Passing the torch
By Rabbi Baruch Lederman
SAN DIEGO–The mitzvos were meant to be transmitted on and on for generations. When we gather in a few weeks at the Pesach Seder and see grandparents, parents, children, and grandchildren coming together in a melding of the generations to carry on our traditions we will naturally think about this. Passing the torch of Torah to the future generations is
central to our Jewish existence as the following true account, submitted by Rebbetzin Esther Rockove, written by Mrs. Sylvia Sarah Richter illustrates:
We were awakened one morning in 1942 by a loud thud. Our grandfather, Meshulam Frisch, was excitedly exclaiming, “The Mame is coming and I’m going to greet her!” His children could hardly keep up with him as he ran up the road. From afar, they saw a horse and wagon. “The Mame,” our grandmother Rivka, was on her final earthly journey.
Our grandmother had been stricken some time before with an appendicitis attack. By the time documents had been obtained for her to gain admittance into the hospital the infection had spread, fatally. It was well known that only living patients were discharged routinely. Since our grandmother had expired in the hospital, my aunt, with a shattered heart, dressed her mother to take her home to Uscie Zelone as a “living” patient to avoid dealing with all the red-tape. During the entire trip, our grandmother was propped up in a sitting position in order to minimize any questions.
At that time, I was five and a half years old. We lived in a basement room, a far cry from the beautiful home of my grandparents that I recalled. Uscie Zelone was now “Judenrein.” Only a few of our own people had somehow managed to trickle back after the deportations. Our family was among them and now, they had to arrange for a proper kevurah (burial).
As everyone was preparing for the levaya (funeral), our father, Shimon ben Yaakov Laufer (who himself died shortly thereafter), tenderly and lovingly, held us by our hands, explaining to us that our grandmother was in shomayim (heaven). He stressed that we should always remember her as our Jewish grandmother. He also insisted that we children be taken to the cemetery for the kevurah, although under normal circumstances children were not usually present. I believe that my father foresaw what the future would bring for our people and he wanted to impress upon us our Jewish identity.
After the burial, as the danger increased, my uncle contacted a business acquaintance, a Mr. Plotkowski, who was willing to make arrangements for our hiding. We were confined to a hayloft for over ten months until our liberation.
Despite the risk, my mother made her way to the cemetery to visit the gravesite of her grandmother, Yitta Baila, and thereby identify her mother’s burial place next to it. Not being able to place a real matzaiva (monument), my mother uprooted a tiny sapling and planted it as a temporary marker between the two graves, hoping to return at a
later date.
Once in the United States, the fact that my mother couldn’t go back and place a matzaiva (monument) on her mother’s kever (grave) was a source of great pain and frustration for her. But the Soviet Union had closed off the area and no one could penetrate the “Iron Curtain” for any reason.
In 1990, the “Iron Curtain” finally began to unravel. Jewish organizations rushed to aid their Russian brothers and sisters. Rabbis and teachers were dispatched, offering their time and knowledge to awaken the Russian Jewish community to their heritage. One hundred and fifty people, we among them, accompanied this dedication tour,
making the rounds to six Russian cities. A 24-hour detour was arranged for me and my husband to visit my hometown.
We had a three-fold objective: to find the remains of my father; to find the kever of my grandmother and place a matzaiva there; and to locate the Polish family who had hidden us during the terrible war years.
We traveled to Uscie Zelone, where we found the cemetery intact. We were also successful in locating my great-grandmother’s gravesite, the inscription clearly visible, “Yitta Baila bas Dovid.” Alongside it, near another stone, was the sapling my mother had planted 47 years ago – now grown into a six foot bush! We now knew positively the resting
place of my Grandma Rivka and were able to dedicate an appropriate matzaiva.
We discovered that the Plotkowskis had moved to Central Poland. We managed to contact them upon our return to the States. After much correspondence, we succeeded in arranging for Yad VaShem to honor them.
We could not locate the remains of my dear father or the rest of my family. We dedicated a monument for the Kedoshim (Holy Jews) of Uscie Zelone, who were murdered by the Nazis and thrown into a mass grave.
My message to the younger generation is, “Z’CHOR YEMOS OLOM.” Remember our nation’s history and hold on to our traditions. Remember the small branch my mother planted so that her child would be able to reconnect with her grandmother.
“EITZ CHAIM HI LAMACHAZIKIM BOH.” The Torah is that living branch that unites us, the branch of our holy heritage.
Dedicated by Max & Esty Slomianski in honor of the Saba family.
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Rabbi Lederman is spiritual leader of Congregation Kehillas Torah in San Diego
