In the streets of Koibersdorf, Hungary, marched groups of
soldiers. In a typically fierce demeanor, they stomped,
looking neither to the left nor the right, one line following
the other down the roads of the seemingly deserted town. The
people of Koibersdorf were there, watching behind drawn
curtains, hiding from the cruel invading army. How would
these brutal soldiers treat them? the Hungarians wondered.
The first group came to an abrupt stop in front of the
municipality and the commanding officer stomped into the
building, followed by several aides. They were about to brush
past an old man standing at the entrance of the massive,
impressive edifice but he stepped forward and faced the
commander bravely. Although now in an inferior position of
disadvantage, the mayor stared directly into the eyes of the
German commander and coldly, but politely, formally ushered
the men into his office.
Before taking the proferred seat, the officer barked, "Where
are the Jews of the town?"
"Oh, they're gone by now. I doubt if there is a single one
left," the mayor said.
The answer did not please the German. He persisted, "Well,
they must have had synagogues and other communal buildings,
no? We will be taking them over for our use. We need all the
vacant space we can get for our army."
It was obvious that the mayor was reluctant to provide the
information, by the way he hemmed and hawed. The officer was
growing impatient but felt it better not to antagonize the
elderly mayor right away. He might still need him. "So, you
don't wish to tell?" he asked with a smile that belied the
threat in his tone.
"There is one synagogue, a very old one," the mayor said
slowly. "I still remember when it was built. I was a child at
the time and I watched it being erected. The rabbi, believe
it or not, supervised the construction all the time with care
and devotion, taking measurements and making sure of the
direction of the walls. We gentile children were curious why
this was so important to him and we boldly asked him one
time. `This wall must face the holy city of Jerusalem,' he
murmured to us.
"He didn't explain why and somehow, the building became
shrouded with mystery throughout the years. Everyone, even us
gentiles, consider it very holy. No one dares enter it,
even." The mayor sighed. "I do hope nothing will happen to it
now. I am an old man, but I still feel the same awe and fear
towards it that I did as a child."
*
In the year 5633, R' Avrohom Shaag, rabbi of Koibersdorf,
left the Diaspora to go to Yerusholayim. But he left his
legacy behind in the form of a spiritual protection to the
synagogue he had built. Miraculously, it remained intact,
surviving World War II.
*
A bright sun shone in the skies of Yerusholayim. The
rebbetzin paused in her busy erev Shabbos preparations
to gaze through her window in their small Old City apartment.
The scene below was very peculiar...
From her window, she was able to view the Har Habayis and the
very site where the Beis Hamikdosh had stood many centuries
before. She felt a sharp twinge of pain as she saw the Arab
multitudes pouring out on this Friday, trampling the place so
sacred to her people. She knew that her revered husband, R'
Avrohom Shaag, stood by this window every day and was able to
visualize this site as it had been in the times of its glory,
when the Shechina had resided here.
"How sad!" she thought.
Then, suddenly, she caught a glimpse of a scene of days gone
by, of the aliya leregel. The Beis Hamikdosh stood
erect in magnificent splendor, gleaming in the bright
sunlight. Thousands of pilgrims crowded near the gates,
awaiting their turn to enter and bring their sacrifices.
Inside the courtyard, the kohanim were nimbly doing
their service to the chanting of the leviim.
Then she heard voices far down the road. Soon throngs of
people appeared, carrying baskets full of produce, the first
fruits of the land. There were oxen, also loaded down with
baskets, their horns plated in gold! At each step they took,
sparks of gold scintillated all around. Their singing blended
in with that of the leviim, which was accompanied by
trumpets and flutes.
The crowds waiting at the gates cheered the approaching
pilgrims joyously and soon they were inside the gates. Each
one duly lifted and waved his basket of fruits and recited
the vidui [as it appears in our Haggada], "Arami
oved ovi."
Those magnificent sights passed before her eyes, the very
sights her husband saw daily when he stood by this special
window...
*
Favored disciple of the Chassam Sofer, R' Avrohom Shaag
immigrated at the age of seventy-three, together with his
wife and children, and his esteemed talmid, R' Yosef
Chaim Sonnenfeld and his young wife. His prayers, always
fervent, were much more intense and heartfelt, here, where he
could focus on the very site of the Mikdash. And from his
special window, his mind and his heart were able to actually
visualize the scenes of ancient times!
The scene faded from the rebbetzin's eyes and she sighed from
deep inside her. "Oh, Hashem, rebuild Your Mikdosh, speedily
and in our days!" She yearned to stand there and recapture
the marvelous glimpse into the past, but the present beckoned
to her. The chicken was plucked and koshered, but it had to
be cooked. The fish was ground, but that had to be cooked,
too, and on her crude stove, no more than a large can filled
with burning coals, it would take a long time, to say nothing
of the soot that would cover the bottoms of the pots...
All the while she worked, her mind kept reverting to the
dazzling sunlight and the beautiful sights she had envisioned
earlier in the day and to the sad reality of Arabs trampling
the place. She wished so much to go back to the window and
see it all once more, but knew that this had been a special
glimpse. Who knows if she would ever merit seeing such a
scene again?
Later, in between tasks, she stood once more in front of the
window, but the skies were clouded and grey shadows covered
the area down below; soon they burst and rain poured down in
torrents. "How strange," she thought. "It's the end of the
second Adar and winter has dawned again upon us!" A shiver
ran down her spine as she rushed away to complete her
tasks.
*
R' Avrohom used to welcome the Shabbos Queen with a
minyon of his sons and his disciple, in his own home.
It was warm inside, but cold and raining outside. After the
men departed, the elderly couple sat down to a quiet Shabbos
meal, each thinking about the great privilege afforded them
to live so close to the site of the Mikdosh, a thought that
recurred constantly.
When the kerosene lamp died down, they both retired for the
night, to sleep peacefully...
Or so it seemed. The following morning, the sons and the
talmid came to the house. It was late, and they
knocked gently at first, but the door did not open. They
knocked louder. Time for kriyas shema passed and still
no sign from inside. It was decided that this was an
emergency and the door was broken.
A cloud of smoke burst out the door. The rav and rebbetzin
seemed to be unconscious. Speedily, a doctor was summoned but
the rabbi never recovered.
The people of Yerusholayim mourned the great rabbi, of whom
the Chassam Sofer had said: "Within twenty miles of
Pressburg, there is no one as great a talmid chochom
as he, and in all of Hungary, there is none as great a
tzaddik!"
*
R' Avrohom Shaag had wanted to bring seventy of his disciples
along on aliya, but only brought one, R' Yosef Chaim
Sonnenfeld, who later became chief rabbi of Yerusholayim.
Yerusholayim tradition maintains that during the two years
that R' Avrohom lived in the Holy City, he saw daily through
his window the sights of its olden glory, as he prayed
fervently for its rebuilding.
His fierce love lived on in his disciple, and is remembered
by the people of this Heavenly city, if not directly, then in
the hearts of the many descendants which he left behind, and
in the memory of Jerusalemites for generations to come.
[Ed. I am privileged to be the neighbor of a granddaughter
who lives in Kiryat Mattersdorf, until 120. She told me the
story of how, as a young girl, she went to visit R' Avrohom
Shaag to help in his Shabbos preparations and found him on
hands and knees under the table.
"What's the matter, Zeidy?" she asked in concern. He came up
with a smile on his face and something in his hand: a white
bean which had fallen to the floor as he had been checking it
for the cholent. It lay there gleaming in his hand, a
testimony of his appreciation of the preciousness of every
single thing created by Hashem for the use of man!]
