Early in the morning the large group marched through the
trees, deep in thought. As they emerged into an open space
painted the bright green that follows a European rain, their
eyes fell on what seemed to be the cemetery. The hand of evil
had struck here. Mute testimony echoing through the unnatural
silence. Perhaps it was the blood of brothers rising up from
the earth.
Plashov, a small town with low houses, is very close--almost
adjacent--to Krakow. During the years of terror and fury a
work camp was located here. The story of a goy who
saved Jews is scorched into the very earth of this place and
engraved into the collective Jewish consciousness. Oscar
Schindler--a beauty mark on the face of an ugly world that
raged and whose evil heart burst forth--took a stand here. He
was a member of the Neo-Nazi Party who employed 1,200 Jews in
his factory, and protected them until they were eventually
saved from harm. The German beasts considered "his Jews"
essential to the war effort and allowed them to live. By
saving them physically, Schindler sustained entire worlds.
But the real success was the salvation of their souls. The
souls of a whole generation and their descendants. Krakow was
also the place where tzidkonis Soroh Schenirer
a'h, an educator and a woman of greatness, set up
families for generations to come. All of them were her
daughters, including the subsequent generations. In the merit
of her vision and deeds many Torah homes were established.
More than fifty years later a large group marched through the
trees that have grown in this place. They came after decades
to set up a memorial for a living soul. Their destination was
the grave of a woman who passed away, but is not dead and
gone; she continues to live in the generation's consciousness
and spirit. Like a promissory note written in the days of
horror and not yet repaid, a memorial was set up and a stone
laid on her grave.
The cemetery of Plashov is better known as the New Cemetery
of Krakow. Gedolei Olom lie in the old cemetery, but
Soroh Schenirer, despite her fame and the esteem in which she
was held, asked to be buried with the masses. Humble in death
just as in life.
Suddenly, in the place that looks like a green forest--in
stark contrast to the cemetery--a new, black marble stone
juts up. It has been engraved with gold lettering. The stone
is cold, but the heart beats warmly.
The group streams in slowly and the people gather together.
The paths here are almost never trod, except by the
occasional Pole taking his dog for a walk. The image of a man
with his dog invariably sends a chill down the spine of any
Jew. And when the man and his dog pass by in Plashov, the
place that was once home to a work camp and now a cemetery,
memories of bygone days flash and the pain of old wounds
throbs again.
The ears fill with the noise of shouts, barking and threats.
The Holocaust is still here. These are not Nazis, but perhaps
they were their accomplices. You have no way of knowing who
among them lent a hand to the terrible nullity you are now
witnessing. The earth is cursed. Plants root themselves deep
into the bloody ground. Roots are the closest thing a man
has. Always . . .
The Project
It all began a few years ago with the tremendous project run
by Mrs. Ronny Cohen, who ran a network of volunteers at the
homes of people living alone and at retirement homes run by
Agudas Yisroel of America. During a visit to Eastern Europe
she went to the Plashov cemetery, which had not faded from
memory even though almost nobody sets foot there. In fact the
only part of the cemetery regularly visited is the Chevra
Kadisha building, which local goyim transformed into a
house.
There are no signs or markers in the burial area, only weeds
and trees. An entanglement of malignant growth climbs across
many of the graves. Neither does any sign of Soroh Schenirer,
who had no children, remain. Without any family members
nobody thought to set up a gravestone.
Here began a dedicated campaign by a woman who saw herself as
Mrs. Schenirer's talmidoh even across several
generations. The woman made a decision to collect money to
restore the gravestone that once stood over the grave. Thus a
campaign to research, document and record testimony from
around the world was launched.
Mrs. Cohen, who has now completed her mission, met with Soroh
Schenirer's surviving former students. Archives were scoured.
Perhaps because of the outstanding educator's standing, a bit
had been written about her that could lead to other
information. Perhaps there was some indication of what had
appeared on her gravestone, for not one of her former
students could remember a single letter.
Frau Schenirer passed away on an erev Shabbos, the
26th of Adar Alef 5695 (1935), shortly after visiting one of
her students. Perhaps she sensed the end was near. She lit
candles earlier than usual and left for the Olom Shekulo
Tov. The event was deeply engraved in the heart of the
talmidoh. But what was written on the gravestone she
was unable to recall.
Carrying It Out
R' Moshe Skozhwolcz is an elderly man residing at a
retirement home in Flatbush, New York, who was also on the
list in the search for testimonials. He was born in 1914 and
had been a talmid at Yeshivas Tinkov until he fell
into Nazi hands. While performing forced labor he was sent to
break the gravestones of the cemetery.
From an emotional standpoint, this was one of his most
difficult tasks. But his fear of the gun barrel and the irate
face of the Nazi holding the gun overcame his resistance.
Coming across a large gravestone he began to read the
lettering, he recalled, speaking into a camera documenting a
life of trial and tribulation. His voice trembled, even after
all these years. Soroh Schenirer was engraved in stone and he
felt paralyzed. His body did not respond. The sledgehammer
dropped from his hands.
The Nazi began to shout at him. When the Jew capitulated and
brought down the sledgehammer, it broke as it struck the
stone. The Nazi overseer went into a frenzy. As his anger
grew the Jew took another sledgehammer and swung. The hammer
smashed down on the gravestone and broke. The stone remained
whole, refusing to surrender. After several further attempts
yielded similar results the Nazi soldier became so incensed
he totally lost control and fell upon the gravestone, which
eventually shattered onto the ground. And when the gravestone
was finally desecrated, hearts broke with it.
But here the old man's memory came to an end. The shattered
wording on the gravestone was not recorded in the frightened
man's memory. Even the passage of time, which allows him to
regard the scene from an outside observer's perspective, does
not allow him to recall.
Rav Shneur Leiman, a talmid chochom and a historian
with years of experience researching and documenting
cemeteries in Eastern Europe, was recruited to take part in
the effort. He had precise testimonials on the location of
Frau Schenirer's gravestone. Despite ground movements, Rav
Leiman invested tremendous efforts in the task of identifying
the exact location. With the assistance of Rav Shodrik, the
rov of Warsaw and Lodz, who confirmed that the land was owned
and run by the kehilloh, the efforts began to take
shape.
Putting Up the New Stone
When the date of Frau Schenirer's petiroh was engraved
on the new, black marble gravestone an idea was conceived to
erect the gravestone on the same date, which fell on an
erev Shabbos this year just as in 5695. But Adar is
not a particularly amenable time of year for such endeavors
in Poland. The frosty weather and frosty hearts are covered
with a layer of ice, much like the hearts of those who
destroyed the gravestone. The earth does not yield to the
diggers' pickaxes. The technical difficulties prevailed and
hopes had to be deferred. But not for long.
During the winter the stonecutters etched away at the black
marble gravestone. With no knowledge of Hebrew the workers
had to employ a system of codes. The number "1" stood for
alef, "2" for beis, etc. To them the writing
was totally meaningless, which made the work prone to error.
Rav Leiman had to proofread again and again, watching over
the chiseling from start to finish. He remained alert
throughout, with the care of a doctor.
Two weeks ago a delegation arrived from the US and Eretz
Hakodesh, a trip organized by the heads of Neshei Agudas
Yisroel of America and the United Neshei Agudas Yisroel of
Eretz Yisroel, Mrs. Grund, Mrs. Goldberg and Mrs. Halpert.
When they passed by the seminary of the city of Krakow the
building itself told the whole story, all the twists and
turns along the way from the incipient idea until its
fulfillment. And from there, on to the cemetery.
The Unveiling
Kaddish. After over sixty years a voice echoes through
the trees. Yisgadal veyiskadash, Shmei Rabboh. Omen.
The pleasant melancholy of Keil Molei Rachamim
consoles the consolers. "Ima Soroh," echoes the voice of Rav
Yeshayohu Lieberman, and his voice touched an exposed nerve.
For all of the ladies are the daughters of Soroh the
educator, who had no biological children of her own. She is
also the mother of bnei Torah, for in her merit they
have somebody with whom to build a Torah home. She is mother,
grandmother and great-grandmother of generations past and
future, explains Rav Lieberman, eulogizing her. Then the
floodgates of tears burst open.
The Nazis, may their names be blotted out, shattered the
stone. But the real memorial did not yield to the shattering
iron for it lives on in the hearts of many. Her testament,
part of which was written in stone, breathes in Torah centers
around the world. And thus read the new gilded letters etched
with an emery nib: "Here lies the modest and righteous woman,
Moras Soroh bas R' Betzalel Schenirer, wife of Rav Yitzchok
Landa, a Jewish mother, the founder of Bais Yaakov schools .
. . "
In her will she asked that the verses constantly on her lips
always remain in the hearts and mouths of her students and
their students.
"I close with my old verses: Shivisi Hashem lenegdi
somid; Ivdu es Hashem besimchoh; Reishis
chochmoh yiras Hashem; Limnos yomeinu kein hoda;
Toras Hashem temimoh meshivas nofesh."
And the black stone goes on to tell visitors, "The gravestone
was destroyed in the years of fury and re-erected in
5763."
Repayment
A simple visit to the New Cemetery of Krakow-Plashov struck a
chord in the heartstrings and set into motion a private
initiative that gained momentum - - and has now come to a
close. A large gravestone stands alone. A very nice- looking
gravestone.
Had the tzidkonis been asked, based on her elevated
middos, she certainly would have refused.
But this stone was built for our sakes, not hers. As a
landmark on the road map of a nation, as a gesture to the
spiritual mother of all her daughters. A necessary show of
gratitude.
Now the debt has been repaid.