pdf available - Multiple Choices

358 LUBOML
came to demonstrate their beliefs and their agnosticism.
They managed to do this in discussions
held freely within the walls of the synagogue,
and in gatherings outside. In those days,
when I was still in the Trisker shtibl, I was impressed
by the deep and honest faith of the older
generation. On the other hand, I strained my ears
to hear heresies concerning God and his Messiah
spoken by Eliezer Finkelshteyn, himself a descendant
of R. Leybe, may he rest in peace.
From time to time in the Trisker shtibl arguments
broke out between the conservative elders
and the insolent youth. I do not remember what
the arguments were about or why they occurred.
However, when the eve of Yom Kippur was upon
us, every youngster showed up at the synagogue
for fear that those who did not attend would embarrass
their families by staying home. When
Nathan Blumen's grandfather, the shoychet
[ritual slaughterer] R. Chayim, may he rest in
peace, who had a majestic appearance, announced
on the eve of the Ko] Nidre prayer that
"we permit ourselves to pray alongside transgressors,"
I shuddered out of respect and politeness
and also because of the feeling that R. Chayim's
words were directed at Eliezer Finkelshteyn and
his friends.
Thousands of Luboml Jews, hundreds of
young men and women, the best of our youth
who lived the life of Eretz Yisroel while still in
our town, were destroyed, murdered. They did not
make it to Palestine; they lived and died on the
cursed soil of Poland.
Those of us, the handful of us, who did make
it to Eretz Yisroel and built our homes there were
embittered by fate, by the fact that we could not
save our parents and fulfill their dreams of living
in the land of the Jews and spending the
rest of their life with us, their children.
Memories of the home of our mothers and
fathers follow us everywhere. I myself felt these
memories most strongly during occasions that
themselves possessed much external splendor.
At these times I was shrouded by a cloud of
memories and my heart grieved that my mother
and father were not privileged, and I was not
privileged, to be together at those occasions.
Before the establishment of the State of Israel,
I dedicated years of my life, in Italy, to helping
survivors. When the state finally was established,
I was nominated to be the first official
consul for Israel in Rome. I conducted an official
visit to a survivors' camp in the south of Italy.
An Italian general, commander of the district,
and his wife escorted me and my wife, and a convoy
of motorcycles served as escorts of honor.
The Jews of the camp decorated the gates with
Hebrew writing, and at the entrance we were
greeted, according to the Jewish tradition, with
bread and salt on a silver tray. During all the excitement
surrounding me, memories of my father
and mother came to me, and I was sad they were
not with me in the convoy, that they were not
even in the audience, that they were not even
alive.
More than a dozen years passed and here I
was presenting a treaty as Israeli ambassador to
the president of Venezuela in Caracas. This time
there was a royal march in the streets and a military
parade in the palace yard. HaTikvah [Israel's
anthem] was played by a military band, and the
treaty was given to the president in a fancy hall
in the presidential palace.
On the way back, near the Pantheon, my
wife was waiting for me with our two children,
Sophia and Nechemia, and this time I was leading
an honorary convoy of children from the Jewish
school, and as an honored guest I placed flowers
on the grave of the national hero of Venezuela,
Bolivar. Finally, in the presidential palace,
among thousands of Jews and filled with incredible
excitement, I nevertheless felt alone and
lonely, remembering that my parents were not
with me and that they were not able to see, hear,
or know anything of what was going on.