My grandfather, Rav Chaim Cohn, z”l, was the Rav in the
Lessinstrasse shul in Berlin, from 1919 until 1939. This shul attracted a range
of daveners: important rabbanim, such as Rav Ahron Neuwirth, the father
of the author of Shemiras Shabbos k’Hilchasa; Rav Shlomo Wolbe, a father
of modern mussar; as well as less important people, such as Albert
Einstein and other famous intellectuals. Yes, before you ask, Albert Einstein
did go to shul – maybe not every Shabbos but not only on Yom Kippur.
Interestingly, he went to an Orthodox shul, and that was not because he could
not find a Reform temple; there were plenty of those in Berlin. The fact is, davka,
that this Orthodox shul with 250 seats was nicknamed intelligenztempel,
the shul of the intellectuals in pre-WWII Berlin. Interestingly, Opa was
actually mekarev Rav Wolbe as a young boy, which Rav Wolbe often acknowledged
during his lifetime.
In November 1939, on Kristallnacht,
the shul was burned down. A few weeks later, my grandparents with seven
children and one mother-in-law left for Switzerland. They were fortunate; my
grandfather was born in Switzerland and had Swiss citizenship. They ended up in
England, where my grandfather never held another rabbinic position. I don’t
think he ever learned English.
My father recently mentioned to me
that, as a child, he noticed his father fasting some days without telling
anyone. He tried to figure out the pattern of these self-prescribed fast days
and concluded that they were on Monday and Thursday. I don’t know if this is
the reason, but I do know that Opa was extremely grateful that all his family
had been saved. I heard a statistic that demonstrated how great the danger was:
Only two percent of Jewish children born in Germany in the 1930s reached the
age of 10! That his children were among the two percent was the reason for
Opa’s great gratitude.
* * *
That’s the background story. Fast
forward to a few months ago. I received a call from Leibel Rosenberg, who heads
the Nuremberg municipal library in Germany, where he is in charge of returning
Jewish-owned books stolen by the Nazi Julius Streicher, yemach shemo. Famous
for shouting “Purimfest 1946” before he was hung, Streicher stole thousands of
Jewish books in an attempt to start a museum of the Jewish people, who he
believed would soon be extinct.
Rosenberg and his team work slowly
and methodically to verify the books’ signatures or stamps and to return them
to their original owners or their descendants.
So, 80 years after they were
stolen, I was very excited to hear that he had found a few books belonging to
my grandfather in the Nuremberg library. After filling out a few forms, I eagerly
awaited the arrival of the parcel from Germany, hoping to lay my hands on sefarim
that my grandfather himself had learned from.
As soon as I received a notification
from the post office declaring that I had a parcel from Germany, I ran off to collect
it. Even before I walked out, I was excitedly tearing the layers of wrapping
paper. (Those Germans know how to wrap!) I finally got to a beautiful cardboard
box more suitable for the queen’s jewels than for a book. I carefully opened it
only to discover a German-to-English dictionary. That was not very useful and a
little disappointing. But surely the second book would be more exciting, I
comforted myself. After ripping away more layers of the endless wrapping paper,
I opened the cardboard box, only to find a small pamphlet, all in German, by Erich
Wasmann.
Catching sight of a fellow near me
who looked like he had a smart phone, I ran over and explained that this is a
historical moment; I had just received books stolen from my grandfather by the Nazis
and needed his help to translate the title. The poor victim of my enthusiasm
set his phone on Google translate, pointed the camera at the book – and although
I grabbed the phone from him in my eagerness, he gently tilted the phone back,
and we both stared at the screen. Shock and horror! The translation said that
this book comprised the collected essays of the priest Erich Wasman about
evolution!
What a total embarrassment. The
fellow with the phone gave me a strange look and rushed off to take cover
before the next siren. I muttered a thank you and ran off in the other
direction.
I knew that this Nazi, Streicher,
was a total rasha, but
I did not know that he also had no taste. Why could he not have stolen
something more significant, I wondered. The family tree contained some
priceless chiddushim. What a crazy, idiotic thief.
After examining each page, I found
a possible solution. There was a faded stamp declaring that this pamphlet had
been awarded to the Jewish soldiers who fought in the German army during
the First World War. It was a tactless and useless present from the Weimar Republic
but an embarrassment for the Third Reich, testifying to the Jewish blood shed
for the German motherland.
That was already a consolation. It
remined me of the cruel and bitter times when Jews sacrificed their lives for
foreign countries. Now, unfortunately, Jews are being wounded and worse here in
Israel, but at least it is for our country and for our land – not for some antisemitic
ruler in Europe.
There was another consolation, too.
A day later, our grandchildren came to visit, babbling away about their night
activities. They had enjoyed watching the Iranian missiles flying from east to
west being intercepted in the Jerusalem area. Although the missiles were flying
above, since they were not programmed to hit Jerusalem, there was no
requirement to go to the shelter. From their home in Gilo, they have a
fantastic view of the interceptions – not such a common hobby for 4-year-old
boys. They explained that the reshayim were shooting missiles at the Jews,
and Hashem was knocking them down.
* * *
A few months ago, I received my
grandfather’s tallis from a cousin in London. This tallis had
been in the shul in Lessinstrasse on Kristallnacht but was only partially burned.
There are two holes in the garment, but the tzizis are all intact. In an
educational brainwave, I took out my grandfather’s tallis and explained
to the children what else the resha’im did – they burned my
grandfather’s tallis. The grandchildren were now chanting that the resha’im
are shooting missiles at the Jews and also burned their saba’s tallis.
They kissed the tzizis and poked their heads through the two holes.
I felt then that if the tallis
could talk it would rebuke me for the historical comparison. The tallis
would say something like this:
“When I was burnt in 1938, 91
Jews were murdered. The Europeans, with their rich history of pogroms and
expelling Jews, did what they know best – nothing. Even the Americans sufficed
with only a diplomatic condemnation. The life of European Jew was worth less
than that of a dog.
“But this week,” the tallis
continued, “this same despised Jewish people rose up and attacked a country
1500 miles away for daring to threaten Jews. Officially, almost a thousand Iranians
were killed and, unofficially, many more. The Europeans as usual did what they
know best – nothing. But this time, the Americans finished off the job that the
Jewish army started. How can I compare the two situations?” summarized
the tallis.
