The Strength of the Soul of a Holocaust Survivor
Sivan 8, 5784 (June 14, 2024), 50 years since the tragic accident that shook all hearts
By: Yaakov Rosenfeld
The genius Rabbi Schneur Zalman Garelick survived the Holocaust and after many upheavals and torments of the body and mind, he arrived in the Land of Israel. He was a great scholar of Torah and Chasidism, and served as the first rabbi of Kfar Chabad.
The Lubavitcher Rebbe was very fond of Rabbi Garelick and spoke highly of him. The Rebbe especially noted the fact that, being extremely old, he worked, acted and was active with the energy of a young person. In addition to his great spiritual leadership, which left a strong impression and went far beyond the boundaries of Kfar Chabad, Rabbi Garelick was known as a man of great kindness. He founded, among other things, a loan association and many people were helped by him.
At the end of the day on the day after Shavuot 5734 (1974), when Rabbi Garelick was 94 years old, he was returning to Kfar Chabad from a wedding that he had officiated at, and was killed in a tragic accident that claimed five victims, of the best Chabad Lubavitch communities in the Holy Land.
Rabbi Garelick
Thousands attended his funeral in the neighborhood of Geula, during which the Gerrer Rebbe, the Beit Yisrael z”l, emerged from his holy residence and accompanied him a long way. The Gerrer Rebbe knew and cherished Rabbi Garelick from his appearance at the Moetzet Gedolei HaTorah (Council of Torah Scholars), presenting the words of his rabbi, the Lubavitcher Rebbe.
Another car made its way from the same wedding in the direction of Lod, in which sat Rabbi Berish Rosenberg z”l, a Chabad mashpia (influential rabbi in yeshivas) in the city of Lod, and the father-in-law of Rabbi Yitzchak David Grossman, rabbi of Migdal HaEmek.
The occupants of this vehicle noticed the wrecked vehicle on the side of the road, near Shaar HaGai, and got out to offer help.
Rabbi Berish Rosenberg cared for one of the mortally wounded until he arrived with him at the hospital, and due to the darkness he did not know that the wounded man, who was pronounced dead at the hospital, was his beloved son-in-law Rabbi Yechiel Goldberg z”l.
Rabbi Rosenberg’s daughter, daughter-in-law, and son-in-law were killed in this terrible accident!
Rabbi Yechiel Goldberg
When the extent of the disaster became clear, Rabbi Rosenberg was stunned.
Nechama Rosenberg, a bride a few weeks before her wedding, was in the midst of preparations for her biggest day in life. On the same day that the disaster happened, Nechama the bride bought a wig in Bnei Brak.
That day, when instead of escorting Nechama to the chupa (marriage canopy), Rabbi Berish followed her stretcher, the heroism of the Holocaust survivor who lost his parents and family members, and suffered so much until he found rest, was revealed.
On the their 50th yahrzeit (anniversary of death), I conversed with Rebbetzin Grossman of Migdal HaEmek, daughter of Rabbi Rosenberg and sister of the bride Nechama z”l. I would like to hear her memories from the past.
It is difficult for the rebbetzin to return to these difficult days, but this story is valuable, as it is appropriate for the younger generation to learn in what form the survivors of the Holocaust, “the nation who survived the sword,” accepted everything that was decreed to them, with faith, joy, and peace.
“Berish Techiner”
My father, Rabbi Rabbi Dov Berish Rosenberg z”l, was a Chasid of Radomsk. He studied at the Keter Torah yeshiva in Chrzanów and was an excellent student. At the yeshiva he was called “Berish Techiner.” Thanks to the blessing of the Rebbe of Radomsk, he was saved from conscription.
In their home in the town of Tesin (Cieszyn in Polish, Teschen in German) in Czechoslovakia, improved economic conditions prevailed, and as a result they were the first to suffer and be persecuted. His father called all the children and asked them to run. Each fled in a different direction, and my father and his brother Leibish (who was already married) ran away together. One of the brothers, his name was Shlomo, starved to death on the road.
My father went through many upheavals until he arrived at the Lodz camp, and there the story with the tefillin took place.
What is the story with the tefillin?
My father never said anything. He wanted to be happy and believed that if he remembered what had happened and talked about the events that happened to him and the loss of his family members, he would sink into sadness, which is why the Holocaust was never a topic in our house.
And how did we know the story with the tefillin? It was after I was already married. One Shabbat my husband (the genius Rabbi Yitzchak David Grossman) sat with him, and my father, who knew that my husband devoted himself to restoring the hearts of lost sons to their Father in Heaven, told him a personal story that we had never heard from him:
“It was in the camp in Lodz. They took everything from us, and also the holy utensils. They robbed me of my tefillin, and the wicked ones threw my tefillin together with the rest of the holy items of all the prisoners into a deep pit.”
“How could I i function without the tefillin?… I surrendered my soul and jumped into the pit and took the tefillin out of it, and when the Nazis found out what I had done, they beat me severely and threw my tefillin into the pit again.”
“I was very broken.”
“Then the horse thief of Lodz saw me and asked me why I was sad. I answered him that my tefillin was stolen.”
“And the thief of Lodz was a simple and poor man, the Jewish spark was awakened in him and he said to me, ‘I will bring you tefillin.'”
“He had been an expert thief for a long time, and he did what he did, and a short time later he came to me with fancy tefillin.”
“On that day, I met a righteous young man, the grandson of the Sanzer Rebbe, and I saw him crying bitter tears.”
“I asked him what happened, and he told me that he had valuable tefillin here in the camp, an inheritance from his righteous ancestor, and the wicked ones took them from him and since then he has had no rest.”
“I asked him, do you have any indications that can identify the tefillin? He gave indications and I immediately told him, ‘what is yours is in front of you.’ It was a wondrous instance of Divine Providence. The horse thief brought me exactly the tefillin of this young man, from wherever he got it…”
“The next day the horse thief met my brother Leibish and asked him ‘What do you have to say about the tefillin I got for your brother?’ and when my brother answered him that ‘he has already handed them over to their owners…’ the thief got excited and went wherever he went and did what he did and managed to bring two more pairs of tefillin, one of the Rashi style and one of the Rabbeinu Tam style!”
A wonderful story. Did your father put on tefillin every day?
Yes. And that was a rarity in the camp. My father was employed in hard labour, and would go to work every day with a broom. Inside the broom, he hid the tefillin, and when he was out of sight of the evil ones, he would put on the tefillin and pray.
The wonder is that when he arrived in Israel he handed over the tefillin for inspection, and they were still kosher!
How did your father get to Samarkand?
As mentioned, my father did not talk about what happened to him. Once, a Jew approached my husband when he was in the United States and asked him: “Rabbi Grossman, are you the son-in-law of Rabbi Berish Rosenberg? If so, I will tell you what I experienced with him then, during the war. Together we fled from place to place, and one day when we arrived with a group of refugees in some town, Rabbi Berish asked if there was a Torah scroll there, and when she answered in the negative, he announced that he did not want to stay in that town because in a place where there is no Torah scroll he did not want to stay even one hour. He escaped from the place, and this was his miracle, for those who remained in that town were very quickly captured and cruelly killed, and he, after severe experiences, reached Samarkand.”
In Samarkand, my father became close to Chabad Chasidism and there he got married, and that is a separate story.
My mother, born in Poland, was the daughter of the chassid, Rabbi Shalom Lissner, who fled to Siberia with his entire family and was murdered in Samarkand on the night of Hoshana Rabbah by the Russians on a false accusation.
And his children were born in Israel?
We are an “ingathering of the exiles.” I was born in Poland after my parents fled from Samarkand together with my sister Shulamit (who was born in Samarkand), and my brother was born when we were already in Israel.
Rabbi Dov Ber (Berish) Rosenberg
After the war, after the physical and mental torment that he experienced during the years of rage, he learned that all the members of his family had been killed in sanctification of G-d’s Name. At the behest of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, we went to the Land of Israel. In the year 5708 (1948) we sailed on the ship “Moledet” (Homeland) and had the privilege of arriving in the Land of Israel. We lived in the city of Lod.
My father was a true chassid, and never deviated from the Rebbe’s instructions. He was great in the Torah and extremely persistent, and only after his death, the written instructions he received from the great men of the generation were discovered among his documents. He was trained as an educator because the Rebbe wanted this, but since the Rebbe did not order him to become a rabbi in practice, he never officially served in this role.
The Rebbe wished for him to become a Sofer Stam (religious scribe) and that is what he did (and he would go to the mikva [ritual bath] before writing the Name of G-d). And after he left this holy work, due to his fear of Heaven, he continued to fix corrections on a regular basis so as not to deviate from the will of the Rebbe, who ordered him to be a sofer.
Did your family speak about the Holocaust at home?
Never. My father was the happiest man in the world. He made his family happy and made those who needed encouragement happy. He would give courage and strength to the brokenhearted, and they never saw grief on his face.
The Rebbe appointed him to be a mashpia in Lod, and many listened to his lessons.
Many would consult him on spiritual and physical matters, and he was one that many people turned to. No one could have thought of him going through the horrors of the Holocaust in such a difficult way and losing everything dear to him in it.
And on that horrible night?
It was at the end of the day following the holiday of Shavuot. My father, who was in another car, when he learned who the dead were, worried about how my mother would receive the news. The whole night was occupied with this question.
(According to eyewitnesses, it was said that on that night, Rabbi Berish took care of the parents of one of the victims of the disaster and gave advice to those around him on how to inform them in the right way)
During the shiva (seven day initial mourning period), my mother was upset and broken. She was a very weak woman. I remember that my father called our house the night of the accident and wanted to talk to my husband, his only concern was how to tell my mother and how she would receive it. In the first days she sat at home on the floor and cried constantly. On the third day, my father entered her room, and told her: ” The sages said, ‘three days to cry, and seven to mourn.'” The days of crying had already passed. From that moment on, mother stopped crying.
On my father, one did not see anything, even after the disaster. He gave lessons on Chasidism and was a “listening ear” to anyone with a bitter heart. He listened to broken Jews, and made them happy. How happy he made people.
Ten years after the disaster, father died suddenly, and then, when people came to visit, we realized how many people drew strength and power from him. He was an inexhaustible source of faith, joy, and closeness to G-d.
The Shabbat after the disaster
We got up from the shiva, we returned from the cemetery, and my father, calm and relaxed, said to everyone: “Let’s drink a l’chaim!” No storm, no sadness, and no gloom could be seen on him.
My sister and I worred for our parents and didn’t want them to remain alone.
On the first Shabbat after the shiva, my sister decided that she would come to our parents for Shabbat. She packed up an entire Shabbat with her husband and arrived early, and when she walked in my sister was amazed.
The house was clean and bright, a pleasant smell of holy Shabbat dishes spread in the air and a light shone on the faces of my father and mother.
“Mother,” my sister said, we came to be with you for Shabbat.”
And my mother answered:
“We told G-d, ‘Master of the World! If this is what You want, we receive it with love.'”
The next Shabbat, we went to them.
My father said: “On Shabbat, it is forbidden to be sad. One must be happy.”
This is how my father, a Holocaust survivor, who lost is entire family, received the disaster that he faced. A double tragedy: his daughter a month before her wedding, and his young son-in-law, who left a young widow.
On Shabbat night, my father sat and sang, and his face lit up, and he conducted a supreme Shabbat meal, and he said:
“And G-d knows what He is doing.”
At the Shabbat meal, when singing the songs, he was wet all over, like someone who had water splashed on his head and feet…
On the thirtieth day since the tragedy, my father wrote a will.
He got up from the shloshim (thirty days following the funeral), shook off the mourning, and wrote a will. He didn’t tell anyone in the world about it. My father folded the will and buried it in the pocket of one of his clothes.
And how did we find out about the will?
One day, my mother and I discussed that we wanted to perpetuate the memory of Nechama z”l. We didn’t have the money to write a Torah scroll, and we decided to open a gemach (lending organization) to lend clothes for brides.
This gemach is actually the cornerstone of the magnificent bridal salon in Migdal HaEmek.
In the beginning, my mother gave my sister Nechama’s clothes to the gemach. These were clothes that my mother had squeezed streams of clothes out of. In the period between Nechama’s engagement and her wedding, my mother sat and sewed clothes for her with her own hands. She put all the love in the world into the stitches, and following the disaster, my mother has occasionally taken them out of the closet and burst into bitter tears.
After my father’s passing, she decided to give his and her clothing to the gemach, and then, when I was sorting the clothing, out popped a page from one of the pockets. This was the will that my father wrote, at the age of 55, on his thirtieth birthday for his daughter. I must point out that my father was then a perfectly healthy person.
A short time before his sudden passing, we saw him sitting and looking at the pictures of his parents.
It was rare to see my father doing this. Apart from sitting and studying Torah and helping other Jews, we did not see him doing anything else.
Certainly he didn’t tend to dwell on past memories that could make him sad.
To our astonishment, father said: “It is written that when a person comes to the age of his parents, he should start worrying.” We told him: “But your parents were murdered in the Holocaust, they did not just ‘die’,” but my father answered, “Nevertheless…”
On the night of the holy Shabbat of the 10th of Shvat, he sat and met with chasidim, and even had time to study chasidism with his granddaughter. Suddenly he sighed, and asked for water. He recited the “shehakol” (that everything was created due to G-d’s word) blessing, and was unable to swallow until his soul left him in purity.
In his will, which he wrote ten years earlier, when he was young and completely healthy, my father wrote words of instruction for his daughters. He asked them to be careful in dressing modestly and emphasized: “Even a modest outfit, if it’s the kind that people will say, ‘If the Rosenberg family goes like this, we can lower the level a little,’ don’t wear such an outfit.” He asked in his will that they drink a l’chaim and also that they they immerse themselves in a mikva for the upliftment of his soul. He promised that he would good things would happen to those who would immerse themselves as an upliftment for his soul.
During the conversation with Ganzach Kiddush Hashem, Rebbetzin Grossman revealed incredible revelations about the struggles of her parents and all of her family members during the years of the Holocaust, starting with their escape from Poland, their stay in Samarkand, and their entire difficult journey to Israel. These stories unfold a wonderful scroll of devotion, faith, and firm trust in G-d, a life of closeness to G-d and infinite grace in the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
Another time, we will publish the testimony, and we thank Rebbetzin Grossman from the bottom of our hearts for her precious time and the wonderful story.
