In the children's barracks of the Auschwitz death camp — a
name that sends a shudder down every Jewish spine — boys
from different countries and backgrounds were grouped
together.
"The one thing that united us all," recalls one of the boys
in his diary, "was the tefillos that we prayed
together in the corner of the barracks and our mesirus
nefesh for mitzvos.
"As the month of Kislev came around, we all had but one
desire: to light the Chanukah candles. At least one candle,
one night — it was our dream.
"After our combined efforts and daring, the first night of
Chanukah saw a small wick being lit atop the highest wooden
bunk. Who knows if that was the only candle lit in the
entire Auschwitz, though it was occupied by thousands of
Jews? We, at the time, had the notion that it was the only
Chanukah light in the entire world, for we were sure that
all the rest of Jewish life had been annihilated. Yet we
felt that this flame would light our path into the future,
into a continuity that would bring us an eventual triumph
over our cruel oppressors."
***
"In the labor camp where we were deported in the heart of
Germany, the spirits of Jewish women were long broken. Far
away from a father's house and a mother's apron we had been
swallowed by this whirlpool of blood and torture. However,
with the advent of Chanukah, I formed a bold plan to light a
menorah! The wicks were pulled from our threadbare
rags that served as clothes. When a friend asked me why I
was removing the little material I had to cover myself with,
I let her in on my secret, and she offered to procure me
five potatoes. These were cut in half, scooped out and
filled with machine oil that another woman succeeded in
obtaining.
"After the first night lighting, I saw how the women's faces
radiated the glow that the flame cast, bringing a feeling of
serenity and hope.
"I became more daring and decided to continue lighting night
after night.
"By the fifth night of Chanukah, we were used to the idea
and our fear lessened as we lit the flames. When the time
came for lights out, we left our potato menorah burning so
we could watch the dancing flames as we returned each of us
to her wooden `bed' for the night. Sleepily we sang Mo'oz
Tzur softly and some of us began reminiscing about
Chanukah back home.
"Suddenly, our false sense of security was shattered. The
door burst open and the shrieking voice of our kapo
cut through the air.
"You are signaling to the enemy's airplanes patrolling
overhead. I shall have you punished severely for this!"
Twenty-four pairs of accusing eyes glared at me in the dim
candlelight. After all, this was all my work. I had no
choice but to speak up. In a steady voice that belied my
paralyzing fear, I told the red-faced kapo, `Listen here!
These are no enemy signals. We are merely celebrating our
festival of lights — Chanukah, when the few Jews overcame
the many and mighty Greeks.'
"I have no idea how I dared to say what I did, but I felt
that a strange voice was speaking forth from my throat.
"Without a word the kapo turned on her heel and left
the room, leaving us all to wait for the worst, which we
were sure was yet to come.
"To our great surprise, we were left unpunished. Not only
this, but the next day the kapo called me and gave me
an extra portion of cereal, like she would give to those who
helped her carry her sacks."
Another Chanukah miracle had occurred.
Chanukah Lights in the Bunkers and Camps of World War
II