(This is a true story.)
At five thirty in the morning, the Warsaw Ghetto was
surrounded by S.S. troops. Sheindel looked apprehensively at
her two little boys sleeping restlessly on the floor of the
bunker. Where could she hide them from the Nazi beasts? If
only Hillel her husband were here, they could have made the
decision together; as he had many friends on the Aryan side.
He had been carted off several weeks ago, and had not
returned. Sheindel knew that her time was running out.
Firstly, the cellar where they were hiding was stiflingly
hot; each breath was an effort. Secondly, the scanty food she
had left would barely last the week.
This morning they heard a loud voice shouting in Polish,
outside their bunker. "Come out all you Jews who are hiding
inside here. The Germans have promised not to harm anyone who
comes out willingly. If you don't come out, they will pump
gas into the cellar." The fugitives inside the cellar
conferred together in whispers. No one moved. The two little
boys did not make a sound, as if they understood the deadly
danger. A few minutes elapsed then, suddenly, they smelled
the pungent smell of gas. Two men made their way to the exit
and returned immediately. The nose of a machine gun was
trained onto the exit. They tried drinking water to dispel
the choking gas, but the liquid seemed to push the gas into
their lungs even more rapidly. Some groped their way to the
window, with others following behind them quickly.
They had no choice; they had to get out through the door. No
machine guns, no S.S, no raucous shouts. The Germans had all
gone, leaving the gas to do its work. Sheindel groped her way
outside, carefully shepherding the children. She had not seen
daylight for weeks, and the rays of the sun blinded her
momentarily. Spring had come to the world; at the sight of
the fresh green shoots, Sheindel felt new vitality. She
wanted to live, but where to hide the children? She looked at
their pinched little faces and matchstick limbs. She saw
their eyes, filled with suffering and wisdom beyond their
years.
A daring plan formed in her mind. She would take them onto
the Aryan side, outside the Ghetto. Friedrich, the erstwhile
manager of her husband's textile factory, might agree to hide
the boys for her till the end of the war although the only
way to get there undetected, was through the sewers.
The drains were narrow and damp. The mother and her two
little boys inched their way forward on their bellies. All
three were soaked, as was the tiny bundle of essentials which
Sheindel clutched tightly. In this bundle she had secreted
her diamond wrist watch, all her jewelry and a considerable
sum of money, with which she planned to bribe the Pole.
Friedrich was working on his flower beds when he heard the
rustling from behind some rose bushes. He stared at the
apparition emerging from there. His fleshy face crumpled in
sympathy at the sight of the two little skeletons and their
equally emaciated mother. He recognized the family of his
wealthy employer. When Sheindel thrust the valuable package
into his hands, Friedrich was far from enthusiastic.
Nevertheless, when she pleaded with him to watch over them
till after the war, and when she told him that the money and
valuables were for the expense and danger which he would
incur, he nodded his head in consent. Sheindel wasted no time
in fond farewells, she just bent over the children and
whispered, "Always remember that you are Yidden," and left
swiftly.
She made her way to the ruins where the partisans had their
headquarters. Now that she had entrusted her children to the
Pole, she felt a new determination to survive. Starvation had
taken its toll, her feet dragged when suddenly, four Germans
sprang out of nowhere, in front of her. She was taken to the
'dispatch station' where they told her she would be sent to
work in Lublin. Actually, people were sent to Maidenek and
Aushwitz from there.
Somehow or other, Sheindel survived the years of hell. At the
end of the war, in spite of her appalling physical and mental
condition, her first consideration was to reclaim the
children. The thought of those children had sustained her
through her worst moments.
"Only Shimon survived," declared the farmer's wife sadly. "We
nursed him through typhus as if he was our own son, but he
didn't make it." Sheindel had no more tears to shed!
With Shimon, now almost twelve, very pale and thin but oh, so
mature, Sheindel found her way to Eretz Yisroel in the
company of other holocaust survivors. She could not overcome
the nightmares which haunted her night and day. Although she
knew that she had responsibilities as a mother, all too often
she found herself sitting, gazing at a blank wall. Shimele
understood her problems. He himself was surrounded by friends
and enjoyed learning, which made him forget those terrible
years, whereas his poor mother spent most of her time alone,
haunted by memories.
He did his utmost to give her nachas, excelling in his
learning and in his whole behavior. His perpetual good humour
helped Sheindel to rebuild her life. After some years when he
was ready to get engaged, he told Leah, the prospective
bride, that he has one stipulation. His mother was to come
and live with them. "My mother has a dreadful past and she
finds solace only in me," he explained. The girl did not
quite understand why the mother could not live alone;
thousands of people had survived a horrendous past. Her
husband to-be-explained that he was the sole surviving
relative, and he was not prepared to let her live by
herself.
The girl mulled over the idea over for a while, and then
consented. Being the sort of girl she was, she kept the
mitzva of honoring parents in all its details.
Sheindel had the brightest, airiest room in the flat, freshly
decorated and tastefully furnished. Right from the start, the
arrangement was a blessing in the house. Leah's mother died
of a sudden heart attack two years after they were married,
and Sheindel's help and advice were invaluable when it came
to looking after the twin babies. As the family grew, the
grandmother helped both in the daily household chores, and in
the upbringing of the children. Leah never failed to thank
her. It was obvious that Sheindel had no time to brood over
the past, as she enjoyed her lively noisy grandchildren, and
it was altogether a peaceful, harmonious household.
When Sheindel was eighty-five, the euphoric existence changed
and her memory began to fail. One Thursday, she boarded a bus
as usual to do the weekly shopping, and got off at the wrong
stop. She was completely lost and some kindly passersby
traced her address and brought her home. The next morning,
her daughter in law found her bed empty. They found her
wandering about aimlessly. She did not remember leaving the
house. The doctor who examined her told them she had
Alzheimer's. He explained that it would get progressively
worse and that she needed watching twenty-four hours of the
day.
Now that her mother-in-law was incapable of helping, Leah was
hard put to manage. Shimon tried to hire a carer, but
Sheindel did not like her. When they wanted to enroll her at
a day center, Sheindel refused to go. Thus Leah became the
devoted carer, and Shimon used a considerable amount of his
savings to pay for ordinary domestic help, to do the
housework. The house took on a new routine, with the older
children taking their beloved grandmother for walks when they
had time off from school.
Suggestions for shidduchim began coming in for
Shimon's oldest daughter. Having put aside most of his
savings now in order to help Leah look after his mother, he
had no way of financing a wedding, and evaded the
propositions for the time being.
One summer afternoon, a tall man in his fifties, dressed like
a European tourist, knocked at the door, asking to speak to
the man of the house. "Do you remember Friedrich?" he asked
in English. Shimon was struck dumb at the mention of his kind
benefactor. His mind took him back to the time when Avrohom
his brother had been so ill, and how they had nursed him. He
thought of how the man had hidden him at the risk of his
life, and then he noticed how similar his visitor was to
Friedrich. Regaining his composure, Shimon invited the man
inside. "Well actually," the man hesitated, "my group is
waiting for me in the hotel." He drew a check from his pocket
and handed it to Shimon.
"What's this?" stammered Shimon, "There must be some
mistake!" The tourist explained that his father had not
wanted to accept Sheindel's money or jewels. Her husband had
been so good to him for so many years. He had always been
fair, promoted him in the textile factory and taken an
interest in his family, so he decided to look after the
considerable fortune till she claimed the children. After the
war, there were many criminals around who attacked the
refugees and stole whatever they had managed to save. For
that reason, he had still held on to the valuables, which he
had now converted into cash.
Shimon did not understand everything the man said in his
rapid English, but the gist of it was that for years
Friedrich had been telling his son to visit Israel to return
the money to its rightful owner. Now the organization for
Holocaust survivors had arranged a trip to Israel for all
those who had saved Jews during the war. Friedrich was almost
90 years old by now, so his son was invited to come instead,
to attend the ceremony and to receive the gratitude from all
the survivors. When the tourist had left, Shimon was
astounded to see the amount on the check. His heart sang
within him. He would not have to refuse this last wonderful
shidduch which had just been suggested. He went into
his mother's room where he found her in her wheelchair,
gazing aimlessly into space. She did not understand what he
said to her, but with tears of emotion he bent over her.
"Mother, you have given up your whole life for our welfare.
Your prayers were all for our welfare. Now that you are ill,
you are still looking after us, and your presence is a
palpable blessing in the house. You do not understand what is
going on, but you should know that when our daughter gets
married, you will be the one who has forged a new link in the
generation chain.."
