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Menorahs Through History
By Dovid Gal
The Rintel Menorah of Amsterdam
R' Sender from the Warsaw ghetto; the first Jewish soldier in Washington's army' the old-timer who suffered through the bitter Communist exile, the politrok from the Stalin era; the wonderful miracle that happened somewhere in Poland. All of these have one common denominator: the Chanukah lights which burn their way through to a person's core.
Menorahs are known to have unique properties: they have the power of rousing hearts, of igniting the spark of faith, of beaming into them the light of Yiddishkeit. This is a historical voyage of menorahs that illuminated hearts that were distant and revealed the hidden spark, the pintele Yid of every Jewish heart.
Part 2
For Part I of this series click here.
The Heart That Broke by the Candlelight
(Stalinist Russia)
This story was written with the pen of the one who experienced it.
It had been a grey and dreary day, eroded by the monotony of melancholy. Now it was slowly fading into the blackness of twilight. Gloom descended thickly like a suffocating curtain over the houses and streets. It was a hopeless night, void of festivity, spiritual elevation, or of any trace of the joy of bygone days. The future seemed to have been locked up behind bleak, black, frozen horizons. The cold bit deep, deep into one's marrow and past the bones, sinking its teeth into the heart. It was my first Soviet winter in the Kovne that had once been so vibrantly Jewish.
Pale like the moon, half winking, half flickering, a few lights glowed feebly here and there. Heavy shadows like ghostly doubts leaped crazily on the white carpets of snow, intensifying the fearsomeness of the eerie scene. The town square was deserted, but the voice of a radio announcer could be heard hollowly broadcasting the latest news, quoting numbers and statistics, enthusiastically spouting percentages and figures. The candle flames trembled, as if from fear, but valiantly showed their little lights through the convex windows of the synagogue.
*
We two strode silently through the streets, side by side. Passersby would cross our paths from time to time with muted looks and dumb expressions, their thoughts turned inward. We had only met a few moments earlier and now studied one another curiously.
"Where are you from, Comrade?" he asked me.
"From here. I'm a local citizen."
"What do you do?"
"I'm a student. I am studying liberal arts."
"You look to me like a Jew. Am I correct?"
"Yes, you are. I am a Jew."
"And do you speak Yiddish?"
"Of course."
"Nu, so how are Jews making out, here?"
"Anti-Semitism has been quite bad lately. Hitler's influence is being felt more and more throughout the land. Lately, before you came, they even went as far as to physically attack Jews in the streets."
"We didn't have anything of the sort by us. Everyone — Russians, Jews, Ukrainians — are equal in the eyes of the law. Anti-Semitism is absolutely forbidden. Woe to the one who dares call a Jew a dirty name."
My companion retreated into a shell of his own thoughts and stopped talking. He would not look at me as he had before, but glued his eyes to the ground. I couldn't understand why. We continued walking, drawing closer to our destination. When we approached the top of the road, he turned to me suddenly and said:
"I hope that you know what this mission is all about."
"Yes, of course!" I replied.
Our mission was to pass from house to house and to explain to the proletariat population what "Stalin's Constitution" was all about. It was our duty to make people understand that ours was the most democratic form of government in the world, and that Stalin, father of all peoples, had formulated its text all by himself. This doctrine was the only one in the world which guaranteed the freedom of man and freedom of expression whereas in capitalist countries, government was a mere pretense which enslaved a person totally. Here, in Russia, like in Donievksy's poem, "I don't know of another land where a man can breathe so free..."
We were not alone in our mission. "The appropriate bodies" had imposed this propaganda campaign of explaining Stalin's doctrine upon dozens of pairs of members of the Red Army and upon students who worked "voluntarily" as part of their "public service." My partner was a captain in the army who served as a politrok (political advisor), a post which only the most capable were honored with.
*
My partner and I were assigned the neighborhood called Proletari, which was populated mainly by Jews. We stood in front of the first house on the Green Mountain and knocked on the door. We were greeted by the frightened stare of a nervous housewife who seemed unduly preoccupied. A glance at the captain's uniform threw her momentarily off balance but she rallied and said, "Please, won't you step in?"
"Good evening, citizen. Forgive this sudden intrusion, but we have no bad intentions. We only wished to ask you if you knew anything about Stalin's Constitution," the politrok blurted out in a genial manner.
She did not seem to grasp what our visit was about and continued to stand petrified by the doorway, staring at us blankly but fearfully. Her hand flew instinctively to her head, where she tried to set her kerchief to rights. Finally, she closed the door behind us and invited us to sit down.
"Perhaps you would like a cup of tea? Please describe the purpose of your visit. What is it you are trying to explain? Better yet, wait until I fetch my husband. You can clarify to him what Stalin said..."
She suddenly stopped short and a deathly silence descended upon the room. The politrok had been struck speechless, immobile, his gaze transfixed upon one point in space — the center of the table. Neither I nor our hostess knew what had caught his attention.
"Tell me, comrade, explain to me, please, are those candles on the table by any chance Chanukah lights? Do people still celebrate that ancient festival? How beautiful they are! I can still remember them, if only faintly, from my youth. Ah, my Jewish friends, it is Chanukah tonight, isn't it?"
These were the words of my propagandist work-partner. He spoke barely above a whisper, but with intense feeling and warmth. His eyes overflowed with tears and he seemed stunned. He switched to Yiddish, a version atrophied by disuse, but which filled him with serenity and bliss.
"How good it is here, in Lithuania, among Jews! I, too, was once a Jew like you. I can recall my father reciting the blessing over the Chanukah candles and giving out Chanukah gelt to us children. Where have those days gone? Where is my good mother, a typical, true Jewish mother? If you only knew what ten years of life among gentiles does to one... ten years without hearing a single word of Mama-loshon..."
The woman and I both saw how those Chanukah lights had melted the icy heart of the Russian politrok, the Jewish officer.
*
The wind howled outside but we remained where we were, in the warm room. We sat by the table and sipped our steaming tea. Forgotten were the explanations about Stalin's Constitution. At midnight, stuffed with latkes and lore and personal experiences, we shut the door behind us and began walking homeward, the silvery moon lighting our way back from our evening's `propaganda mission.'
The Chanukah Miracle of 5680
Poland, 1920.
It was a difficult year for Polish Jewry. The atmosphere was steeped to the bursting point with envy and hatred. Occasionally, the bottled up volatile spirits would explode into pogroms, and even in the periods of respite, Jews lived in terror of the horrors to come. No one dared step outside their homes, even in broad daylight, without good reason. Absolute curfew was self-imposed by night. With the setting of the sun, all Jews would settle in for the nightly vigil of terror, bolting up windows and doors. On one of these nights, Chanukah was ushered in.
It was the eve of the Bolshevik invasion into Poland. Many tears and prayers were offered up on this night as Jews throughout the land kindled their Chanukah lights. They were well-aware of the danger they were courting by this act. A government decree had imposed a blackout on all houses. This is why the Chanukah candles were being lit inside, behind shutters and curtains.
But not everywhere. One courageous Jew attempted the risk. The mitzva of Chanukah had always been especially dear to him and now, he was willing to endanger himself for it by lighting his menorah as he did each year, on the window sill.
It did not go unnoticed. Polish patrols saw his lights and reported him to headquarters. He was arrested for treason; and accused of signaling to the enemy lines across the river. The Jew was brought before a court martial.
*
It was a dismal, rainy day, but despite the cold, inclement weather, throngs of gentiles had gathered in the public square. All eyes were affixed upon the long table around which sat high ranking officials and assorted army officers. The spectators shoved and jostled one another for a better view and hissed their feelings of derision. Shouts of "Death to the Jewish spy," "Death to all Jewish traitors" reverberated on all sides.
Soldiers and policemen periodically bashed people on the head to maintain some semblance of law and order. Finally, when the crowd had begun to get unruly, they forced a path for the Jewish prisoner who was led through, shackled in irons. His face was calm and peaceful as he walked between his guards, straight to the gallows. None of the abusive shouts were able to dim the sparkle of his noble look. Jewish faces peeped from behind closed shutters all around the city square. What could they do besides offering their silent support and sympathy to a brother who was being led to a martyr's death?
The Jew was brought up to the long table and a tense silence descended upon the crowd. One of the clerks stood up and began reading from a long report stating the charges against the accused. He concluded with, "You have been duly sentenced to death by a firing squad. May G-d have mercy on your soul for your treacherous deed. You have betrayed your country!"
The Jew was led to a blank wall, face front. The crowd shifted impatiently, eager for blood. Church bells clanged loudly and ominously. A row of soldiers lifted their rifles in unison, cocked their triggers and took aim. Breaths were drawn in as the crowd waited for one single word: "Fire!"
*
The silence was broken by pounding hoof beats. The sound advanced rapidly. The high commissioner could be seen waving frantically for the officers to wait.
"Halt! In the name of the government!"
He galloped up breathlessly. A small group of soldiers followed fast behind, guarding two Jews between them. The soldiers lowered their rifles and stood at attention, awaiting further orders.
The high commissioner turned to the two Jews who had been brought as witnesses and asked, "Did you light candles in your window last night?"
"Yes, Your Excellency," they admitted.
"Why?"
"We Jews have an ancient custom of lighting candles each year in this season to commemorate a great miracle that our G-d performed for our ancestors in the Holy Land."
"When in history did these miracles take place?"
"Over two thousand years ago, sir."
"You are mistaken, Jews," said the high commissioner. "The miracle did not happen only then. Another miracle took place only last night! It saved me and you. My men and I were behind the enemy lines, surrounded on all sides in the black of night. It was foreign territory and we had no idea where to turn, where to flee. One false move would deliver us into our enemy's hands. The only thing that saved us was the flickering light we saw from afar. We knew that this came from our side and we followed it all the way to safety."
The Jew was released, thanks to this testimony and much to the disappointment of the bloodthirsty crowd. The entire town celebrated Chanukah with heightened fervor that year and thanked Hashem for the miracle that had occurred in those times in that season.
The Chanukah Rebellion in the Warsaw Ghetto
History has it recorded that the Warsaw ghetto uprising took place on erev Pesach. This is, largely, true, but it was preceded by a smaller, private insurgence that began in the winter, on Chanukah, but in the course of things, became forgotten.
R' Sender, the hero of our tale, lived with his wife in a small room on the third floor on Leshna Street in Warsaw. Poverty was their constant companion and starvation was ever knocking at the door. But the two were steadfast in their trust in Hashem and never thought to complain of their fate. Despite all the hardships of life, R' Sender made every effort to keep the mitzvos to the best of his ability, even during the dangerous period of German occupation.
R' Sender had a special soft spot in his heart for the mitzva of candlelighting. In that almost forgotten world of "before the war," his Shabbos and yom tov table had always glowed with the light of many candles. But where, during wartime, did one come by such a rare commodity? And if he did obtain one or two candles, how would he dare light them in the ghetto?
R' Sender's wife, who knew how dear this matter was to his heart, attempted all kinds of ingenious substitutes and ruses. She would polish her silver candlesticks to a high sheen and would even cover her face as if she were reciting the blessing over candles, like in the good old days. And after whispering a heartfelt prayer, she would look up to her husband and wish him a peaceful "Gut Shabbos." No matter that the table was bare of challos, wine and candles; in their hearts, the candles of faith and hope still burned brightly.
Chanukah approached. R' Sender decided that come what may, this time he would fulfill the mitzva properly. Throughout the entire month, he managed to lay aside minute amounts of oil and candles. And by the time Chanukah arrived, before it grew dark, he had stationed his menorah by the window. Candlelighting time arrived and he took his place before the menorah and ceremoniously recited the blessings, lit the first light and began singing Maoz Tzur.
Enveloped in a cloud of bliss, R' Sender was transported into another world beyond the dingy ghetto. He was able, temporarily, to forget the evil world about him and to let happiness sweep over and through him.
Then disaster struck.
*
Night fell. Darkness enveloped the streets of the ghetto. The local soldiers who patrolled the streets constantly had no difficulty making out the single light. They knew exactly what it was.
The Gestapo were called in. "The Jews are signaling to enemy planes." The S.S. police zoomed in on their motorcycles. Whistles shrieked, alarms clanged and the entire ghetto was on the alert. It was a like a nightmare. The noise sent shivers up the residents' spines and they all went scurrying into their hiding places to prepare for the worst to come. This sudden visit did not forebode any good. Hearts pounded in terror for the anticipated blow to fall.
The somber Gestapo threw a cordon around the house on Lechna Street and stormed up the stairs to the third floor.
With shouts and bludgeons, they burst into R' Sender's little room and found him sitting innocently by his menorah, singing Maoz Tzur, oblivious to all the action taking place.
*
The German soldiers went berserk at the sight of this tableau. They overturned everything, leaving nothing intact. They hurled the menorah to the floor and ordered R' Sender to come with them. This was unnecessary, since they grabbed him as if he were a sack of potatoes and half threw him down the stairs and dragged him to the empty lot outside.
R' Sender straightened himself up and walked with dignity, his lips murmuring, "Avenge the blood of Your servants from the evil nation, for our succor is long in coming and there is no end to the days of wickedness..."
No miracle occurred here. R' Sender's fate was the same as that of his fellow brethren during the times of the despotic Antiochus before the uprising of the Chashmonaim.
But like Antiochus, evil did not prevail. The days of the wicked are numbered and their end is inevitable. And so did the accursed Germans meet their Waterloo.
R' Sender was only one of six million. But he is not forgotten. His act of valor is engraved upon an indelible record before the throne of the A-mighty, a testimony to Jewish bravery.
His blood will not go unavenged. That is Hashem's promise to His people.
And the Chanukah lights continue to shed their glow through the pathways of Jewish history until the coming of Moshiach.
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