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Volume 5, Issue 115 December 3rd 2017
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The Shmuz on the Parsha
Rabbi Ben Tzion Shafier
I Never Promised You a Rose Garden Parshas Vayeishev “And they sat to eat bread, and they lifted their eyes and saw a caravan of Yishmaelim coming from Gilad, and their camels were carrying spices, balsam, and birthwort to bring down to Egypt.” — Bereishis 37:25 The most difficult period in Yosef’s life
Yosef was about to begin the most difficult period of his life. His own brothers left him to die in a pit of scorpions. He would soon be sold numerous times as a slave, then he would spend twelve months being hounded by the wife of his master, followed by imprisonment in a dank, dark dungeon where he would not see the light of day for twelve years. Clearly, Yosef was heading for hard times. Rashi tells us that this posuk shows us the great reward that is given to tzaddikim. When Yosef was bound and sold as a slave, the wagon that took him down to Egypt was carrying spices that emitted a fragrant smell, as opposed to the normal
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cargo that gives off an obnoxious odor. Clearly, HASHEM loved the tzaddik and arranged for something out of the ordinary to protect him. The obvious question on this Rashi is that if the Torah wants us to show the reward for tzaddikim, it could have done a much more convincing job by saving Yosef from this entire event. If HASHEM is watching the tzaddikim, then why couldn’t He just save Yosef from all of the suffering that he was about to endure?
A comfortable pillow in the ambulance
This is comparable to a situation in which a man is in a catastrophic car crash that breaks almost every bone in his body. The Hatzalah crew rushes to the scene, puts him on a stretcher, and as they are speeding to the hospital, his friend riding with him says, “Look how HASHEM watches over you. They even put a comfortable pillow under your head.” One would have the right to ask, “If HASHEM is concerned with this person’s well being, then why didn’t He arrange for the drunk driver who hit him to crash into a pole instead of his car? Save him from the ordeal; don’t give his broken neck a comfortable pillow to lie on!”
Some life situations are inevitable
The answer to this question seems to be that there are certain situations in life that
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are unavoidable, not because HASHEM isn’t capable of preventing them, but quite the opposite, because HASHEM orchestrated them according to the needs of that person or that generation. Yosef was to be sold as a slave and in that state, brought to Mitzrayim. As the prelude to his future, the future of his family, and the future of the Jewish nation, this was a vital ingredient. Ultimately, for his destiny and for the good of the Jewish nation, this situation needed to happen. It was part of the master plan. However, even within the difficult times, HASHEM showed loving kindness to Yosef. He had to be sold as a slave, but why should he suffer unnecessarily? The Arabs normally carried petroleum; why should Yosef have to suffer the offensive odor? For that reason, HASHEM arranged something very uncharacteristic: the caravan was carrying perfume and not oil.
All suffering is carefully weighed and measured
There is a great lesson for us to take from this. In life, we will suffer through many situations, trials and tribulations. Not only are they are part of life, they are needed – for us, for our growth so that we can reach the purpose for which we were put on this planet. In that sense, they are inevitable, not because HASHEM is uncaring, but because we need them. They are for our good. In the scheme of life,
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they serve us well, but with them comes some suffering. The amount of suffering that a person experiences on this planet is weighed, measured and administered in exact dosages. The pain is delivered precisely and exactly, not an iota more and not an iota less. We get exactly the measure we need.
a
Great Day starts with a
Many times it is clear to see that HASHEM is bringing pain, preplanned and preordained, right to my doorstep. But it is hard to see that it is for my good and that HASHEM is doing it out of loving kindness.
Seeing the Kindness in the torture
When I discover the kindness within the torture, when I find the “comfortable pillow in the ambulance,” this can change my perspective on the entire situation. It reminds me that HASHEM cares for me and has brought about this event for my good. I may not see it as good, I may not understand how it is for my best, but it is clearly orchestrated by HASHEM. I see that HASHEM has gone out of His way – if it could be – to make part of my situation more comfortable. This shows me the great love that HASHEM has for me. It allows me to know that just as the pillow was planned out of love, so too were the rest of the circumstances. This viewpoint colors the entire situation in a different light, allowing me to understand that it was brought by HASHEM, and despite the pain and suffering, it is something that I need for my good.
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Rabbi Ben Tzion Shafier was a high school rebbe for 15 years before creating Shmuz.com. The Shmuz, a popular website that dispenses weekly Torah inspiration to 10,000 people across the globe, reflects the down-to-earth, practical voice of Rabbi Shafier. Offering refreshing parasha thoughts, life-changing hashkafa workshops, and captivating marriage seminars (like “10 Really Dumb Mistakes that Very Smart Couples Make”), Rabbi Shafier is direct, daring, and downright funny, providing audiences with essential Torah principles packaged in an enticing, enjoyable way. A father of six and grandfather of four, Rabbi Shafier lives in Monsey, New York.
All of the Shmuzin are available free of charge at www. theShmuz.com or on the Shmuz App for iphone or Android.
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Att: Past issues may have inadvertently Sheimos, Please disgard this Magazine accordingly in geniza Thank You.
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The Siege of Leningrad: The Harrowing Story of One Girl’s Survival by Valerie Greenfeld
And her closely-guarded Jewish secret.
I
n 1937, Yevgeniya Buyanova was born into a Jewish family in Minsk, Belarus. Eighty years later, she is one of the few remaining survivors of the Siege of Leningrad. On June 22, 1941, under the codename Operation Barbarossa, the Nazis invaded the Soviet Union without warning. With the aim of conquering territory for natural resources and slave labor, this was the largest German military operation of World War Two.
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Rather than spend troops and artillery to occupy the city, Hitler’s infamous Directive No. 1601 ordered to “starve into submission” the people of Leningrad, saying that “we have no interest in saving lives of the civilian population.” Yevgeniya spoke from her home in metro Washington, DC, summoning with detailed clarity the events of her youth in Leningrad (now St. Petersburg). Speaking mostly in Russian, she recalled the sirens signaling an imminent bombing; the
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explosions shaking her metal bed, causing it to move across the floor; and the harsh, freezing winters when the temperature reached minus-30 degrees Fahrenheit. Indelible memories of the siege are carved into her soul. With pangs of hunger, fear of darkness, and pain of exposure – amidst hundreds of thousands of dead – 5-year-old Yevgeniya never knew life to be different. The food ration was 4 ounces of bread per day, per person – consisting primarily of “replacement”
ingredients such as glue and sawdust. Neighbors stood in line for hours for a sliver of this “bread.” By November 1941, rampant starvation and desperation had swept the city. Distraught parents desperately tried to feed their children – eating wallpaper, leather, plaster, even pets. A full-sized mink coat would be traded for a piece of bread; money was worthless. Society was coming undone, with people on the verge of insanity. Due to the frozen ground, the local Piskaryovskoe Memorial Cemetery was unable to bury the many thousands of dead. As the Nazis continued shelling and bombing, craters formed in the ground which were then improvised as mass graves. To prevent the spread of disease, anonymous bodies collected off the street were placed inside these holes, without markers or prayers.
The story of Yevgeniya Buyanova must not be forgotten – a living history of mankind’s evil quest to destroy, and another of a community’s resolve to survive. Through her childhood memories of struggle, endurance and determination, we can appreciate the strength of survivors who endured the cruelest circumstances and continued to practice kindness and generosity. Yevgeniya wistfully recalls sharing cabbage leaves growing nearby with a friend, and an 8-year-old orphan invited to stay in her kitchen, who years later as a soldier returned to pay his respects. Though little could distract Leningrad’s citizens from the relentless Nazi cruelty, the love of music was a saving grace. Even when the musicians were weak and barely standing, they tried
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Rugged Resilience Yevgeniya remembers going to the market with her mother to trade their possessions for food. As desperation and panic swept the streets, she heard whispered conversations about cannibalism. More common was the act of murder as a way to obtain food ration cards. Most dangerous of all was the wave of children being kidnapped and eaten. One day at the market, Yevgeniya’s older sister Maya noticed that Yevgeniya was distracted, looking at an airplane in the sky. A woman approached Yevgeniya and offered candy, then took her hand and began to walk away. “Maya began screaming frantically and I was saved,” Yevgeniya recalls. Another heartbreaking memory was witnessing a man walking along, then dropping dead in the frozen street. “My mother told me not to be afraid of dead people,” she says, recalling chilled-to-thebone death and destruction. Hitler’s ruthless regime demanded total submission, but the rugged, resilient and tenacious citizens of Leningrad fought back with everything they had. Today the imperial capital of Peter the Great is known as “the city that would not die.”
to boost morale and performed for those worse off. Music allowed them to believe there is still beauty in the world. Most memorable was Dmitri Shostakovich’s Symphony #7, the great heroic symphony entitled “Leningrad.” Finally, on January 27, 1944, German troops were defeated. U.S. President Franklin Roosevelt credited “the sacrifice of Leningrad” for helping to bring about the end of the war. The 872-day siege of Leningrad had become the longest and most destructive siege in history. By the summer 1942, the bombings had damaged or destroyed most of the city. Factories, schools, hospitals and historic landmarks were destroyed by air raids. The siege was also unprecedented in terms of casualties. Before the invasion in 1941, Leningrad’s population was nearly
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3 million; by 1944 only 546,000 remained alive. It seemed that nothing survived but the dirty, cold, tundra – leaving a dark blanket of death and snow.
Unknown Jew Being a Jew in Leningrad was difficult and dangerous. Jewish customs were not
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practiced, and in most cases, not even known. If anyone noticed and reported that Jews were following traditions such as lighting Shabbat candles, they would lose their job – or worse. Many innocent Jews were sent to prison and perished, never to be heard from again. After the war, the Soviet government prosecuted a criminal case against many Jews by fabricating a story that Jewish doctors had planned a conspiracy to kill Stalin, but it was never proven. In an attempt to shield her from antiSemitism, Yevgeniya’s parents didn’t tell her she was Jewish. Then, on May 14, 1948, when David Ben-Gurion proclaimed the Jewish State of Israel, 11-year-old Yevgeniay went off to school – only to be taunted by classmates: “Go to Israel! Go to your Israel!” Yevgeniay did not understand
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the reference to “your” Israel. When she returned home, her parents confirmed that they are indeed Jewish. The living conditions in the city were difficult, with people were literally living on top of one another. “The apartment where we lived was shared with 12 other families,” Yevgeniay explained. Each family had one room, sharing two halfbathrooms and a large kitchen. These conditions were normal and widespread in the city. “There was almost no privacy, but we survived,” she says. “In order to shower, everyone went to the public sauna. One day at a time, each day, we were glad to be alive.” Seeking to leave the horrors behind, the city of Leningrad was rebuilt as St. Petersburg, where elegant museums, cathedrals and palaces now glimmer. But how did the survivors of this dark time find the will to continue living, to rebuild a shattered childhood? “Our friends helped one another. We survived by having compassion,” said Yevgeniya, whose mother saved a neighbor by sharing their bread allotment. “When my sister died, I decided that I must live for her. When you are on the verge of extermination, wealth is nothing compared with life and love.” During the war, Yevgeniya’s father was wounded and he died in 1954 at the age of 45. Yevgeniya and her mother continued living in St. Petersburg, managing some happy times. Yevgeniya married in St. Petersburg and had a son, Viktor. She remained very close with her mother until her passing in 1981. In 1985, Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev brought government reform, removing obstacles for citizens who wanted to leave the country. Together, the small Jewish family immigrated to the United States, where they live today in metropolitan Washington, D.C. For Yevgeniaya, these memories are etched inside her soul, on the lines on her face, and in the shaky voice with which she speaks. Yevgeniya’s memory of hunger still burns strong today, when she watches with scorn at all the wasted food that could have saved lives in those days. Anyone who witnessed the atrocities in the hell of Leningrad can never be the same. But Yevgeniaya endured. “Life is fragile. All my life I tried to do good things, because I remember who I left behind. The memory of the fallen kept me alive.”
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Little Known Jewish Inventions by Marnie Winston-Macauley
From the flashlight to the flexistraw, these Jewish inventions make life a little better.
M
ost MOTS know We Jews are an inventive, innovative group that can lay claim to lifesaving, world-changing achievements in the arts, technology, medicine, space, literature, film … and language, of course. What other tiny group can kvell our “nobility” when it comes to winning the Nobel Prize alone? (Despite comprising only 0.25% of the world pop. 23% of all winners since 1901, or about 180 Jews have been so honored.) Names such as Albert Einstein, Jonas Salk, Freud, Paul Ehrlich, Levi Strauss, Rosalyn Sussman Yalow are a tiny sampling of our group who made history, were honored, and whose contributions are taught in history classes. As we know, Jews are also the brainkinder behind: the Cardiac Pacemaker, The Polio Vaccine, Chemotherapy, the Kidney Dialysis machine, cellular technology, the Microchip, Laser, and yes, even Google among many other vital inventions. But what about Akiba Horowitz, Sylvan Goldman, and Maurice Levy, among hundreds of others? Who are they you ask? No they aren’t shul presidents? They were Jewish brilliant inventors who
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fooled around with everyday stuff that we can’t be without. Are there statues to them? Buildings named for them? But while some were patented, honored, and made massive gelt by creating household gems, today, they aren’t household names. Time to correct that.
FROM OUT OF THE DARK. THE FLASHLIGHT: CONRAD HUBERT (1855-1928) The son of Russian-Jewish wine distillers, (born Akiba Horowitz, 1855– 1928) he arrived in New York in 1891. As a youngster he attended Hebrew school, then became a partner in his dad’s business. Deciding to come to America, he passed through Ellis Island in 1891 and tried his hand at several enterprises. In the 1890s, one major interest was the development of what we know today as the flashlight (patent (No. 617,592). He turned his American Electrical Novelty and Manufacturing Company, into the To advertise, call 718-513-9885
Ever Ready Company famous for its batteries. The Russian immigrant who came with nothing, became a multimillionaire after seeing the light. “THE LITTLE GENIUS.” THE FLEXISTRAW, THE IMPROVED FOUNTAIN PEN: JOSEPH B. FRIEDMAN (1900-1982) The young genius would do well on Gefilte Tank! First generation American, the Ohioan, a son of Jacob David Friedman and Antoinette Grauer Friedman was already on the job by age 14. A patent king, his first, a better fountain pen, was issued in 1922 which he then sold to the Sheaffer Pen Company. In the mid-1930s. Seeing his young daughter Judith strawstruggle, he inserted a screw, and with dental floss, wrapped the straight straw in the screw threads. Voila, it bent! (Of course he removed the screw.) His initial patent for “The Drinking Tube” was issued in 1937. He got additional patents for construction a n d formation. A s h e couldn’t find an investor, he started producing his product himself, forming The Flexible Straw Corporation
in 1939 in California. WWII halted his efforts until his brotherin-law and a family friend backed him. With his sister Betty’s business experience, the first flexible straw machine entered the market in the late 1940s. In 1950 the newly named Flex-Straw Co., took off! Now this is what I call turning spilt milk into major gelt. ENOUGH SHLEPPING! THE SHOPPING CART: SYLVAN NATHAN GOLDMAN (1898-1984)
Where Taste Meets Elegance
Leave it to a Jew to notice people in his store shlepping goods and thinking: “This is meshugge … but more, they’ll buy more if they had something to shlep things in.” The genius who invented the shopping cart was “Syl” Goldman, born to parents Hortense and Michael Goldman, owner of a dry goods store, in what was then Ardmore, Chickasaw Nation (now, Oklahoma). After the First World War, he and brother Alfred partnered in wholesale food in Texas. Fascinated by a new concept-- a supermarket -- with different goods under one roof, they returned to Oklahoma and opened shop in Tulsa. It was a hit, and they expanded to 21 markets. They sold their company and in 1934, Syl bought the HumptyDumpty grocery chain, a company where Humpty not only fell off a wall, he laid an egg. Goldman, using savvy advertising then developed and patented the shopping cart in 1936. From the basket he made major gelt, adding the grocery sacker, the folding inter-office carrier, and the milk bottle rack. So next time you find yourself: A) getting heeled by a cart, or B) chasing after it as it’s heading toward a Caddy; remember, it could be worse. Thanks to Sylvan Nathan Goldman, at least you don’t need 20 trips or a back brace to shlep a carton of seltzer.
We Jews old enough to remember Molly Goldberg on TV, also remember having to actually get up! Imagine lying there, comfy, with a glass tea and the cushion with a perfect imprint of our head. Then, oy … something terrible happened. We had to go vertical and walk yet to change the station! Or worse make it louder for Bubbe! While Adler didn’t actually invent the first remote, the genius founded the technology to make it work for those of us for whom lying down should be an Olympic event. The Vienna-born inventor was the son of Max Adler, a social theorist and Jenny a doctor. Dripping with yichus, he received his Ph.D. in physics in 1937. After Hitler moved into Austria, Adler traveled to various European locations, then came to the United States where, starting in 1941, he worked with Zenith. All told he was granted 58 patents, but his most famous was the wireless TV remote improving upon an unsuccessful model. Adler used sound waves to transmit. His “Space Command,” consisted of aluminum rods that were struck by hammers when initiated b y the device’s buttons. He modified the model in the 1960s using ultrasonic signals. By the time he retired in 1982, he held the title of VP and Director of Research, earning numerous awards, including the Emmy for his invention. To Robert Adler we give The Golden Gefilte award for letting us develop strong enough fingers to grab a pound of lox from the back of the buffet.
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A JEWISH FINGER EXERCISE: THE TV REMOTE CONTROL: ROBERT ADLER (1913-2007)
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l u f e t a The F Secret t s u a c o Hol
by Rabbi Shraga Simmons
T
A mother who buried her Jewish identity, and her son’s astonishing quest to reclaim it.
om Gale never knew what hit him. En route to a weekend home from college, he was cruising along a Canadian highway at 95 mph in his bright red Triumph Spitfire. The nasal decongestant he’d taken that morning made him drowsy. “I took my eyes off the road for a minute,” Tom recalled, “and that’s all it takes at 95 mph.” The convertible, with its top down, rolled over him. Tom awoke two weeks later. “Most
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of the bones in my body were broken, including all my ribs. The doctors kept me unconscious during those first, most painful weeks. It was more humane.” Tom’s odds against living were set at 1,000 to one. But since he was young and in top physical shape, his body was able to fight back. “During those two weeks I lost 80 pounds. When I woke up, I didn’t even recognize myself.” Tom had a massive spinal injury which left the lower half of his body paralyzed. Born of strong stock, Tom came to relish the challenge. “I resolved to move
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my toe. As the furthest extremity from my brain, it was my most effective way to demonstrate voluntary muscle control.” One day he felt his toe twitch. He was able to move it! Surgeons flew in from around the country to witness this groundbreaking achievement. After 18 months of intense physical therapy, Tom managed to struggle back to his feet and walk with a cane. “The doctors put the odds against that at 5,000 to one.” The Search
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Miriam looked up at him very calmly and said: “If you shoot me, I will haunt you for the rest of your life.” He left her unharmed. One day in 1944, pandemonium broke loose when a German officer was killed in the Wola district of Warsaw where Miriam’s family lived. The German response was a rampage of shooting, looting and raping of Poles. Forty Polish men were taken out of their homes and shot dead. Miriam heard shots in the street. She ran outside. There she found her father... lying in a pile... of dead bodies. A few weeks later, Miriam awoke at 2 a.m. to find someone sitting on her bed. It was her dead father: “I came to warn you. This house will be bombed in the next 10 minutes. You must get to shelter immediately.” Miriam believed it strongly enough to wake up her mother and sister and convince them to follow her. As soon as they exited, the building blew up.
execution. One time an SS officer kicked Miriam in the side of the face – knocking out half her teeth and breaking her jaw. “I could never open my mouth properly after this happened,” she says. Miriam, at age 17, weighed 80 pounds. The coat that Miriam wore in Buchenwald. Inset: Patch identefying her as a political prisoner. (courtesy: Azrieli Foundation) Due to malnutrition, her legs became covered with oozing boils. “The sores
Death March Although they had Christian papers, Miriam, along with her mother and sister, were rounded up as “Polish political prisoners” and deported in a cattle car. “The heat was oppressive and we had no water to drink,” Miriam says. “Little droplets of water appeared on the walls of the train car, created by the breath of all the trapped people, and we tried to lick the droplets off the walls because we were so thirsty.” The train took them to Ravensbrück, the notorious women’s concentration camp filled with gypsies, nuns, Polish patriots, criminals, Soviet POWs, Communists, lesbians – and about 15% Jews. As a “Christian,” Miriam was given a “red triangle” patch designated for political prisoners. Soon after Miriam was transferred to Buchenwald. Conditions in that camp were unspeakable, with widespread starvation, disease, human experimentation, backbreaking labor, and
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were so deep that I could put my finger into them and touch the bone in my leg,” she says. She was forced to stand for hours in the cold, with bare feet and hands. To this day, her swollen hands are a grim reminder of freezing in Buchenwald. In the spring of 1945, with the Soviet Red Army rapidly approaching, the Nazi machine decided to exterminate as many prisoners as possible, in order to “silence the accusing witnesses.” As the Russians neared closer and closer, the SS forced 20,000 prisoners on a death march. For three weeks, Miriam, her mother and sister slogged through the freezing German countryside. Anyone who couldn’t keep up was shot on the spot. Eighty-five percent did not survive the march. “We found dirty water to drink... and To advertise, call 718-513-9885
occasionally found some animal food,” Miriam recalls. One day, their group was guarded by a single teenage soldier. When he fell asleep, the women sought to tear him to bits. But Miriam considered another idea: She threw his rifle into the river. When the soldier heard it hitting the water, he woke up to see 300 angry women staring down at him. He quickly ran away. The women wandered into the town of Plzen, Czechoslovakia. The war was finally over. “A man came out of church with a little boy in his arms and stared at us,” Miriam recalls. “I saw his eyes go to my oozing legs with disgust.” The man handed Miriam his shoes and then went to bring them food. Miriam, her mother and sister, who all miraculously survived, were sent to a displaced persons camp in Aschaffenburg, Germany. A Canadian Army officer named Arthur Gale had been appointed by the United Nations as director of the camp. Arthur didn’t know any Polish and needed someone to interpret. The promise of extra food made Miriam Zimmerman immediately volunteer, despite knowing no more than 20 words of English. As Miriam and Arthur spent more time together, they became good friends and decided to get married. “I told Arthur that I was Jewish,” she says, “and he said he did not care at all.” (Miriam’s sister Helen met a JewishAmerican soldier and had a Jewish wedding in the DP camp. They were happily married for 68 years and lived a Jewish life in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Helen’s husband died in 2013.) Meanwhile, newlyweds Miriam and Arthur Gale moved to Nova Scotia, Canada, where they raised a family of two boys and two girls. Miriam tried to use her war lessons to help others. “I raised my kids to be tolerant and we welcomed immigrant families into our home,” she recalls. When neighbors from Jamaica encountered discrimination, Miriam “adopted” them. When refugees from China and Sri Lanka showed up in
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The accident shook Tom to the core. “Facing mortality always gets you thinking,” he says. He began to explore spirituality. Tom grew up in a Christian home, the eldest of four children. “My mother strongly believed in Hashem, and always said she was Christian. But she had no religious observance and never stepped inside a Church. I never knew why.” There were other unexplained things as well: His mother’s staunch support of Israel. The aunt who had a Jewish home. And the grandmother who kept a box of matzah hidden under her bed. A voracious reader, Tom explored the gamut of religions, from the traditional to the bizarre. He didn’t find what he was looking for. But at one lecture he met the woman who would soon become his wife. Katherine had grown up on a farm in rural Ontario, with a similar religious upbringing as Tom. The foundation of her home was a strong belief in Hashem, without Christian overtones or imagery. One day in 1983 Tom wandered into a Jewish bookstore in Toronto. “I told the man I wanted to study Talmud,” he recalls. “He looked at me rather strangely, then handed me an English translation of Tractate Brachot.” Tom devoured the material. “I can’t explain it,” he says, “but it was pulling me like a magnet.” One time Tom was reading the Talmud and weeping. His mother asked, “What’s the matter?” “It’s just so beautiful,” he said. “This is speaking to me. I feel like I’m experiencing a ‘call home.’” Tom’s mother didn’t say a word. But as he would eventually discover, it required superhuman effort to hold herself back. Gershom Gale was an editor for 25 years at the Jerusalem Post (photograph: Michal Meyer) In the meantime, Tom’s wife was looking on with curiosity. One day he brought home a copy of Rabbi Aryeh
48
Kaplan’s “Living Torah.” Katherine read it and said, “I’ve been looking for truth my entire life. The answer is here. Now what do we do?” Tom opened the phone book and called a rabbi who happened to be Orthodox. They began studying for conversion. It took nearly five years, but when the conversion was finalized, Tom and Katherine – now Gershom and Dinah – fulfilled their dream and, along with their two young sons, moved to Israel. Gershom was hired as an editor for the Jerusalem Post, where he would work for the next 25 years. Warsaw, 1939
Amidst all this – search, discovery, conversion, aliyah – Gershom’s mother never uttered a word about the secret buried deep inside. Gershom’s mother grew up as Miriam Zimmerman in a Jewish family in the Polish city of Lodz. They celebrated Shabbat and the Jewish holidays. In 1939, when the Nazis invaded Poland, Miriam’s father thought it would be safer in the larger city of Warsaw. The move proved inauspicious. In time, the Nazi beasts clamped down on Warsaw’s 400,000 Jews, herding them into a 1.3 square-mile cage called the Warsaw Ghetto. At the tender age of 13, Miriam became To advertise, call 718-513-9885
surrounded by starvation, disease, and deadly beatings at the hands of uniformed monsters. The Zimmerman family lived in a cramped room. Miriam, whose blonde hair and blue eyes gave her a “gentile look,” was sent daily to forage for food. By the spring of 1943, Miriam’s father decided that their prospect of survival was slim in the Ghetto, and they must go into hiding on Warsaw’s “Aryan” side. Through the kindness of a Christian woman named Christine Panek, Miriam’s family was able to obtain false Christian papers. Fake ID Care for Miriam Zimmerman, under the name Helena Maria Plochocka - “Mary” (courtesty: Azrieli Foundation) Miriam Zimmerman henceforth became known as Helena Maria (“Mary”) Plochocka, the “cousin” of Christine Panek. Miriam’s mother became her “aunt” Jadwiga Mozdrzvaske. And Miriam’s sister, Chaya, became a “cousin” named Helen. These new identities became the family’s unshakeable guard against getting caught. Throughout the war, they used their Christian names exclusively, and never once spoke of their true relationship as parent, child, sibling. Even out of the Ghetto, the fear of death was never far. Carrying false papers was not sufficient insurance, as Miriam’s uncle discovered. He was stopped on the street by a group of Gestapo soldiers who demanded that he expose himself. When they saw he was circumcised, they shot him dead. The Zimmerman family lived in an apartment with Christine, where they often hid in a cupboard so tiny that they were truly in danger of suffocating. “We were constantly petrified that our secret would be discovered and that we would all be killed,” Miriam later recalled. One time the apartment was broken into by a bunch of Nazis. A stormtrooper shoved Miriam into the bathroom, put a gun to her head and said: “If you do anything, I will shoot you right here.”
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Toronto, Miriam moved them into her house and helped them get settled. “I did these things because of what Christine Panek did for us in order to save our lives in Poland.” And yet, Miriam was so traumatized from the war that decade after decade she insisted that her mother and sister perpetuate the charade of “a Christian family, whose father was a fallen Polish general, and whose mother had died of cancer.” Under an oath of absolute secrecy, Miriam’s mother and sister acted as “the auntie and cousin who adopted her” – forbidden from ever revealing anything about their real family background. Miriam says: “I learned that to be Jewish meant tragedy … I simply thought about what I needed to do to keep myself and my family alive.” Imagine the irony of their oldest child, Tom, experiencing a near-fatal car crash and then “converting” to Judaism. Only later would he find out what a massive internal struggle his mother’s silence was.
heavily all these years, and she didn’t want to take that fact to the grave. Plus, Miriam no longer had the strength to hold it all in. Her iron will broke. Twenty-five years after her son Tom converted and became Gershom, she told her stunned daughter: “We are not who you think we are. We are Jews.” Miriam made her daughter swear
Revelation
not to tell anyone, even Gershom. And although the secret remained largely under wraps, slowly the walls came down. In 2010, Miriam’s other daughter, Christine (named after Christine Panek), became engaged to a Jewish man. Miriam again revealed the secret, telling her daughter: “You might as well have a Jewish wedding!” Yet Gershom still didn’t know the truth. One day, his younger son Joshua was in Canada and asked his grandmother point-blank: “If you are Jewish, I have a right to know.” She broke down and revealed it. That’s how Gershom found out. “I always suspected that Mum was Jewish,” Gershom told Aish.com from his home on the outskirts of Jerusalem. “Over the years I asked her several times if she was Jewish, and she always answered, ‘No, I’m Christian.’ She was very firm about it, and since she’s my mother, I had no reason to doubt her word.” Still, there were various signs over the
Miriam remained in contact with Christine Panek, the righteous gentile who’d saved her life during the war without ever accepting money. Over the years, Miriam would send gift packages, and even went to Poland to visit Christine. Warsay, 2006: Mary Gale visits the spot where her father and 40 other men were executed by the Nazis (courtesy: Azrieli Foundation)In 2006, to celebrate her 80th birthday, Miriam took a second trip to Poland, accompanied by her daughter. While visiting the spot where her father was murdered, Miriam could no longer control herself. “I could see the bodies again and smell the burning rubber,” she says. “The trauma of my father’s death was right in front of my eyes.” By this time, Miriam had two heart attacks, and the doctors told her she would not survive a third. The secret of her Jewish identity had been weighing
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years. Dinah recalls one incident: “The phone rang at home and when Miriam answered, the caller shouted ‘Jew!’” She was afraid she’d been discovered and that they were coming to get her. She turned white as a sheet.” The German Kuebelwagon, sold in the U.S. Gershom recalls an occasion when his grandmother had a panic attack. The Volkswagen Kübelwagen was used as a Nazi staff car during World War II. In the early 1970s it was sold commercially in North America as “The Thing.” “My grandmother saw such a car driving down the road in Canada and she freaked out. She thought she was back in Poland.” There were other signs as well. Dinah describes how before she was married, Gershom’s grandmother “leaned across the table, looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘Katherine is a Jewish name.’ I didn’t know what she meant at the time. In retrospect it was her way of saying: ‘Judaism is important and I want you to go in that direction.’” Was Gershom upset with his mother for keeping the secret all those years? “At first I was very angry. I had gone through a lengthy and unnecessary conversion process, and she stood silently while it was all happening. In exasperation, I told her: ‘You’ve been lying to me all my life!’ I eventually came to understand that she did it for my own protection. She endured a lifelong trauma and didn’t want me to ever repeat it.” What about Arthur Gale? Gershom says: “My father once told me that Mum had a secret that only he knew. But he wouldn’t share with me what it was.” What about Miriam’s sister, Helen, sworn to secrecy all those years? Gershom says: “She has apologized profusely for not saying anything all along, but my mother had her under strict oath not to tell.”
Destiny’s Child Gershom Gale has accomplished a lot in life – variously as an editor, physicist,
musician, artist and poet. But the nearfatal auto accident of decades ago has taken its toll. Gershom is now battling a variety of health problems and is confined to a wheelchair. I tell Gershom how we occasionally hear stories of people who find out later in life that they’re Jewish, and then actively pursue it. But how many people have gone through a full Orthodox conversion, then only subsequently – in this case, decades later – come to realize they were born Jewish?” At this, Gershom gets reflective. “The moment before the accident I recall looking up and thinking, ‘I’ve got it made.’ I took personal credit for my muscles, my brains, and my car. I was headed for whoknows-what kind of life. But the accident made me stop and think. Eventually I made a life in Israel. I came home.” While Miriam has visited Gershom in Israel twice, she remains traumatized by the memories of having seen people
shot, poisoned, hanged, and thrown out of windows. She has persistent “nightmares and deep fears,” terrified that should she admit, “I am a Jew,” the hatred and horrors will revolve again. For 60 years she kept her Buchenwald prisoner coat hidden in a box, along with her prisoner patch – number 29943. But the secret is no more. Miriam now eagerly shares her story in recent TV and newspaper interviews, and a brand new Holocaust memoir for Canada’s Azrieli Foundation, entitled “Identity Lost and Found.” Why did Miriam decide to tell her story now? “I want to make amends with the people in my past, and I feel guilty for not carrying on the traditions of the Jewish people,” she says. “They all died because they were Jews and I am still afraid to admit who I am.” Another reason is more personal: Miriam seeks to purge her demons.
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“I feel like I am on a seesaw and sometimes I think that it is too late to change my life story,” she says. “My secrets are hanging me and they are very hard to undo. I feel like they are choking me to death.” “I hope that telling my story will help with my flashbacks and that the truth will untangle me somehow. I am like a pot bubbling with lies and need to tell the truth rather than continue stirring the lies. But the prospect of telling the truth still terrifies me.” And what about her Jewish son who “converted” and made aliyah? “I am pleased that some members of my family are carrying on the Jewish traditions that I learned as a child,” she says. “It is like a miracle to me that of all the religions, Gershom picked Judaism. Maybe it was his destiny.” Mary Gale quotes courtesy of the Azrieli Foundation and Ruth Krongold
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Potato Latkes! by Chef Herschel Arnow
It’s just not Chanukah without potato latkes.
I
once read many years ago, the only mitzvah that has increased among all the Jewish people was lighting candles on Chanukah. I’m sure it was because in most Jewish homes, candle lighting is followed by jelly doughnuts or potato pancakes (latkes in Yiddish). It is customary that we eat foods fried in oil on Chanukah because the oil symbolizes the miraculous burning of a small amount of pure oil in the Menorah for eight days in the Holy Temple until new oil was prepared for its use. In my home in Schenectady, New York, my mother would grate the potatoes and prepare the batter for
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latkes every Chanukah. It was a race to fry the potatoes before the mixture turned an ugly green. The other race was to make them fast enough to accumulate enough for a meal while everyone was visiting the kitchen to taste just one to see if they were any good. The latkes are still the high point of Chanukah for my family. It brings the family together and we sing and talk about the miracle. So I guess it is a good starting point. Here are several good recipes for latkes. We would eat our latkes with maple syrup or salt or sour cream or apple sauce -- any combination, or nothing at all, or all of the above. Enjoy! And Happy Chanukah! -- Chef Herschel
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POTATO LATKES AND ONION
6 potatoes 1 onion 4 eggs 3 tbsps. matza meal salt & pepper to taste 1/2 tsp. baking powder Grate by hand potatoes and onion. Add eggs and then dry ingredients. Fry in hot oil. Replace 2 of the potatoes with zucchini for lighter pancakes.
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LATKES (POTATO PANCAKES) (from The Flavor of Jerusalem) A favorite eaten at Chanukah. Each cook has her infallible recipe, but we liked this version, which we found to be especially light. 3 large potatoes 3 tbsps. milk 1 egg 1/2 tsp. baking powder salt and pepper to taste cooking oil
the other two on the medium holes. Beat in the milk, egg and baking powder. Season with salt and pepper; blend well, If there is a large amount of liquid in the mixture, drain off some of it. Heat a scant ½ inch of oil in a large skillet until it is very hot but not smoking. Drop the batter by large spoonfuls, flatten then slightly. Turn them once. When they are golden brown on the bottom side, cook them several minutes longer and drain them on paper towels. (The latkes will have crisp edges.) Serve hot with sour cream or applesauce.
If the skins of the potatoes are thin and unblemished, do not peel the potatoes but scrub them well. Otherwise, peel them; then grate 1 potato on the large holes of a grater and
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Makes 3-4 servings.
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NANA’S LATKES (from the New York Times) 2 lbs. Idaho potatoes 2 lbs. Yukon potatoes 5 eggs, beaten 1 cup flour salt vegetable oil for frying sour cream apple sauce
The batter should be fairly liquid and not too thick. Heat about a half-inch of vegetable oil in a frying pan. When the oil is very hot, use a soup spoon as a measure to put in small amounts of batter in the oil. Frying the pancakes on one side, then the other, until they have turned brown on both sides and are crispy around the edges.
Peel potatoes, and keep in cold water until you are ready to grate them. Grate the potatoes coarsely by hand (or with a Cuisinart using first the shredding blade then the blending blade). The mixture should be slighly lumpy and not too blended. Add the beaten eggs. Mix in up to 1 cup of flour. Add a little salt.
Drain the pancakes on paper towels that have been placed on a platter atop a saucepan of simmering hot water or keep warm in the oven. Makes about 80 3-inch latkes.
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POTATO PANCAKES
SOUR CREAM POTATO PANCAKES
4 large potatoes or 2 cups raw grated potatoes 2 eggs 1/8 tsp. baking powder 1 1/2 tsps. salt 1 tbsp. flour, bread crumbs or matza meal dash of pepper
4 large potatoes or 2 cups raw, grated potatoes 1/2 cup sour cream or 1/2 cup hot milk 1/2 tsp. salt 2 eggs, separated Grate the potatoes, place in a colander, set over a bowl and drain. When the starch has settled in the bottom of the bowl, discard top liquid. Place drained potatoes in a mixing bowl, add starch, cream or hot milk, and salt. Beat yolks well; add to potato mixture; fold in the stiffly beaten whites. Drop by spoonfuls on a hot, well-greased skillet. Brown slowly on both sides. Serve with apple sauce. Makes 4 servings.
Peel potatoes, grate, drain. Beat eggs well and mix with the rest of the ingredients. Drop by spoonfuls on a hot, well-greased skillet. Brown on both sides. Serve with applesauce. Makes 4 servings.
BAKED POTATO PANCAKES Mix as above. Heat a generous amount of fat in a skillet, add potato batter; bake in a hot oven, 400ยบF, for 25 minutes.
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Broken: My Encounter at the Western Wall by Chaya Levy
Would the stones of the Kotel touch my guarded heart?
W
e dump our heavy bags and suitcases in the middle of the large, stonefloored apartment in Rechavia and hurry back out into the crisp morning air to hail a cab. It’s my first time in Israel and, of course, we have to go see the Kotel, the Western Wall, first thing. My pulse speeds up with the acceleration of the taxi and my fingers dig into the cracked leather hand rest on the door next to me. I’m anxious as I watch the white stone buildings fly by. I reflect on some of the incredible places I’ve traveled to, remembering in vivid detail the soaring mountains that dominated the landscape, the thundering waterfalls that shook
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me with their sheer power, and the vast, silent, wild lands where I contemplated my utter puniness in comparison to Hashem’s infinity. I’ve heard about the soul stirring connections people felt at the Kotel, but I am doubtful. Will I really be moved by a pile of old stones? Or is it all a bunch of hype made up by some swooning, head in the clouds, uber-spiritual seminary girls. Our cab bumps up a road surrounded by an ancient stone wall. The road curves up and I hold my breath, trying unsuccessfully to keep my body from being thrown side to side as the driver swings wildly around the turns. Suddenly, we emerge from the shadows, the sky opening up before me. And there it is. The Kotel seems to glow in
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the sunlight. I’m stunned at the unbidden emotion that lodges in my throat. “So this is where I’ve been facing all those years of prayer,” is my first thought. As I gaze over the serene open plaza, it strikes me how small the Kotel is – a mere crumb of the majestic structure it must have once been. I feel a sudden jolt, like a shockwave through my consciousness. My heart thrums with pain and my soul seems to burst open. “It’s broken,” I think, with hot passionate tears brimming in my eyes. “It’s broken... but it’s still standing. Just like me.” I run to the wall, so close I see nothing but the grainy texture before me. The crowd falls away as memories crash through my mind.
I am hiding in the bushes behind the school building. I am 10 years old and I am wondering what I’ve done to make everybody hate me. Recess ended 20 minutes ago but I can’t bear to re-enter that horrid, blue monstrosity. I have no desire to continue facing the onslaught of malicious taunts and cruel jokes at my expense, the standard routine for as long as I could remember. The teachers don’t care. I won’t be missed. I tentatively stroke my fingers along the icy smooth surface of the stone. Eyes squeezed shut, my shoulders heave as my forehead hits the wall. The bushes feel safe. I don’t want to go home. I wonder if I can live here amongst the rustling green leaves and
I’ve heard about the soul stirring connections people felt at the Kotel, but I am doubtful. Will I really be moved by a pile of old stones? ARE YOU WEARING ?ציצית
בס״ד
If the answer is noThe Time is-
now
now w o
now n
ow
now n
dappled sunshine, far from my father’s raging temper and whipping hands. The quiet chirps of birds overhead are a stark contrast to the bloodcurdling shrieks that rip through the walls of my home every day. I close my eyes and feel Hashem’s caress in the breeze. “I will survive this,” I promise Him. “I won’t let them dictate who I become.” And I conjure up my favorite daydream; myself, as the adult I hope to one day be. Beautiful, strong, confident and kind. I hold onto my vision for as long as I can, clutching this lifeline with everything I have left. “I’m here, Hashem! I’m here!” Gasping sobs erupt from my core. I have kept my promise, stayed true to Him as best as I could with the circumstances He gave me. Yes, I am more cynical, aggressive and suspicious than I had hoped I’d be. Although I still have a long way to go, I know He is proud of me. I am proud of myself. I cling to the wall and let myself feel His love wash over me. Even more than on the mountains, I feel this is the closest I can get to Him. After what seems like an eternity, time resumes its passage again. A small laugh flutters through me... I guess I can be moved by a pile of old stones. I’ve exhausted my prayers and my tears have run dry, joining the countless others that have soaked into this rock over the centuries. So many broken souls, meeting with Hashem at His broken wall. Reluctantly, I kiss the stone and back away, wishing I could stay forever. “Rebuild it,” I whisper.. “Please, Hashem, rebuild it… and rebuild us all.”
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