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The Wandering Jew
The Wandering Jew Journeys to Holland
Part I
By Hershel Lieber
1966
I landed at Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam in late December. It was about two months after my father, a”h, was niftar. I had gone through a very difficult two years as my father was hovering between life and death. Besides helping physically in caring for my father, I went to work part-time to help sustain our family financially. My mother was a very special person who was open-minded and did not necessarily follow convention. It was she who suggested that maybe I should take some time off from work and travel to Europe for a few weeks. Visiting relatives and going sightseeing could do wonders in recuperating from this traumatic period and bringing back a sense of tranquility.
After arriving in Amsterdam, I changed some dollars into guilders, which at that time was the Dutch currency, and took a bus to Dam Square in the center of the city. I inquired about a hotel and found a small kosher guesthouse within a fifteen-minute walk to a synagogue. I was in my year of aveilus and needed a minyan to say kaddish. The hotel was priced at $3.25 a night with an additional charge for breakfast and dinner. The second night, I moved to the upper floor to a room with a shared bathroom to save 50 cents.
The first thing I did after I settled in was to write an aerogramme to my mother, which was cheaper than a letter. I told her that I would write every day and that she should save my correspondence. This would form a diary of my European trip. She saved each one, and I have the entire collection, which I recently reviewed for the first time in over fifty years and was a great help in writing this article.
Before going to shul in the morning, I wanted to shave. I quickly realized that I could not use my shaver since the outlet holes were further apart than my shaver plug. At the time, I didn’t know about the difference in voltage between the U.S. and Europe. I put aside shaving for
1989 Canal Scene
the moment and ran over to the shul. It was a large building, and they were just starting Mincha. For the next two days, I was in complete confusion and could not coordinate myself with the congregants. Whenever they were standing, I was sitting, and when they were sitting, I was standing. When I started saying kaddish, they hushed me and indicated
that only one person says this kaddish. At other times, they motioned that I should join the others by saying kaddish in unison. Somehow, whatever I did was wrong! Yet the different customs fascinated me, as I participated in Judaism’s variety of traditions.
My small kosher guesthouse was next door to Concertgebouw, Holland’s National Philharmonic Hall. Although I could not go to a concert because of my aveilus, the grandeur of the music did waft through the massive walls of the Concert Hall into my modest room and lightened my spirits.
Amsterdam is so charming. The different townhouses lining the tree-shaded canals is an artist’s dream scene. Thousands of bikes rush past the quaint cobblestoned streets where street vendors sell Delft porcelain, wooden shoes, and fresh tulips in a myriad of colors and shades. Food vendors dole out hefty portions of salty herring complemented by a jug of Heineken beer. I walked the streets for hours and never got tired. I went to the Rijksmuseum to see Rembrandt’s “Night Watch” and to the Van Gogh Museum to see his “Sunflowers.” My mother was a well renowned artist who instilled in me a love and appreciation of art of which I am thankful to this very day. While in Amsterdam, I bought lithographs of street scenes and country landscapes which I shipped off to my mother to sell in her well-known Lola’s Art Studio in Boro Park.
My love of Jewish history took me to the famous Portuguese Synagogue, which represented the apex of Jewish life in Holland, when the Dutch provided a haven for the Sephardic Jews fleeing the Inquisition in Spain and Portugal. I also acknowledged and mourned the destruction of Holland’s Jews during World War II. This happened when I reacquainted myself with the tragedy embodied in “The Diary of Anne Frank.” This took place at the house where she and her family hid before being caught and sent to Bergen-Belsen, where she eventually died. Clearly, our People’s history is a combination of lows and highs, of valleys and mountains, of tragedies and victories. Amsterdam was my introduction to this our constant shifting destiny.
My stay in Amsterdam was barely three days long, and yet they were crammed with many sights and activities. I saw all the major tourist sites including the two museums, walked endlessly along the charming streets lining the famed canals, bought lithographs for my mother’s art shop, and went to shul twice a day since I was in my year of avei-
Elias and his family where we compared Jewish life in Holland with its American counterpart. After a three-hour nap, Mincha, Maariv and Havdalah at the shul, we took a long walk along the lively, youth-filled streets near the Leidesplein and Dam Square. We stayed up late into the night despite our scheduled early morning flight back to the States. That return flight signaled the end of this special trip.
would take an overnight ship to London.
I took one final stroll down the Kalverstrat and boarded the train for the two-hour trip to the port.
1989
This was my second year at the Ronald Lauder Summer Retreat in Poland, only this time Pesi joined me and assisted in this outreach project on behalf of Polish Jews. We flew to London in late July and stayed there for four days. This was followed by ten productive days teaching and running programs at a vacation resort in Poland. On Thursday, Tisha B’Av afternoon, we left Warsaw and flew to Amsterdam where we planned to spend the next three days. We were quite exhausted when we checked into a hotel room on the Leidesplein, but we ran out immediately to daven Mincha at the Beis Yakov Shul of Rabbi Gutman.
After davening, the rabbi drove us back, but we did not have anything to break our fast other than some fruit that we brought along.
The next morning after Shacharis, jksmuseum at length. The Rembrandts were captivating, so were the Vermeers and the Van Goghs. It was a long summer day, so when the rain let up, we walked along the canals, past the large squares and charming streets, making numerous stops to snap some photos.
On Friday night, I went alone to kabbalas Shabbos at the Jakob Albrecht Plein synagogue, and we ate our seudah by the windowlight of our room. The next morning at Shacharis we met the shul’s rav, Rabbi Raphael Evers, and a number of other mispallelim. We were invited to eat our seudah by Menachem
Hershel Lieber has been involved in kiruv activities for over 30 years. As a founding member of the Vaad L’Hatzolas Nidchei Yisroel he has traveled with his wife, Pesi, to the Soviet Union during the harsh years of the Communist regimes to advance Yiddishkeit. He has spearheaded a yeshiva in the city of Kishinev that had 12 successful years with many students making Torah their way of life. In Poland, he lectured in the summers at the Ronald S. Lauder Foundation camp for nearly 30 years. He still travels to Warsaw every year – since 1979 – to be the chazzan for Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur for the Jews there. Together with Pesi, he organized and led trips to Europe on behalf of Gateways and Aish Hatorah for college students finding their paths to Jewish identity. His passion for travel has taken them to many interesting places and afforded them unique experiences. Their open home gave them opportunities to meet and develop relationships with a variety of people. Hershel’s column will appear in The Jewish Home on a bi-weekly basis.
