Story: Cossack Horse

There was a famous Chassidic Jew from Russia called R Mendel Futerfas, a man
who spent ten years of his life in a Russian gulag for teaching Judaism.
One of the prisoners in Rav Mendel's camp was an old Cossack imprisoned because
of his loyalty to the Czar. He reminisced with Reb Mednel about the Cossack horse.
You see, the Cossack horse was different than all other horses, incomparably
different! A Cossack’s horse had a different heart.
Not only would it do anything for its master; jump into fire, over trees and even
houses. Anything. And it was stronger, faster, and braver than anything alive. But
most of all, it had a different heart.
I will explain," continued the Cossack, “How did they catch a Cossack horse? Do you
know? Well I will tell you, this is a story!"
"The Cossacks were experts at this. There was a special group that would wander
the mountains and fields on horseback looking for herds of wild horses.
Then, if they were lucky and found a large herd, say of a thousand, two thousand
horses. They would stampede them and get them all running in the direction of the

nearest river. Then they would start screaming and shooting their guns in the air
and force the herd into the widest, deepest part of the river. You see, most horses
can swim, and so they had to get over, through the current to the other side, or die.
Now, on the other side was waiting another group of Cossacks. The whole thing,
was planned from the beginning, and they would watch to see what the horses did.
There were always two types of horses; some horses would make it to the other
side and run away to live their lives. Then there were the young horses, that didn't
have the strength to cross over, so they just floundered in the middle of the river."
His voice became serious, and he sat a "But sometimes... Not always, but sometimes,
there was a third type; maybe only one or two at the most, that were sort of crazy
horses.
They would make it across, but instead of running away, they would turn around,
look back into the river to see if there were horses in trouble and then jump BACK
in to save them."
"They would swim to the young horses, grab them with their teeth and start
dragging them in. They just couldn't stand to see their fellow horses in danger.
The Cossacks would throw some paint on these special horses and chase them for
days until they caught them. Then it would take several months of hard work until
they trained them. But the main thing was the heart; it was a horse with a heart.

Jewish Pride: Shimon Ringel in Death Camp

Of the hundreds of heroic stories told by the Bluzhever Rebbe, Rabbi Yisroel Spiro, about his harrowing experiences in the Janowska labor camp during World War II, one episode is not well known at all. It is the story of Dr. Shimon Ringel. It is the courageous tale of a valiant man and his fight to preserve the honor, the kavod, of his people.

Arriving at the labor camp on August 26, 1942, Shimon, a young man in his 30s, carried with him a spirit of defiance and an inner strength. He was shocked at how the Jews all followed the orders of their German superiors; he desperately tried to convince the other inmates that eventually all of them would be killed, every last one. So why follow the Germans' orders and work for their cause? Why not spread the word to the thousands of other inmates? But a number of factors prevented him from doing this.

First of all, it was difficult to ever speak to a large number of people. The Nazis watched their every move carefully, ensuring that no one spoke to anyone else unless it was for a purpose. After work it was nearly impossible to find someone who had either the physical strength or the will to converse. They were shattered both in body and spirit. The only thing they wanted was to rest their bruised and weary bodies. Who had time or interest to speak about hope and pride? They were by and large walking skeletons, living out their days until the time came to die. And when it would, they would gladly leave this nightmarish existence.

So the voices of the Shimon Ringels had no chance of being heard. But Shimon would speak to the Bluzhever Rebbe. In him he found someone who would listen and at least try to share in his hope.

The labor camp was a scene of subhuman conditions ― appalling sanitation, little food, and constant harassment and beatings. Daily, they were forced to endure lineups where the SS guards would degrade and humiliate them.

"Which nation are the biggest liars and cheaters?" the SS guards would call out in glee, almost suppressing a snide smirk as they waited anxiously for the answer. "We the Jews are!" would be the cry of the degraded prisoners. Anyone daring not to scream out this answer would suffer by being chosen to stand in the middle of the courtyard and be beaten ― beaten until he died ― while his fellow Jews watched.

But Shimon could not bear to watch this horrible sight. He could no longer tolerate these barbarians mocking God and His holy nation. It is one thing to beat someone physically, but to humiliate the soul of a Jew, that was just too much. The humiliation and shame hurt so badly that Shimon decided to do something about it.

One of the daily rituals in the camp was the trip the inmates would take to the bathhouses. Although they was given the opportunity to bathe themselves, it was on a strict schedule. They had, to undress, bathe and redress all within a period of 5 minutes. Anyone not keeping to the schedule would be killed instantly. And tragically, often more blood would flow from those bathhouses, than water.

Afterward, again, the humiliating ceremony would begin. "Who's the filthiest nation on earth?" the Nazi guard would call out. "It is we the Jews who are infested with lice and filth."

"And why are you no longer dirty?"

"Because the kind and benevolent commandant has allowed us to cleanse ourselves."

The scene was sickening and shameful. But woe to the individual who dared to defy the sadistic guard. And for the longest time no one dared to do so. Until Shimon Ringel.

Shimon armed himself with a small dose of cyanide and one middle-sized rock. As the routine was about to begin, he turned to the Bluzhever Rebbe with tears in his eyes and he begged, "Please forgive me, Rebbe. I know that after what I am going to do, you will suffer together with the rest of the inmates. But I can no longer tolerate the shame they are causing to God and the Jewish people. I don't know if you will survive but promise me that if you do, you will tell this story to let people know that someone did not allow them to shame God's people."

The Rebbe tried to convince Shimon not to do it. But it was too late. The routine began. "Who is the filthiest nation on earth?"

Shimon refused to answer, while the rest of them struggled to proclaim that they were the filthiest nation, when they knew that the exact opposite was true. It did not take long for the Nazi guards to notice that Shimon was not responding to the questions in the same manner as everyone else.

"Why are you not answering, Jew?"

This time it was the Commandant Kolinko who spoke with a mixture of anger and confusion. "How dare you not answer the way you have been taught?" The commandant was visibly shaken and surprised that this Jew was so defiant!

"Because it is not true. The Jewish people are not filthy and we are not a lowly nation. It is you who should be ashamed of yourselves, you dirty dog. You kill innocent women and children. It is you who should be embarrassed for who you are."

And as soon as Shimon finished his diatribe, the commandant, shocked by his impudence, approached him and stepped right up to his face. Suddenly Shimon spit at him and smashed the rock he had hidden against the commandant's head.

Immediately chaos ensued. The SS guards pounced on Shimon and beat him mercilessly as the commandant bled profusely. But Shimon did not feel it at all. He was now in a place where no one could hurt him.

Astonishingly, somehow, someway, the matter was swept aside. One of those who survived was the Bluzhever Rebbe, Rabbi Yisroel Spira, who retold this story.

No Shame

Now, here was a Jew who knew he would not survive, yet he would not tolerate the spectacle of Jews calling themselves “filthy.”

We, thank G-d, are given the freedom to speak up against all the voices which never cease to defame and spread lies about the Jewish people and their homeland, the Land of Israel.

You know the story of the anti-Semite who knocks down the Jew in the street. The Jew gives him a coin and says that today is a holiday, a Yom Tov, where we give money to people who hit us and directs him to the wealthy Jew, who will give him big money. The anti-Semite goes to the man’s house and when the Jew comes to the door, the anti-Semite gives him a solid Zetz. The wealthy Jew calls his servants who beat the living daylights out of this anti-Semite. He goes away bruised and muttering, “These Jews, they don't even keep their own holidays.”

We ought never to be ashamed. We must speak up, with confidence, with dignity, with unwavering passion and strength. We cannot afford in times of freedom to suffer from an inferiority complex.

To Die as a Jew

At the D Day Museum in New Orleans there was a traveling exhibit about
Jewish soldiers who fought in WWII.


At the exhibit there was a video with Jewish soldiers discussing their
experiences as they were getting ready to go over to the European theater.
One of the people interviewed was a Mr. Bentley Kassal and he said something
amazing that I include at the end of this email. I found this was very
moving.


By the way if you go to Wikipedia you will see that Bentley was a NY state
judge and a so called 'secular' Jew who was very progressive and left
leaning. I think this makes it even more special.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bentley_Kassal


Paraphrasing from the video:

"THE DAY BEFORE WE WERE TO HEAD OVER TO EUROPE OUR COMMANDER TOLD US THAT WE
SHOULD NOT CARRY THE H (HEBREW) DOG TAGS, AS SOMETIMES WHEN THE GERMANS
CAPTURE SOLDIERS IF SOMEONE HAS AN H DOG TAG THEY ARE SEPARATED AND KILLED
ON THE SPOT. WE SHOULD CARRY EITHER A P (PROTESTANT) OR C (CATHOLIC) OR NO
DOG TAG AT ALL. THAT NIGHT BENTLEY SAID "I COULD NOT SLEEP I IMAGINED MYSELF
DYING IN BATTLE AND LAYING FOREVER UNDER A CROSS SOMEWHERE IN EUROPE." THE
NEXT DAY I TOLD MY COMMANDER I AM KEEPING MY DOG TAG WITH AN H AND I AM
TAKING IT WITH ME WHEREVER I GO!"

Story: Mute Boy

Mute Boy


After the war a rescuer who was looking for hidden children survivors came

across a 11-12 year old boy who was raised in a non Jewish home and was

known as a mute. No one had ever heard him speak. The boy when he saw this

man was Jewish asked him"is the Gerer Rebbe still alive?" The rescuer

reassured the child that the gerer Rebbe was alive in Eretz Yisroel. The

boy lifted his shirt and showed him under his clothing wrapped around his

frail body was a pair of teffilin. These teffilin my father gave me the last

day I saw him when he gave me to this non Jewish family to be saved and he

told me that I should wear them when I have my bar mitzvah. I wrapped the

teffilin around my body in order that I should never lose them or be

separated from them. "Why have you acted mute all this time"? asked the man.

The boy replied "the non Jew who took me in as his own told me that if

anyone asked my religion I would have to say I was a non Jew. I decided that

I could not do that and from then on I would never talk in order that I

should never ever have to say that I was not Jewish. Since that day I have

never spoken to anyone you are the first person I have spoken to. Please

take me to see the eretz Yisrael I want to see the gerer Rebbe."



The vows the untruths we say in our actions and our deeds we act as maaranos

etc.hiding jewishness

1938 Chanukah Miracle

It happened shortly after Kristelnacht in 1938 that a Jewish family was
trying to escape Germany on a train bound for Holland. They worried that the
Gestapo agents at the border would find fault with their papers and find an
excuse to detain them. This was the last night of Chanukah and the family
had not had a chance to light the Chanukah candles. When they arrived at the
border a long line of Gestapo agents boarded the train, but as they began to
examine the passports the lights in the entire station went out. The father
of this Jewish family pulled out his Menorah and quickly lit eight candles
in succession.

The lights attracted unwanted attention and the little cabin quickly filled
with unsmiling Gestapo agents. But these agents did not pay the Jews any
attention. They simply used the candle light to perform their duties and
inspected the passports of the train’s passengers. When the last passport
was examined the agents turned to the Jewish family and thanked them
politely for providing emergency lights. So grateful were they that they
forgot to check the passports of the Jewish family thus saving their lives.

As soon as the agents left the train the lights in the entire station came
back on and the train crossed the border.

A modern Chanukah miracle. The lights went out to save this family and so
long as their Chanukah lights burned they were safe. It is truly an amazing
story. But for our purposes this story has a message. So long as the
blinding lights of the station burned the Jew was in danger. So long as the
lights of economic success burn we live in a bubble of illusion that
jeopardizes the true purpose of life. The glittering lights of success blind
us from the inspiring message of life’s true meaning and we continue to live
the illusion. Once the lights go out, the new realization can dawn. The
former false lights are replaced by lights that illuminate the true meaning
of life. The former lights of transient value are replaced by lights that
allow us access to eternity; lights that radiate a heavenly message and
impart a humble truth.

Jewish identity

Recently, at a Chabad center somewhere in the United States, a Russian
immigrant family celebrated the Bas Mitzvah of their daughter. Their family had not
marked a Bar or Bas Mitzvah in over 100 years, as doing so in Russia was impossible.
Before the party began, an American-born Jew approached the Chabad rabbi
and asked: "I don't understand—how did Jews from the Former Soviet Union
succeed in maintaining their Jewish identity? It's one thing to be a Jew in America,
where a Jewish boy typically gets a bris, and then goes to Hebrew school, and then,
when he celebrates his Bar Mitzvah, he feels like a complete Jew. But in Russia there
were no circumcisions as it was against the law—doing a bris could get you a few
years in Siberia. And who even dreamed of Hebrew school or Bar Mitzvahs? How
did they succeed in standing strong? What gave them the strength to protect their
Jewish identities?"
The shliach answered him: The first time a Jewish boy in Russia got beaten up in
school because he was Jewish, and was called "Zhid" despite not being sure
whether he really was a Jew in the first place since his parents hid the fact from
him—this beating was his bris. The second beating was his "Siddur Party," the small
celebration typically held in kindergarten or First Grade when little Jewish kids
receive their first prayer book. And the third time was his Bar Mitzvah—after all all
that, he is confirmed as a complete Jew.
In Russia, the shliach continued, it was not hard at all to remember that you're
Jewish. The non-Jews would take pains to remind you at every opportunity and any
chance.
In the United States, however, we are liable to quickly forget our true identity:
who we are, where we come from, and where we're headed. In America must we
seek means to ensure that the fact that we are Jews is remembered well, and that
above all, that our children remember it well.

A Sidder for Bread

I would like to conclude with a story that the famous Nazi-hunter – Simon
Wiesenthal – told when he once spoke at a conference of European
Rabbis in Bratislava in Slovakia. The rabbis presented the 91-year-old Wiesenthal
with an award, and Mr.Wiesenthal, visibly moved, told them the
following story.
It was in Mauthausen, shortly after liberation. The camp was visited
by Rabbi Eliezer Silver, head of Agudas Harabonim (Union of Orthodox
Rabbis of North America), on a mission to offer aid and comfort to the
survivors. Rabbi Silver also organized a special service, and he invited
Wiesenthal to join the other survivors in prayer. Mr. Wiesenthal declined,
and explained why.
“In the camp,” Mr. Weisenthal said to Rabbi Silver, “there was one religious
man who somehow managed to smuggle in a siddur (prayer book).
At first, I greatly admired the man for his courage -- that he’d risked his
life in order to bring the siddur in. But the next day I realized, to my horror,
that this man was ‘renting out’ this siddur to people in exchange for food.
People were giving him their last piece of bread for a few minutes with the
prayer book. This man, who was very thin and emaciated when the whole
thing started, was soon eating so much that he died before everyone else
-- his system couldn’t handle it.”
Mr. Wiesenthal continued: “If this is how religious Jews behave, I’m not
going to have anything to do with a prayer book.”
Wiesenthal turned to walk away, Rabbi Silver touched him on the shoulder
and gently said in Yiddish, “You silly man. Why do you look at the
Jew who used his siddur to take food out of starving people’s mouths?
Why don’t you look at the many Jews who gave up their last piece of bread
in order to be able to use a siddur? That’s faith. That’s the true power of the
siddur.” Rabbi Silver then embraced him.
“I went to the services the next day,” said Wiesenthal.

Over the Wall to the Sukkah

5. Over the Wall to the Sukkah

Rabbi Abraham of Slonim (the Yesod HaAvodah) arrived at the synagogue in the

morning on the first day of Sukkot and found a Jewish soldier there. The

rebbe called him over and said, "I see light shining from you. What did you

do?" The soldier was speechless; he had no idea what to say. But when the

rebbe pressed him he told the rebbe what had happened the previous night,

the first night of Sukkot. He was a guard in his army camp and was feeling

badly that he wouldn't he able to observe the mitzvah of being in a sukkah.

Then he saw that beyond the wall around the camp there was a Jewish home and

in its courtyard was a sukkah. Now, if he left his post he could be shot but

he decided that after all the officers left and he was alone, he would climb

the wall and be in the sukkah. As time passed he began to be upset because

the officers were not leaving and the mitzvah is traditionally performed

most perfectly before midnight. But fifteen minutes before midnight everyone

left and he was alone. He stuck a piece of bread in his pocket and jumped

over the wall quickly so no other soldiers could see him, he made kiddush on

the bread (which is permitted if one has no wine) and sat eating in the

sukkah. Then he quickly jumped back over the wall. He was so happy, he told

the rebbe, that he had fulfilled the mitzvah with self-sacrifice. "That's

beautiful," said the rebbe, "but you wouldn't shine so much from that. Tell

me more." Then the soldier admitted that he was so happy at what he had done

that he had danced in the camp the whole night. "Now I understand why you're

shining so much," said the rebbe. (Yehi Or, p.264)