A Yom Hashoah Prayer Drama

Most days, davening is a mundane affair, a routine non-event. But today's tefilla was filled with drama. Let me explain.

I went to shul today for Shacharit, like any other day. But today, Yom Hashoah it felt wrong, dislocated, at variance with reality.

I asked myself, I felt: How are we not saying Tachanun today?

On Yom Hashoah, how can we not say:

הַבֵּט מִשָּׁמַיִם וּרְאֵה כִּי הָיִינוּ לַעַג וָקֶלֶס בַּגּויִם. נֶחְשַׁבְנוּ כַּצּאן לַטֶּבַח יוּבָל. לַהֲרוג וּלְאַבֵּד וּלְמַכָּה וּלְחֶרְפָּה

וּבְכָל זאת שִׁמְךָ לא שָׁכָחְנוּ. נָא אַל תִּשְׁכָּחֵנוּ.

This morning I stood in shul and felt I needed those words.

I needed:

יהי רצון מלפני אבינו שבשמים . לרחם עלינו ועל פליטתנו ולמנוע משחית ומגפה מעלינו ומעל כל עמו בית ישראל . ונאמר אמן

So it is Nissan and we don't say tachanun, but today the entire public space, the air we breath, is filled with the Shoah, my thoughts and emotions are Shoah, today I wake up and think Shoah. It feels wrong.

Yesterday a new student joined my class.

I asked him, as two frum men might, "Where do you daven?"

He replied: "I daven ביחידות (alone) unless I have to say kaddish."

so I asked him why he davens alone.

His reply: "How can I say the siddur. It is not true. We say ותוליכינו קוממיות לארצינו and שתעלינו בשמחה לארצינו and we are already here! It is like a man whose wife left him, and then she comes back and they renew their relationship, but all he can say to her is :"Please come back! I love you.. please return to me!" I cannot  say those words to God. It is so false, so ungrateful. So I say my own prayers."

I must admit, this thought crosses my mind frequently on chag, on the Yamim Noraim, every day. So much of our prayer seems כפוי טובה ungrateful for the divine blessings that God has showered upon our generation. The blessings of freedom, of safety, of independence, of Jewish pride, of Eretz Yisrael, of Kibbuts Galuyot. How do I request הַרְאֵנוּ אות לְטובָה when there are plentiful signs?

How do I get up on a Monday and Thursday and say the same Tachanun that was recited in the shtetl in 1882 or in 1942, bemoaning the disgrace and humiliation of the Jewish people, when we are possibly the proudest generation in 2000 years?

A friend of mine adjusts benching, saying: ותוליכינו קוממיות בארצינו and not לארצינו because, after all, we ARE here!

So, I discussed this sentiment with my son. He responded that this is a shallow approach: "Even if we are in the midst of a positive process, we are merely at the inception of the "tikkun" we need to perform religiously, in terms of Jewish unity etc. We are nowhere near!"

He is correct. We have far to go on every scale. As a nation, we are deeply divided. We certainly fall short of our collective ethical and religious aspirations (as articulated by our prophetic heritage). We have much to do until we become the אור לגויים that we need to be. The majority of the Jewish people is not in Eretz Yisrael and overseas, assimilation is rampant. Regionally, Israel is distant from the Peace for which we hope and pray.

And still, how can we utter lies in Tefilla?

How dare we not recognize the critical shift in the global status of Jewry in an era of the State of Israel, when Jews around the world live in freedom and respect?

In the meantime, there are moments in which I am left with a huge dissonance between my prayerbook and myself. There are moments when Tachanun is in stark focus like today, Yom Hashoah. There are days when it is terribly dislocated.

So, I thought, maybe the only solution is for me, personally to be more dynamic, more pliable, more engaged and active in my prayer experience. To rely on my emotions more and the siddur less. To include certain things and to omit others, not permanently, but on an ad-hoc basis.

Or maybe, every tefilla any day, has a major note and a minor note. The question is not with the prayerbook but with me! How do I bring MYSELF to prayer

And so, I spent the morning mulling this and writing the first part of this post, feeling that the siddur was quite inadequate.

But then, I went to daven Mincha.

And somehow, probably because of the thinking I had done in the morning, I resolved to make it a "Yom Hashoah" mincha, to pour in special content, to really connect.

Surprisingly, Mincha was "real". I was able to genuinely talk to God.

And so, I am sharing some of my thoughts/kavanot (in very telegraphic form) that came to me as I recited the שמונה עשרה:

ראה בענינו - God see the suffering of your people, see the bitter suffering of the Holocaust, the crematoria, the gas chambers, the cattle trucks, the starvation, the death marches, the intimidation, the cruelty and torture ... The indescribable horrors .... and גאלינו make sure this never happens again! redeem us ... for ever!

רפאינו - Heal the survivors. Heal the children of survivors. Heal our nation. Close our divisions. As nature closes a wound, and broken  flesh heals and becomes one again. God, give us unity.

ברך עלינו bless this year. No war. No terror, no Gaza. Bless us. ואת כל מיני תבואתה - Just 70 years ago people foraged for food and could not find it. People died of starvation. Look at the plenty we have to day! We are so blessed! 

תקע בשופר גדול ... לקבץ גלויותינו   - A mere 70 years ago, Jews wandered the globe, homeless, with no place to take them in. Now we have a home. Jews have returned to Israel - over 6 million of us. How would we have managed without Israel after the Holocaust? How would world Jewry have raised its head of not for the pride of the State of Israel? There is more to do! Bring world Jewry home to Israel. Let us build our Jewish state together.

השיבה שופטינו - the force of Law. The Nazi regime began by destroying law, making evil, racist laws. But we must create a society of lawfulness. A law that stems violence and harm, punishing the guilty and guarding the innocent, a law that protects the weak, that ensures equality, that excoriates racism and discrimination, that protects free speech, that protects religion, that ensures our morality. And we must protect our judges and the importance of law  אלמלא מוראו איש את ראהו חיים בלעו

בא"ה מלך אוהב צדקה ומשפט - How did You - השופט כל הארץ allow such evil, injustice, barbarity? Hashem. Please reinstate your status as מלך אוהב צדקה ומשפט.

ולמלשינים - In the Shoah, people who were informants led to the death of so many. Oh! the power of language to kill! And now, today, hate-speech abounds, evil talk, evil intent. Betrayal, antisemitism. God! Please fight that hate! Uproot and destroy it מהרה תעקר ותמגר ותכניע במהרה בימינו.

על הצדיקים ועל החסידים - The saints: the mothers who went to their deaths comforting their children, the rabbis who led their faithful despite the hardships, the people who prayed daily in the Camps and Ghettos, the people who kept human dignity, who shared their food, who risked their lives. What faith they showed! What love of God and Man despite the depravity all around.. ותן שכר טוב לכל הבוטחים בשמך באמת ושים חלקינו עמהם - these are the holiest of the holy. And those who lost faith. That was also אמת They could not lie about God after what their eyes had witnessed.

ולירושלים עירך - One walks out of Yad Vashem into bustling Jerusalem! Who would imagined that איכה ישבה בדד is now העיר רבתי עם - Amazing! The phoenix from the ashes. ובנה אותה בקרוב...בנין עולם ... we have further to go. We are just beginning.

את צמח דוד - God. we thank you for Jewish government, for independence. For the pride of having a nation State. So critical after the Shoah. As Ruby Rivlin said last night; Israel will never leave Jews abandoned. דם יהודי אינו הפקר

שמע קולינו ... self explanatory

רצה ה' אלוקינו את עמך ישראל - God! Please love your people Israel. Please never reject us the way you did between 1939 and 1945. ותפילתם - All those prayers and tears that were offered during those years by faithful devout Jews. Where did they go? תָּשִׂים דִּמְעוֹתֵינוּ בְּנֹאדְךָ לִהְיוֹת. וְתַצִּילֵנוּ מִכָּל גְּזֵרוֹת אַכְזָרִיּוֹת.

 מודים אנחנו לך - we have so much to be thankful for. For our families, our wives and children, our parents, peace and prosperity .... (and please ...keep going... count your blessings!) ועל כולם יתברך ויתרומם

שים שלום - Amen!!

עלינו ועל כל ישראל עמך

ברכינו אבינו באור פניך

Yes!

And so ... as the afternoon progresses, tefilla comes into focus. The prayerbook regains relevance. In fact, it seems perfectly tuned to the spirit of the day!

Sometimes prayer comes to us. At others we have to create the prayer.

Re-discovering the Kotel - A Magical Night at the Wall

Last night was the first time I have been to the Kotel in almost a year. I admit this with a real sense of guilt. I have always been committed to visiting the Kotel at least for each of the שלש רגלים in fulfilment of the Torah’s prescription:

"שלוש פעמים בשנה יראה כל זכורך את פני האדון ה' אלקי ישראל"

However, in recent years my regular chol hamoed visits have become increasingly unpleasant. The throngs that flock to Jerusalem over Chag have been (Barukh Hashem) so overwhelming that one year, we experienced a policeman directing the pedestrian traffic through the Rova. The parking has been impossible, and so what might have been a somewhat short visit to daven has become a hot, tiring, crowded trek for the entire family. In addition the pilgrimage has lacked a particularly spiritual component, as with the Kotel so full, it is difficult to concentrate or focus, and one is concerned to lose one of the kids. So, last chol hamoed, for the first time in about 20 years, I just didn’t go.

Well – after my highly positive experience at the Kotel last night, I have a new plan.

I went there to give a shiur to my Talmidim. Yeshivat Eretz Hatzvi was holding its end-of-winter-zman “Mishmar” - learning all night with Vatikin at dawn – by the Wall.  I arrived at the Old City at 12:30 and headed to the Wall.   

As I emerged from the car, the air was fresh, the streets were quiet, serene, calm. Whenever one goes to the Kotel one anticipates an experience of “Klal Yisrael” – an encounter with a mix of  Jews that communicates a deep feeling that beyond our diversity and difference, that there is a fundamental unity of all Jews. This was my mindset as I made my way from Sha’ar HaAshpot towards the security checkpoint. It didn't take long to engage with that diversity. Far ahead were 3 Yeshiva Students. About twenty yards behind me were 4 people –  two couples – smiling, jovially teasing one another. They were secular; the women in jeans, the men bare-headed. But they too were making their way to the Wall. Alongside me, an elegantly dressed young lady wearing leggings, carrying a designer handbag walked with a sense of purpose. Who was this woman, I wondered? I was trying to define her, to label her into one of the classic categories, the “tribes” in which we live. As she approached the washbasin, she washed her hands with the washing cup – 3 times alternately. By the way she washed her hand, it was evident that she was accustomed to this ritual. Was she religious? Secular? Newly religious? Once religious? - Who knows? Did she come here regularly? Was she here to pray for someone sick? ... it really didn’t matter. I proceeded, enjoying the fact that we were all here, together; lots of different stereotypes. Tonight, it felt like we all belonged here, in all our difference.  

The Kotel was calm, beautiful and reverent. Even the people calling us for a minyan – “Arvit; Arvit!” - made their announcement in soft tones. The Hazzan who lead my minyan – a red-head Hassidic man – davened with expressive kavvana. A simple, daily Ma'ariv, became elevated. Somehow, whenever I am at the Kotel, I sense that I have a special opportunity to stand at the “Gate of Heaven” and to really speak to God. I tried to inject my tefilla with special meaning, to genuinely connect with God. At this late hour, there was no rushing, no pushing; the minyan took its time.

And then, giving shiur. The Yeshiva were congregated there, all sitting at shtenders in the inner area, under Wilson’s Arch, some in havrutot, some learning alone. One or two boys had fallen asleep. I gave shiur to 25 guys, all huddled together, and I tried to communicate to them a sense of our special historic privilege. I told the boys: “Look where we are! Some 2 thousand years ago, our forefathers walked across the bridge above our heads leading the lambs into the Temple, to bring the Korban Pesach! Jews yearned for thousands of years to stand at this very spot. We may not have a Beit Hamikdash, but the Shekhina never leaves this site. We can still fulfill our obligation (Shemot 23:17) to “present ourselves” before God’s presence.” My shiur was Pesach oriented – Redemption, Eliyahu Hanavi, and other related themes. 1 a.m. and I was inspired by the fire of Eliyahu Hanavi, and the interest of my students.

I emerged from the tunnel area after bidding my students a good night of learning. I had work the next day and couldn’t manage without a few hours sleep. The entire prayer area was virtually empty. The larger plaza was also deserted. But then I saw them -  a  Chattan and Kalla, a bride and groom - deep in prayer, standing right at the front of the Kotel plaza. It was 2am. Here was a young Haredi couple who had come to the Kotel straight from their wedding! What was beautiful about this scene was that they were all alone! It looked strange; one does not generally see a man and woman praying alongside one another at the Kotel. But of course, this couple who had married some hours earlier didn’t want to separate from one another. They didn’t go down to the prayer area, but instead, stood together, in perfect harmony, swaying together, praying together. What were they  davening for? For the future of their lives together? Were they praying for the sick and needy of Israel, having absorbed the tradition that a Chattan and Kalla on their wedding day have a special spiritual power to pray for others? It was a beautiful scene. Although they were distant from me and oblivious to my presence in this most public place, I almost felt like I was intruding on their intimate, special moment. I marvelled at this young couple who felt a need to bring God so palpably into their relationship and personal joy.

So, I thought to myself, I have now discovered that this is the time of day to come to the Kotel. I think I am going to try to visit regularly now, late at night, at this magical hour when all is calm, when one can daven without interruption, when the Kotel returns to being enchanting, spiritual, inspirational. It is wonderful to have re-discovered my path back to the Kotel.

Chag Kasher Vesameach!

Prayer for Tzahal

If you visit this blog, please say this prayer for our soldiers in Gaza:

מִי שֶׁבֵּרַךְ אֲבותֵינוּ אַבְרָהָם יִצְחָק וְיַעֲקב הוּא יְבָרֵךְ אֶת חַיָּלֵי צְבָא הֲגַנָּה לְיִשְׂרָאֵל, הָעומְדִים עַל מִשְׁמַר אַרְצֵנוּ וְעָרֵי אֱלהֵינוּ מִגְּבוּל הַלְּבָנון וְעַד מִדְבַּר מִצְרַיִם וּמִן הַיָּם הַגָּדול עַד לְבוא הָעֲרָבָה בַּיַּבָּשָׁה בָּאֲוִיר וּבַיָּם. יִתֵּן ה' אֶת אויְבֵינוּ הַקָּמִים עָלֵינוּ נִגָּפִים לִפְנֵיהֶם. הַקָּדושׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא יִשְׁמר וְיַצִּיל אֶת חַיָלֵינוּ מִכָּל צָרָה וְצוּקָה וּמִכָּל נֶגַע וּמַחְלָה וְיִשְׁלַח בְּרָכָה וְהַצְלָחָה בְּכָל מַעֲשֵׂה יְדֵיהֶם. יַדְבֵּר שׂונְאֵינוּ תַּחְתֵּיהֶם וִיעַטְרֵם בְּכֶתֶר יְשׁוּעָה וּבְעֲטֶרֶת נִצָּחון. וִיקֻיַּם בָּהֶם הַכָּתוּב: כִּי ה' אֱלהֵיכֶם הַהלֵךְ עִמָּכֶם לְהִלָּחֵם לָכֶם עִם איבֵיכֶם לְהושִׁיעַ אֶתְכֶם: וְנאמַר אָמֵן:

See also my post from the Lebanon War here.

Running on Faith (The Treadmill Prayer)!

This, by Yedidya Meir in Haaretz is a lovely satirical piece about Tefilla, and beyond the satire, has much depth and truth. I have been teaching Prayer in my Jewish Philosophy class at Eretz Hatzvi. So I think I will be giving it to my Talmidim to read and comment upon this Tuesday. Enjoy and Shavua Tov!!


Run for your life
By Yedidya Meir

One of the remarks a religiously observant person hears most in his life is "Let me tell you what bugs me most about religion ..." Usually the speaker begins by praising Judaism and its ways: "Listen, Judaism has really beautiful things to offer. The shiva [week-long mourning period], for example, is utterly enthralling." Then comes the bit that irritates them. For example, this unnecessary prohibition on traveling on Shabbat. Why? Who needs it? Or all this gobbledygook about "fruits of the sea." A complete nonstarter.

I have a great many responses, believe me, but sometimes I too get the urge to say what bugs me most about religion. It happens almost every day. You are standing and reciting a prayer that is important to you, that speaks to you and which you had planned to recite with total intentionality - and suddenly it's over. You felt nothing. That is, you were definitely concentrating, but on completely different things: the kids, the bank account, why there is still no replacement for the Channel 2 news anchor.

A brief explanation is in order for those readers who by chance do not pray. In contrast to the Sukkot lulav (palm branch), the Shabbat candles or the tefillin (phylacteries), prayer itself is a non-physical commandment. It is difficult and challenging spiritual work. For the greatest rabbis and for righteous people, those for whom prayer is a way of life, it may be easy, but for a rank-and-file Jew, it is very hard to recharge the prayer with new meaning each time. But that is exactly what the person is required to do. Someone once wrote that good prayer should be like a train journey: the landscape doesn't change, yet at every moment you see it from a different vantage point. So it is in prayer: The text is the same text, but a person journeys all his life, he does not stand in one place, and on each occasion he is meant to experience the prayer from the inner point he has reached.

That's the theory; now for the reality. I come to the synagogue on Shabbat morning, recite "Nishmat kol hai" ("The breath of every living being") - one of the most meaningful prayers - but feel nothing. And then, on Monday evening, while on the treadmill at home, clad in shorts and an undershirt, at the third kilometer, I hear via the iPod the song "Nishmat kol hai" - the same words - sung by Shlomo Carlebach, and am suddenly seized by tremendous excitement and potent intentionality: "The breath of every living being shall bless thy name, O Lord our God, and the spirit of all flesh shall ever glorify and extol thee, O our King. From everlasting to everlasting thou art God. But for thee we have no King, Deliverer and Savior to rescue, redeem and give sustenance and to show mercy in all times of trouble and distress; yea, we have no Sovereign but thee".

And the Jew goes nuts. Why? Because on Shabbat, when this prayer is part of the service, I wanted it so much, I absolutely craved it, but it just didn't happen. And now, of all times, on a treadmill in shorts - suddenly it comes? That, people, is the most annoying thing about religion.

According to a sample poll I conducted, I am not alone. Other observant Jews also find it easier to connect with God while cooking, driving, shopping, even while doing the dishes, with Jewish music in the background. For just that reason I recently decided to change my approach: When the Shabbat morning prayer arrives as you're running on the treadmill Monday evening, just to flow with it. If not on Shabbat, let it at least be on Monday. Athletic prayer is fine, too.

And then, after the song ends, after the thrill of the words "Therefore, the limbs which thou has fashioned for us, and the soul which thou hast breathed into us, and the tongue which thou hast set in our mouth, lo, they shall thank, bless, exalt and revere thee. They shall proclaim thy sovereignty, O our King" - I wipe off the sweat with a towel, tuck the undershirt into the shorts - for dignity's sake - and say in my heart:

"May it be thy will that this treadmill be as important to thee as though it were my seat in the synagogue, and this iPod as though it were a prayer book, and this towel that is wrapped around my neck as though it were a tallit, and may the thrill I felt in this song be as important to thee as though it were a prayer at its time and its place."

And then I go on running.

Parashat VaEtchanan - Shema Yisrael

This week's parsha contains the opening paragraph of the Shema.
Here is a question. One is supposed to have Kavannah - focused and directed thought - when one recites the Shema.

So, what do YOU think about when YOU say the Shema?
When was the last time you pondered that one?

Here is my shiur on the topic.

Nahem: Should Our Prayers Match Reality?

Every year, as we finish Mincha of Tisha BeAv here in Alon Shevut, the same conversation takes place in various corners of the shul. The conversation is about the appropriate text of Nahem. This year, Rav Medan and Rav Yoel bin Nun were debating at the front, there were a few discussions off to the side.

What is the issues? (Hirhurim posted on this here and here.)

In short, the problem is that in today's reality, the prayer is untrue! It talks of Jerusalem as a city which is in a state of "mourning, destruction, disgrace, and desolation: mourning for the loss of her children; destroyed of its palaces; disgraced of its honour, and desolate with out inhabitants." ( I will not even enter into the end of the prayer that sides with Rashi that the future Temple will be built in fire whatever that means.)

Here two issues may be raised.
1. Jerusalem has more Jews today than ever before. This is simply a lie.
2. With our Zionist sensibilities, we do not feel that Jerusalem is in disgrace. How do we deal with this?

As regards (1.) Rav Lichtenstein related to this and said that he cannot lie in Tefilla. If I recall correctly, he simply omits the phrases מבלי בניה and מאין יושב and indeed this has been my adjustment ever since. This assumes that with the absence of Jewish Law and a God designated government, with Har Habayit still in foreign hands, and in that sense a total disgrace and lack of honour to God's name, the phrases of בזויה, שוממה, חרבה, אבלה can all relate to that, but as regards the return of Am Yisrael, that should be omitted from the prayer.

But as regards point (2.) I do not agree. I recall some years ago that I spent some time with a very impressive frum Israeli academic. He was (and is) for me a true model of Torah Umadda, a person of impeccable integrity, love of Am Yisrael, work-ethic, spirituality, humanity etc. He belonged to a group of people who, in the wake of the Six Day War, stopped fasting on 17 Tammuz. After all, 17 Tammuz commemorates the loss of the city. Now, we had the city in our hands. Of course, this group continued to observe the 9 days and Tisha BeAv as they relate to the loss of the Mikdash.

I was quite taken by the argument and began to become increasingly sensitive to the dissonance between our prayers and our current reality. sometimes the disparity is quite startling, and we daven as if we were still incarcerated in the doldrums of Christian Europe. At times our prayers seem simply a rejection of God's kindness , a failure to acknowledge the miracles (of ingathering, of Kibbutz Galuyot..restoration to our land, of Jewish safety and dignity, of Jewish governance) that God has performed in our own days. I couldn't take things as far as annulling a Taanit Tzibbur. But I decided to take matters into my own hands, and to "adjust" or omit certain phrases in the Monday and Thursday Tachanun. Phrases such as :
ישב נא אפך וחמתך מעירך ירושלים הר קדשך ... ירושלים וחרפה לכל סביבותנו
or how about this line?
פקח עיניך וראה שממותנו והעיר אשר נקרא שמך עליה
and I said to myself... Jerusalem has never seen such honour for the Jewish people! In 2000 years we haven't had the zechut to be here. Now God brings us back and we still recite these lines? And I put pencil lines around these phrases and stopped saying them.

And then, the Oslo accords began, and people began to discuss giving up on the Old City, and Har Habayit, and suddenly Jerusalem seemed far less secure. Incredibly, the Jerusalem which had seemed so rock steady appeared far more fragile and vulnerable. I decided that maybe I should have more modesty and that our tefillot should reflect the fact that we are existing somewhere on that line BETWEEN Galut and Geula, however, until that Geula arrives, it is an open game. (And maybe afterwards too. Who knows?)

And so, when I think of Jerusalem as a city in disgrace I do think about Har Habayit and the fact that we do not have a Mikdash, but I also think about the other ways in which Jerusalem falls short of our Religious standards, whether it is corruption and scandal, or the way in which foreign workers live in sub-standard conditions, or people who are not given their rights, or simply the embarrassment of the way our government works at times, or all different public demonstrations - from Left and Right - that seem to undermine the notion of what Jerusalem and Judaism stand for. And hovering over Jerusalem all the time is that it is ours, but it always feels like there is an axe in the air threatening to divide the city. sometimes, I feel like we are on borrowed time.

These , of course are my thoughts on 9 Av. The more optimistic and hopeful sentiments are reserved for Yom Yerushalayim and Yom Haatzmaut!

Chol Hamoed Pesach 1945

This is a sad story. Maybe it is inappropriate for Chol Hamoed and simchat Yom Tov. However it is also inspirational as it tells the tale of incredible devotion to Judaism in the face of unbelievable suffering and adversity. This is the Chag of Avdut to Herut (See my next post!) and in that sense, this piece may be read as suffused with the spirit of Pesach... as you will read. I cannot ever daven Mussaf on Chol Hamoed Pesach without thinking about Mr. Finkelstein and Vehikravtem. Maybe this story will give us extra impetus to recite Hallel with full fervour, thanking God for giving us freedom and safety in our day and age.

The piece comes from (Prof. Rabbi) David Weiss-Halivni's autobiography, as he describes life in the Nazi work/concentration camps. He was fifteen years old and working in a very long tunnel with German guard at the entrance and this is what he retells:

"I passed by the Todt (German Guard) as he was eating his scheduled snack, his meal between meals. In characteristic German style, he ate at the same time every night and, what's more, he ate the same thing every night: a thinly sliced sandwich containing some greasy substance that stained the wrapping paper and made it transparent. He and his eating habits became as much a feature of the tunnel as the chila (wagons) and carrying the drills.

This time, however, our meeting was different. His sandwich was wrapped in a page of Orach Chaim, a volume of the Shulchan Aruch, Pesil Balaban's edition. The Balabans began publishing the Shulchan Aruch, the Jewish Code of Law, in Lemberg in 1839. The first publisher was Abraham Balaban, and after his death he was succeeded by his widow, Pesil. Pesil's edition of the Shulchan Aruch was the best; it had all the commentaries, including that of Rabbi Shloma Kluger. As a child of a poor but scholarly home, I had always wanted to have her edition. We had a Shulchan Aruch, but it wasn't Pesil's. Ours was also old and torn. It was my ambition as a child to own a Vi/ner Shas (a complete set of all the Talmud's volumes), Pesil's Shulchan Aruch, and a set of "Rambams," a complete set of Maimonides' major legal writings. Here, of all places, in the shadows of the tunnel, under the threatening gaze of the German, a page of the Shulchan Aruch, with fatty spots all over it, met my eyes.

The page was from the laws of Passover (Orach Chaim 434). The question on the page deals with whether an agent can nullify the leavened bread of a household before Passover, which is the subject of a disagreement. On the one hand, why not? After all, isn't there a general rule: "A man's agent is like unto himself" - everything we can do a proxy can do for us? However, the Ran-a fourteenth-century scholar-argues that since bittul (the annulment) is a result of hefker (abandonment), the nullifying is considered a kind of disowning or dissolving of ownership, which cannot be done through an agent.

Upon seeing this wrapper, I instinctively fell at the feet of the guard, without even realizing why; the mere letters propelled me. With tears in my eyes, I implored him to give me this bletl, this page. For a while he didn't know what was happening; he thought I was suffering from epilepsy. He immediately put his hand to his revolver, the usual reaction to an unknown situation. But then he understood. This was, I explained to him, a page from a book I had studied at home. Please, I sobbed, give it to me as a souvenir. He gave me the bletl and I took it back to the camp. On the Sundays we had off, we now had not only Oral Torah but Written Torah as well. The bletl became a visible symbol of a connection between the camp and the activities of Jews throughout history. It was not important what the topic was, whether agency or any other. Perhaps it was symbolic; who knows what mission we were supposed to fulfill there? The bletl became a rallying point. We looked forward to studying it whenever we had free time, more so even than to the phylacteries. It was the bletl, parts of which had to be deciphered because the grease made some letters illegible, that summoned our attention. Most of those who came to listen didn't understand the subject matter, but that was irrelevant. They all perceived the symbolic significance of the bletl.

The bletl was entrusted to a Mr. Finkelstein-I believe his name was Moshe, from Mateszalka, a town in Hungary where my father had been in the ghetto. Mr. Finkelstein was "a Jew who always prayed"; his lips always moved. I have a feeling that he wasn't sure after reciting his prayers once if he had recited them correctly. Or maybe he recited them once in the Ashkenazic pronunciation and once in the Sephardic. Having the bletl around in the camp was dangerous. Someone caught with it would be considered to be carrying contraband. Mr. Finkelstein volunteered to keep the bletl and, of course, produced it every second Sunday, when we were off. He must have carried it on his person; I'm sure he slept with it. The bletl was always with him and secure. Knowing that the bletl was with Mr. Finkelstein, we felt secure as well.

ALL THIS continued until February 1945, when we were transferred to Ebensee, part of the Mauthausen complex in Upper Austria… Ebensee was the worst extermination camp anywhere in Germany or Austria… The daily toll of dead, I believe, sometimes reached as high as eighty in our block alone. I DIDN'T see Mr. Moshe Finkelstein in Ebensee, even though he was also there. I must confess that the bletl was not on my mind. The sheer need to survive under constant torture drove out any other interests. In Ebensee we didn't have second Sundays off; there was no possibility of learning. The episode of the bletl was blocked out of my memory. As the Talmud says, "Subsequent troubles cause the earlier ones to be forgotten." And troubles there were. Ebensee appeared like a bottomless inferno devouring all who entered it.

One day, while I was mixing cement in the big amphitheater-a kind of working plaza where chilas of all sizes and from all directions raced at me, this time to pick up cement-I spotted Mr. Finkelstein. He saw me as well. We tried to make contact, but it wasn't easy. We had to pass in front of kapos, each of whom had his own turf, which he guarded jealously against intruders. Finally, we made contact. He asked me whether I knew the prayer "vehikravtem" by heart. It was Passover, 1945. It was the first day of Chol Hamoed, the intermediate days of Passover, and he wanted to know the exact formulation of the sacrifices performed in the Temple service of old and recited in the Musaf prayer. Sacrifice was on Mr. Finkelstein's mind. How appropriate! He himself was a sacrifice; so were we all, lambs waiting for the slaughter. I told him the formulation and asked him about the bletl. He tapped his hip, and that was enough of a sign that, despite the horrible conditions, which killed perhaps as many as ninety percent of us, the bletl was safe and secure. We parted with a "gut yam tov" greeting.

Subsequently I heard from the Betlamer Rav that soon after we parted, Mr. Finkelstein collapsed. Before there was time to remove the bletl from his body, he was taken away to the crematorium. When Mr. Finkelstein's body went up in smoke, the bletl went with him."

"The Book and the Sword" - A Life of learning in the Shadow of Destruction.
by David Weiss Halivni
pgs 68-72