Tisha B’Av–A Tale of Two Fathers

By: Chaya Sora Jungreis-Gertzulin

The Nine Days. Tisha B’Av. A time to remember the churban Beis HaMikdash, the devastation of Yerushalayim, the pain and persecution of our people.

Tragically, that was not the last churban to befall our nation. Churban Europa, the horrors of the Holocaust left an indelible mark upon our people. An unfathomable loss of six million kedoshim, six million holy souls, by the hands of the barbaric Nazis.

I am the child of Holocaust survivors. Like countless others, I was denied the gift of paternal grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I can only dream of what my bubby Chaya Sora – after whom I am named – must have been like.

While I was blessed to have Mama and Zeide, grandparents from my maternal side, there were so many others from my mother’s family who perished.

The Torah commands us, “Zachor es asher osoh l’cha Amalek”, Remember what Amalek did to you.” So too, it is incumbent upon us to remember what befell our people during the Holocaust. Zachor, to remember. Lo tishkach, to not forget.

It is now eighty years since the Holocaust. The survivors are dwindling, the memories are fading. It is up to us to keep the memory of the kedoshim alive. To share their stories, to make sure the world never forgets.

It is with that spirit that I share with you, my dear readers, glimpses of my mother’s Holocaust story.

My mother a”h, never hesitated sharing stories of the war with us. I remember a school friend coming to our home for Shabbos. Friday night, my mother spoke of life under Nazi occupation. My friend, also a child of survivors, confided how she wished that her parents would speak of their past. While she understood it was painful for them, she longed to hear of how they survived. To hear about the family and relatives she never knew. “How fortunate you are”, she told me, “your mother shares her past with you”. “Z’chor yemos olam”, how important it is to remember the days of our past, our history.

I know there will always be someone who says “they’re only children…. I don’t want to give them nightmares. I only want to share happy memories.” With time, I came to realize that even though the stories told of pain and suffering, they also spoke of warmth and love, of emunah and bitachon, of endurance even in the darkest of times.

There are some stories that are embedded in my heart. Stories I can hear over and over again. One such story was of leil Shabbos, Friday night, in Bergen-Belsen. Each day, my zeide would put aside a tiny piece of his ration of dry, stale bread. Come Shabbos, zeide would place the bread together for my mother and her brothers. Zeide would gather the children together, saying “My kinderlach, my dear children…close your eyes…we are back home, sitting around the Shabbos table. Mamma baked the most delicious challah. The table is covered with a white cloth. The Shabbos candles are burning, the kiddush cup is filled. The Shabbos malochim, the Shabbos angels, are surrounding the table.” Zeide would sweetly sing Shalom Aleichem, welcoming the angels of Shabbos.

One Friday night, my mother’s younger brother, my uncle Brudy z”l, innocently asked, “Tattie, ich zeh nisht kein malochim, I don’t see any angels! Where are the Shabbos angels?”

“You, my lichtege kinderlach, my children full of light, you are the malochim, the angels of Shabbos.”

To tell a child that no matter where life takes you, you can be a malach.

My mother also told us of the cruel anti-Semitism and atrocities inflicted upon her and our people. Of Jewish children not being allowed to attend school. Of Jewish stores and businesses forced to close. Shuls shuttered, Jews not being allowed to travel, confined to living in overcrowded and cramped ghettos, and having to wear a yellow star. Stories of how sadistic Nazis desecrated Torah scrolls and holy books. How they forced rabbis to stand in the town square, cruelly pulling their beards out, until their skin would bleed and they would collapse in pain.

We also learned of my mother’s final days prior to deportation. One night, the family was awakened by shouts from the Germans. Their apartment door was forced open, and the entire family was marched off to a local brick factory. That became their “home” for the next two weeks, together with all the Jewish townspeople. Two weeks of living in a cold brick factory. Two weeks without hygienic facilities. Two weeks of torture.

My mother’s family had lived in an apartment building, and my grandparents were always extra kind to the super and his family. The super had a daughter, Bridgette, about the same age as my mother, and at times they would play together. When the Jews of Szeged were dragged from their homes, my mother, who was a young girl at the time, grabbed a little doll to take with her. To a child, it was something to hold on to. Something to give comfort.

Just before being deported, the Jews of Szeged were put on display in the center of the town. The town residents would come to jeer and spit upon them, all with the Nazis approval.

My mother noticed Bridgette approaching with her father. Naïvely, she thought they were coming to say goodbye. But that was not to be. As Bridgette approached my mother, she snatched the doll out of my mother’s arm. When my mother protested, Bridgette’s father laughed at her, saying “where you are going, you won’t need that”.

How quickly children can learn from their parents. How easy it is to learn hate, to take advantage of someone, to take what is not yours, even a doll from another girl.

Stories of two fathers. One, telling his children that they are malochim, encouraging them to strive and reach great heights. Another, laughing as his child bullies and causes pain to another child.

To be a Jew means to live one’s life as a kiddush HaShem, to aim to be an angel.

We are now experiencing yet another churban, the ongoing Holocaust of October 7. As Tisha B’Av approaches, we must remember the pain of our people. We must increase our tefillos and mitzvos, especially as the threats from Iran loom over us.

As we sit on our low chairs and recall the tragedies of the past, let us hope that we will realize the words of Yeshyayahu… “U’mocho HaShem dimah mei’al kol ponim, May HaShem erase tears from all faces…” (Yeshayahu 25:8), and we will see the rebuilding of the Beis HaMikdash in our own days.

Shabbat Shalom and wishing all an easy and meaningful fast!

Chaya Sora

Chaya Sora can be reached at [email protected]

This article was written L’zecher Nishmas/In Memory Of HaRav Meshulem ben HaRav Osher Anshil HaLevi, zt”l and Rebbetzin Esther bas HaRav Avraham HaLevi, zt”l