Happy Chanukah - The Jewish Georgian
Happy Chanukah - The Jewish Georgian
Happy Chanukah - The Jewish Georgian
Create successful ePaper yourself
Turn your PDF publications into a flip-book with our unique Google optimized e-Paper software.
November-December 2011 THE JEWISH GEORGIAN Page 9<br />
One good reason to observe<br />
the High Holidays<br />
BY<br />
Ron<br />
Feinberg<br />
I received an e-mail solicitation recently<br />
and was just about to tap the delete button<br />
when I noticed it was from Yad Vashem,<br />
the world-class Holocaust Museum in<br />
Israel. <strong>The</strong>y were asking for money and<br />
sharing a story. It’s a story worth repeating<br />
and remembering.<br />
Naftali Stern visited Yad Vashem on<br />
Yom Hashoah, Holocaust Remembrance<br />
Day, in 1978. He had a gift, a few pieces of<br />
crinkled paper filled with Hebrew prayers.<br />
It was a precious gift, something he had created<br />
years earlier, when the world had gone<br />
momentarily mad and a little light was<br />
needed to brighten the darkness.<br />
In the spring of 1944, Naftali, his wife,<br />
and four children were swallowed up by the<br />
Holocaust, arrested in their little village of<br />
Satu Mare, in Romania, and deported to<br />
Auschwitz. His family was murdered when<br />
they arrived at the Nazi death camp in<br />
Poland, and Naftali was shipped off to a<br />
forced labor camp in Germany.<br />
He was depressed and alone, each<br />
moment filled with memories of all that<br />
was lost. His world had become a nightmare—little<br />
food, no shelter, brutal guards,<br />
and backbreaking work digging tunnels and<br />
trenches around German fortifications.<br />
Surrounded by misery, a vague and distant<br />
memory took root in Naftali’s mind.<br />
<strong>The</strong> days were growing shorter, and there<br />
was a slight chill in the air. Something<br />
stirred inside his heart, and Naftali recalled<br />
that soon it would be Rosh Hashanah, the<br />
<strong>Jewish</strong> New Year. Many would have easily<br />
pushed that thought aside, buried it along<br />
with their families, neighbors, and villages.<br />
Naftali clung to the thought, a very<br />
small light in a very gray world. He sold a<br />
bit of the food he received one day for a<br />
pencil, sold a bit more and managed to purchase<br />
some sacks that had once held<br />
cement. He ripped the sacks into small<br />
squares then slowly began to write the<br />
entire Rosh Hashanah service.<br />
Perhaps it was simply something that<br />
was meant to be. If not, why then did the<br />
thugs running the labor camp allow Naftali<br />
and other inmates to hold a short service? It<br />
was Naftali, of course, the chazzan in his<br />
little village shul, who led services that holiday<br />
season, his sweet voice chanting the<br />
words he had scrawled from memory.<br />
For three decades—years after being<br />
liberated, starting a new family and immigrating<br />
to Israel—Naftali held onto his special<br />
mahzor, bringing it out on Rosh<br />
Hashanah to both mourn and celebrate his<br />
life and faith. Three months after he donated<br />
the document to Yad Vashem, Naftali<br />
died.<br />
It was okay. He knew that his special<br />
mahzor—timeworn and frayed, created<br />
with love for a people and faith—would be<br />
protected. Now, three decades later, it<br />
remains on display at the museum.<br />
“I pray,” he told Yad Vashem officials,<br />
“that each subsequent generation will stay<br />
true to their <strong>Jewish</strong> identity and be a link in<br />
a long chain.”<br />
It seems to me, if nothing else, simply<br />
sitting in shul will honor Naftali’s prayer.<br />
That’s a good thing. I’ll worry about figuring<br />
out the more cosmic issues next year.<br />
May we all be inscribed and sealed for a<br />
good year.<br />
AMERICA’S<br />
BEST<br />
CLEANERS TM<br />
4455 Roswell Road<br />
Atlanta, Georgia 30342<br />
404-255-4312<br />
www.presstine.com