I have just returned from an incredible women’s trip to Hungary and Prague. As we stood at the banks of the Danube River, lined with cast-iron shoes of all types and ages, I told the story of our people. The Arrow Cross militiamen ordered thousands of Jews to remove their shoes. They then used the laces to tie one to the next, and shot men, women and children. They fell together into the icy waters. 80,000 Jews were murdered. The river turned red for days that winter. No one in the world cared.
“Kol Dimei Achicha – the voice of your brother cries out.”
We then traveled to Prague. The crematories of Theresienstadt still stand. They bear witness to the pain of our people. The world calls this concentration camp Germany’s “model ghetto.” The ‘overflow,’ over 100,000 Jews, were sent to their deaths in Auschwitz. I’m struck with this idea of a “model ghetto” as deemed by the Red Cross at the time, and the non-visits of the Red Cross while our hostages languished under the tunnels of Gaza. Starving Jews. Beaten Jews. Murdered Jews. Decades have gone by and yet nothing has changed.
‘Kol Dimei Achicha – the voice of your brother cries out.”
And then we came upon a magical place. Perhaps you would not think so at first. After all, what can be charmed in a place of despair? In the darkness, an old storage space was found. It was grey and colorless. Somehow, this place of intense suffering became transformed into a place of intense faith. The Secret Synagogue of Terezin. A black world found some shades of color; a nightmare became an impossible dream.
We stood together in this airless cellar. The ceilings are painted over with tiny stars as if one is standing beneath the heavens. Where an Aron should be erect, holding a Sefer Torah, instead were painted the words “Shivisi Hashem L’negdi Tamid – Hashem is always before me.” The walls cry out to us. There, before our eyes, are the rubbed-out letters of “Im Eshkachech Yirushalayim – if I forget thee, Jerusalem.” Can it be that submerged in this burrow of death, they were dreaming of Yerushalayim? Before we could have imagined walking on the paths of our forefathers in this holy city, their hearts beat, thinking of washing the Wall with their tears? I look and make out the words “Uvechol zos shimcha lo shachachnu – and with all this, Hashem, we have not forgotten Your name. Please do not forget us.” I am witness to the majesty of our nation. Amidst the stench of death, a secret space of hope and prayer is born.
I wonder how many stood there, opening up their hearts and souls. How many knew that this would be their final prayer and yet they called out to Avinu Shebashamayim, ‘bring us home to Yerushalayim!’
We stood as one, singing the words of these holy prayers.
Now here we are once again surrounded by those who wish to destroy us. But Am Yisrael is a nation unlike any other. We face hatred, murderous attacks, missiles, deadly drones, screaming mobs, and a world that finds the ‘death wish’ of Jews to be ‘current,’ almost chic.
Our niggun continues, though. We never give up, we never surrender. We stand proud. We sing for Yerushalayim. We call out to Hashem to remember us, His children, as we have never forgotten Him.
Whether huddled in the dark cellar of Terezin, while the stars of the secret synagogue whisper to us from above, lying in the dirt beneath the hellholes of Gaza, or clustered in safe rooms waiting for the missiles to fall, our niggun remains.
“Im Eshkachech Yerushalayim.” We will never forget you, Yerushalayim.
“Uvechol zos shimcha lo shachachnu.” With all this, Hashem, we have never forgotten Your name.
Remember us. Bring us home.