Memories Of Chanukah In The Ghetto

Jewish Press ^ | 12-21-05 | Edith Rubin

[SJackson]

As memories return with time, I recall the last Chanukah in the ghetto. My brother managed to get oil for our menorah, and his face shone as he lit each wick.

We were still full of hope. We felt our ordeal could not last forever. The Russians were very near, bombarding us daily, and we were dreaming of liberation and freedom. We had no festive food to celebrate the holiday with, but we were happy to be together, oblivious of our bleak and crowded conditions.

Many families shared our apartment, including a group coming from a factory in Buda.

Our family occupied one corner of the room containing two large beds. However, we felt at home; after all, it was our pre-war apartment, and we felt calm and peaceful. My mother had returned a few weeks before, escaping a march toward Germany, and her miraculous presence was soothing. Though food was scarce, we did not feel deprived. My grandmother always managed to produce a delectable concoction from any legumes we had on hand, and I learned to make a flat pita-like bread without an oven. We managed with what we had.

The group from the factory used their own resources, and shared their food.

One day a young woman from the factory group came to me with a long face. ``Imagine,`` she said, ``They know it is my holiday, and they won`t give me anything extra.`` ``Do you mean Chanukah?`` ``No, no it`s Christmas for me, and they won`t honor it.`` I looked at her askance. ``Do you know where you are? Aren`t you in the ghetto of Budapest? ``But I am a Christian,`` she said proudly. ``Not according to Hitler,`` said I. ``Even if only your grandfather was Jewish, Hitler considers you Jewish.`` She was totally out of sync with the rest of the ghetto population. The irony escaped her.

It was a strange phenomenon to meet with a fellow sufferer in the ghetto who had a totally different point of view. She had no inkling why she was there, and no pride whatsoever, in her Jewish heritage. It was like being there as a shadow, as part of the landscape, without rhyme or reason and without understanding. It gave me a rare insight into human nature that is afforded to but a few, and certainly not realized by her.

All of us felt singled out in the ghetto. However, we felt innocent of any crimes of which we were accused, and we felt ``in the right.`` We felt that eventually, the truth would come out and we would prevail.

Our fellow sufferer had nothing. She was not included into the society of the Christians, she did not feel the pride of Jewishness; her indignation did not cover any dignity. She seemed to have only the emptiness of a plight from a religion that was handed down through generations. She had no history, only illusions.

I do not know what happened to this young woman, because she disappeared among others at the end of the war. We lost touch in the midst of trying to pick up our own shattered lives. But at least, we had something to sustain us — a bond with the past, a link to our Fathers that allowed us to heal and come back to a world ruled by reason and faith.

[SJackson]

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[txroadkill]

May we never forget, but more so, never let it happen again

those pictured here are about to be executed in retaliation for the Ghetto uprising

[Bigg Red]

Blessings on all of our Jewish Freepers during the Festival of Lights.

[M. Espinola]

Miniature silver Chanukah menorah manufactured in the Lodz ghetto. When closed, the folding lamp has the shape of a book. It contains nine small oil-holders and tongs. As it is portable, it enables the owner to fulfill the obligation of kindling the Chanukah lights even under difficult conditions. The lamp was made in a workshop in the ghetto and presented by the employees to Zusia Ejbuszyc, the manager of the ghetto's paper factory.

Ejbuszyc gave the lamp, with a dedication, to the chairman of the ghetto's Jewish Council, Mordechai Chaim Rumkowski, on Chanukah 1944. It was found after the war in the ruins of Rumkowski's house in the former ghetto.