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I. I. Cohen
"Do you know that tomorrow is Purim?" I asked my brothers in suffering,
trying to distract them, and myself, from tormented thoughts and painful
pangs of hunger.
"How do you know?"
"Who told you?"
"Have you been dreaming?"
"Where did you find a calendar?"
"It's freezing! Purim can't be for another month."
"No, no!" others protested. "Srulik doesn't make mistakes like that! We know
him from before the war and assure you he has a good memory."
"Crazy Chassidim!" yet others grumbled. "You have nothing else to worry
about besides when Purim falls this year? What's the difference any more
between Purim and Pesach, Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur? Isn't it always the
fast day of Tisha B'Av?"
It was the hour before nightfall, when we inhabitants of the block, now
converted into an infirmary, lay tensely on our "bunks" - wooden boards
covered with a thin layer of straw - our eyes riveted to the curtain that
separated the block elder's spacious quarters from where we lay.
Suddenly, as if by magic, a silence blanketed the room. The curtain had
parted, and the "block elder" stood there with his henchmen, bearing our
bread rations; it had been nearly twenty-four hours. Each inmate, upon
receiving his ration, measured it wordlessly with his eyes and compared it
to his neighbor's portion, each convinced that the other had received more.
In an instant, best friends turned into jealous rivals, and any enjoyment of
the bread was spoiled. Within minutes, the stingy portions were devoured by
the starving, wretched men, and our stomachs felt just as empty as before,
the gnawing hunger made all the more intolerable by the realization that we
would have to wait a whole day for the next piece of bread.
Having just suffered through a bad bout of typhus and several days of high
fever, I fell back on my board, and fast asleep.
When I woke up the next morning, I felt dizzy; my head was like a leaden
weight. Unable to think of anything else but eating, I began to calculate
how much time remained until noon, when the "hot soup" - a nondescript,
lukewarm liquid in which a piece of potato occasionally floated - would
appear.
Will I ever have the merit, I wondered, to press myself once again into the
crowd of Chassidim gathering around the Rebbe, to learn from him how to be a
good Chassid and a G-d-fearing person?
"Time to daven, Srulik."
My friend's voice shook me from my reverie. The pleasant memories vanished
and once again I found myself back in the pit of hell.
Half-dazed, I picked myself up and said, "Yes, of course. Let's wash our
hands and daven."
Then it struck me.
"But it's Purim today!" I exclaimed. "We have to organize a minyan - maybe
we'll even remember a few verses of Megillas Esther!"
I suddenly forgot my pain, my suffering, my hunger pangs. Summoning up all
my remaining strength, I went to wash my hands and face and then to find
some others to complete our minyan. Perhaps, I thought, I might even find
someone else who could recall a few more verses from the megillah so that we
could fulfill as much as possible of the Jewish obligation handed down from
generation to generation.
And then, as if to show that God particularly desires mitzvos Jews perform
with true dedication, a small miracle occurred: a copy of the second book of
the Bible, with the complete Megillas Esther appended, was discovered by my
friend, Itche Perelman, a member of the camp burial squad. Our elation was immeasurable! Such a find was awesome! It could only be a
sign that our prayers had been received in Heaven and the redemption was
about to begin. Our excitement grew to a feverish pitch. Who remembered the
hunger, the cold, the filth, the degradation? No one gave a thought to the
dangers involved in organizing a minyan and reading the Megillah, to the
possibility of the Germans or a kapo deciding to drop in on our hut. Even
the non-religious ones who only yesterday had scoffed at the "crazy
Chassidim" were filled with excitement at this great event.
"Who will read the Megillah?" someone asked.
The lot, so to speak, fell on me, for I had become an adept reader of holy
texts over the time I had been locked into the ghetto. Within moments,
volunteers managed to locate some clothing for me since, like the other
inmates of the infirmary, I had been assigned nothing more than a blanket
with which to cover myself. And so, I found myself sitting on the edge of my
piece of wooden plank, dressed in a camp uniform, a towel wrapped around my
head in place of a yarmulka, reciting with my remaining strength, "and Haman
sought to destroy all the Jews."
When I read aloud about Haman's downfall, and that "The Jews had light and
happiness, joy and honor", the spark of hope deep inside every Jew's heart
ignited into a flaming torch. "Dear Lord of the Universe!" I know each of us
was thinking, "make a wondrous miracle for us, too, as you did for our
forefathers in those days, and let us too see the end of our enemies!"
When I finished, everyone cheered. For a brief instant, the dreadful
reality of the SS death camp had been forgotten, all the hunger and
suffering had receded. Having exerted all my remaining energy in my reading
of the Megillah, I sat breathless, but with my spirit soaring.
When people's actions are pleasing to God, their enemies are reconciled to
them. Even the block elder, who usually strutted in with an arrogant
demeanor and scowling face, allowed a smile to play on his lips as he
entered that day, and he handed out the soup without shouting or cursing at
anyone. And the ever-present jealousy among ourselves seemed to turn into
generosity. Instead of complaints that someone else had received more
potatoes, I heard things like "Let Srulik get a bigger portion of soup
today!"
Instead of dwelling on the past or bemoaning the present, we began to dream
about the future, to hope that soon the German demon would inherit his own
downfall, and that the end of Jewish suffering would arrive. And like a
river overflowing it banks, the festive atmosphere and the vision of
redemption burst out of the broken hearts of the camp inmates, and, one
mitzvah leading to another, more acts of spiritual heroism followed. Someone
decided to forgo a small piece of yesterday's bread he had saved, and
offered it to his comrade instead. Another person made a gift of a piece of
potato, and these two "portions", which only yesterday could have caused
envy and hatred among friends, now became the means by which the inmates
could fulfill what was written, "the mitzvah of sending gifts of food, one
person to another."
These precious Mishloach Manos were passed around from one to the other,
until they finally landed on my lap. Everyone decided that I should be the
one to keep them in the end as compensation for reading the megillah.
I thought to myself, "Dear God! Behold your great nation, which in an
instant can transform itself from the level of wild animals tearing at one
another, to the level of courageous men, faithful Jews..."
And a verse welled up inside me: "Who is like you, Yisrael, a singular
nation on Earth?"
With great emotion I turned to all present: "Precious Jews!" I said.
"Brothers in suffering! I don't deserve this honor you have given me. Let
us all have but one request from our Heavenly Father: Next year in
Purim in the valley of tears
http://www.jewishworldreview.com --
WE ALL SAT LISTLESSLY on our bunks, waiting impatiently for the high point
of our day in Death Camp Number Four of Dachau --- the meager bread ration we
received. It was my seventh month in a concentration camp.
The debate gathered force among the block's "mussulmen" - the eighty living
skeletons crammed tightly into a half-buried hut, a virtual wooden tomb
overgrown with grass.
With my head down on the wooden board, near despair, I began to conjure up
images from my past, of my life with my parents and my two sisters, Gittel
and Mirel... how I used to learn in the study-hall of the Chassidim of Ger.
Mostly, I remembered my grandfather, Reb Herschel, who loved me dearly and
would take me, his only grandson, along whenever he went to the Gerer Rebbe.
I relived the memory of the Chassidic leader's face, his eyes overflowing
with wisdom and love, penetrating the very depths of my soul.
