss connected to his yechida.
Beloved friends!!! May we all merit to have a Gmar Chasima Tova and be written in the book of life, health, prosperity and ONLY good things!!!
Bi-ahava,
Me
I CAN'T believe it but it is TRUE! Erev Yom Kippur is upon us! Ready or Not! [I am on the "Not" team"].
I would like to share a story that I read as a young boy that had a profound effect on me. It is from the fabulous book "Hasidic Tales Of The Holocaust" by Yaffa Eliach and was told by the Bluzhever Rebbe ztz"l Rav Yisrael Spira.
In the Janowska Concentration Camp, there was a Jewish brigadier (a foreman of a brigade) from Lvov by the name of Schneeweiss, one of those people one stays away from if he values his life. He had known Rabbi Israel Spira in Lemberg (Lvov), but was not aware that the latter was an inmate at the Janowska Road Camp. Only a handful of Chassidim who were close to the rabbi knew the rabbi’s identity and they kept it secret. The season of the Jewish holidays was approaching. As the date of Yom Kippur was nearing, the fears in the camp mounted. Everyone knew that the sadistic Germans especially liked to use Jewish holidays as days for inflicting terror and death. It was the eve of Yom Kippur. The tensions and the fears were at their height.
A few Chassidim came to the Rabbi of Bluzhov and asked him to approach Schneeweiss and request that on Yom Kippur his group not be assigned to any of the thirty-nine main categories of work, so that their transgression of the law by working on Yom Kippur would not be a major one. The rabbi was very moved by the request of his Chassidim and despite his fears, for he would have to disclose his identity, went to Schneeweiss. He knew quite well that Schneeweiss did not have much respect for Jewish tradition. Even prior to the outbreak of World War II, he had publicly violated the Jewish holidays and transgressed against Jewish law. Here in Janowska, he was a cruel man who knew no mercy.
With a heavy heart, the rabbi went before Schneeweiss. “You probably remember me. I am the Rabbi of Pruchnik, Rabbi Israel Spira.” Schneeweiss did not respond. “You are a Jew like myself,” the rabbi continued. “Tonight is Kol Nidrei night. There is a small group of young Jews who do not want to transgress any of the thirty-nine main categories of work. It means everything to them. It is the essence of their existence. Can you do something about it? Can you help?”
The rabbi noticed that a hidden shiver went through Schneeweiss as he listened to the rabbi’s strange request. The rabbi took Schneeweiss’s hand and said, “I promise you, as long as you live, it will be a good life. I beg you to do it for us so that we may still find some dignity in our humiliating existence.” The stern face of Schneeweiss changed. For the first time since his arrival at Janowska, there was a human spark in it. “Tonight I can’t do a thing.” said Schneeweiss, the first words he had uttered since the rabbi had come to him. “I have no jurisdiction over the night brigade. But tomorrow, on Yom Kippur, I will do for you whatever I can.” The rabbi shook Schneeweiss’s hand in gratitude and left.
That night, Kol Nidrei night, they were taken to work near the Lvov cemetery. To this very day, the rabbi has scars from the beatings of that night. They returned to their barracks at one o’clock in the morning exhausted, beaten, with blood flowing from fresh wounds. The rabbi was trying to make his way to his bed, one level of a five-tiered bunk bed made of a few wooden planks covered with straw. Vivid images from the past, of Yom Kippur at home with his family and Chassidim, passed before his tear-filled eyes that wretched night at Janowska. Suddenly the door opened and into the barracks came a young Chassid named Ben-Zion. “Rabbi, we must recite Kol Nidrei.” “Who can say Kol Nidrei now?” the rabbi replied. “The people can’t even stand on their feet.” “Rabbi, I used to pray in your shtibel. Do you remember the tune?” In the darkness of the barracks, among tens of hungry, beaten, exhausted Jews, a melody was heard, the soothing, comforting melody of Yom Kippur, as Ben-Zion chanted a prayer… And may the entire congregation of the children of Israel, as well as the proselyte who dwells among them, be forgiven, for all the people acted unwittingly. “Rabbi, the heart wants to hear a prayer, we must say Kol Nidrei…”
As Ben-Zion was talking to the rabbi, about twenty men gathered around them. How could he refuse? He took out his prayer shawl, which he kept hidden underneath the straw on his bunk bed, and was about to begin to chant the Kol Nidrei. No one knew how, but the news spread fast: In Barrack Number 12 they were chanting the Kol Nidrei. In the dark shadows of the Janowska barracks one could see dark shapes against the barrack walls as they made their way to Barracks Number 12. They recited with the rabbi whatever they could recall from memory. When they reached the prayer, Hear our voice, O L-rd our G-d; have pity and compassion… their voices were drowned in tears. In the morning, the rabbi and a small group of young Chassidim were summoned to Schneeweiss’s cottage. “I heard that you prayed last night. I don’t believe in prayers,” Schneeweiss told them. “On principle, I even oppose them. But I admire your courage. For you all know well that the penalty for prayer in Janowska is death.” With that, he motioned them to follow him. He took them to the S.S. Quarters in the camp, to a large wooden house. “You fellows will shine the floor without any polish or wax. And you, rabbi, will clean the windows with dry rags, so that you will not transgress any of the thirty-nine major categories of work.” He left the room abruptly without saying another word. The rabbi was standing on a ladder with rags in his hand, cleaning the huge windows while chanting prayers, and his companions were on the floor polishing the wood and praying with him.
“The floor was wet with our tears. You can imagine the prayers of that Yom Kippur,” said the rabbi to the Chassidim who were listening to his tale while he was wiping away a tear. At about twelve o’clock noon, the door opened wide and into the room stormed two angels of death, S.S. men in their black uniforms, may their names be obliterated. They were followed by a food cart filled to capacity.
“Noontime, time to eat bread, soup, and meat,” announced one of the two S.S. Men. The room was filled with an aroma of freshly cooked food, such food as they had not seen since the German occupation: white bread, steaming hot vegetable soup, and huge portions of meat. The tall S.S. man commanded in a high-pitched voice, “You must eat immediately, otherwise you will be shot on the spot!” None of them moved. The rabbi remained on the ladder, the Chassidim on the floor. The German repeated the orders. The rabbi and the Chassidim remained glued to their places. The S.S. men called in Schneeweiss. “Schneeweiss, if the dirty dogs refuse to eat, I will kill you along with them.”
Schneeweiss pulled himself to attention, looked the German directly in the eyes, and said in a very quiet tone, “We Jews do not eat today. Today is Yom Kippur, our most holy day, the Day of Atonement.” “You don’t understand, Jewish dog,” roared the taller of the two. “I command you in the name of the Fuhrer and the Third Reich, fress!” Schneeweiss, composed, his head high, repeated the same answer. “We Jews obey the law of our tradition. Today is Yom Kippur, a day of fasting.” The German took out his revolver from its holster and pointed it at Schneeweiss’s temple. Schneeweiss remained calm. He stood still, at attention, his head high. A shot pierced the room. Schneeweiss fell. On the freshly polished floor, a puddle of blood was growing bigger and bigger. The rabbi and the Chassidim stood as if frozen in their places. They could not believe what their eyes had just witnessed. Schneeweiss, the man who in the past had publicly transgressed against the Jewish tradition, had sanctified G-d’s name publicly and died a martyr’s death for the sake of Jewish honor. “Only then, on that Yom Kippur day in Janowska,” said the rabbi to his Chassidim, “did I understand the meaning of the statement in the Talmud: Even the transgressors in Israel are as full of good deeds as a pomegranate is filled with seeds.”
What happened here? How did this renegade Jew suddenly become a Tzadik?
It has already been pointed out that the holiest day of the year, itzumo shel yom, touches and awakes the core essence – the pintele Yid – of every Jew, even it is completely dormant. The Mekubalim and Tzadikim call it "yechida" of the soul – the root center of a Jewish neshama, which is revealed on the one day a year, achas b’shana, when the oneness (achas) of the Divine and of the yechida shines forth. Schneeweiss connected to his yechida.
Beloved friends!!! May we all merit to have a Gmar Chasima Tova and be written in the book of life, health, prosperity and ONLY good things!!!
Bi-ahava,
Me
