SHABBAT SHUVA 5776

The Shofar and The Blessing

Today, the Shabbos between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is special Shabbat—Shabbat Shuva, the Sabbath of Repentance or literally, “The Sabbath of Returning,” returning to our true self as we approach Yom Kippur. To help us with this, instead of a sermon I’d like to tell you a story because stories go straight to the heart in a special way. Besides, you’re hearing enough sermons this time of year. And this is not just any story. It’s a holy story, a true story, a story about a shofar and a bracha, a blessing—a bracha, hopefully you can carry over into your life.

 The story is called, “The Shofar,” and it appears in the book, Small Miracles from Beyond, by Yitta Halberstam and Judith Leventhal (p. 181-195). The story begins in Poland, before World War II:

         Rabbi Yitzhak Finkler, the Grand Rebbe of Radoszyce, was well known as a holy man. Multitudes came to see him. Among his followers was a little boy named Moshe Waintreter.

         Moshe was deported in 1943 to the Skarzysko-Kamienna concentration camp in southeastern Poland … [Skarzysko-Kamienna is little known because so few survived.]

         This was the nightmare into which Moshe found himself. But, almost as soon as he entered his assigned barracks—Barracks 14— he saw his beloved Rebbe! 

         Not only had the Rebbe continued to offer endless words of comfort and encouragement to the dispirited, he had also conducted regular Shabbos davening and, whenever possible, taught Torah … Every morning, under the cover of darkness, a pair of tefillin that had been smuggled into the camp he passed around so others could do the mitzvah.

         As Passover 1943 drew near, the Rebbe decided they must have a Seder. He approached one of his young students, Shloma, and asked him to undertake an important mission. Shloma worked in the camp’s kitchen. The Rebbe asked him to get enough beets to make juice for 4 cups of wine for the Seder.

         Shloma was petrified, but the Rebbe assured him that in the merit of performing this great mitzvah, he would give Shloma his personal blessing and promised him that he would survive and live to see many better years … That Pesach, the Jews in the camp had a Seder with Shloma’s beet juice.

         Before Rosh Hashanah, the Rebbe decided a shofar must be acquired to elevate the spirits of the inmates. The Rebbe took a diamond he had hidden—one that could have easily bought him more food and less privation—and gave it to a local Polish peasant who worked in the camp. “I give you this diamond in exchange for a ram’s horn.” A few days later, the peasant brought the Rebbe an ox horn, protesting he could not find a ram’s horn. The Rebbe replied, “A ram’s horn is what I asked for ... If you want more diamonds in the future, you’ll find me a ram’s horn. Otherwise, I will approach someone else.” Several days later, the peasant returned, this time bearing a ram’s horn in his pocket.

         The only problem was the ram’s horn still had to be cleaned out and a hole made in its tip for it to become a shofar that could be used for the holy day.

         The Rebbe approached another of his young students, Moshe, who worked in the metal shop and had access to tools. Would he make the shofar for their holy observance? Anguish and fear flickered in Moshe’s eyes as he appealed to his beloved master. “Rebbe,” he said faintly, “you know I would do anything for you, but just yesterday a Jew from my workplace smuggled in a tiny piece of leather that he hid in his belt. A guard inspected his clothing and, when he found the leather, shot him dead ... if a man was killed for a scrap of leather, surely I will be killed, too.”

         “Moshe,” the Rebbe replied gently, using the exact same words with which he had countered Shloma’s fears about the beet juice for the Seder. “I understand your fear. But in the merit of this great mitzvah, I will give you my blessing and promise that you will survive and live to see many better years.”

         … Moshe sneaked the horn into the shop, picked up a tool and began drilling. Within a few minutes, the factory foreman was at his side, asking, “What are you doing?” Moshe’s father had taught him that the best way to disarm an interrogator was to surprise him with the truth.

         “I’m making a shofar, so that we can blow it on the High Holy Days, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur,” he said.

         “Are you crazy?” the foreman shouted, pushing Moshe into a storage room nearby.

         Moshe thought, “It’s over. I’m dead now.” The Rebbe's blessing didn’t protect me after all, bracing himself for the gunshot. But none came.

         The foreman, however, said: “Listen, I am a religious Catholic, and I believe in the Bible. I respect your religion, and I respect the sacrifices you religious Jews make to follow your faith. I will allow you to make your shofar. I’ll lock you in here with the tools you need, so no one else will see what you’re doing and you’ll be safe.” A few days later, Moshe slipped the crude but completely kosher shofar into the Rebbe’s hands.

         On Rosh Hashanah morning, before they were called to work, the inmates of Barracks 14—whose bodies had long ago been broken but whose souls remained miraculously intact—rose early to hear the Rebbe’s shofar. And although the shofar was makeshift and crude, its notes were pure and true, piercing the prisoners’ hearts, penetrating Heaven, and breaking down its inner gates.

         Moshe was one of the few survivors of that concentration camp, and somehow managed to smuggle it into his new camp. He clung to the shofar as tenaciously as he clung to life itself. Each evening, Moshe would return from his labors and search his secret hiding place to make sure the shofar was still there.        However, one day, while he was at work, Moshe was suddenly thrown onto a train bound for Buchenwald and the shofar was left behind.

         When Moshe was liberated from Buchenwald in April 1945, he attributed his survival to the bracha, the blessing he had received from the Rebbe of Radoszyce.

         Moshe yearned to find the shofar, but life intervened. He married another survivor, helped organize the illegal immigration of Jews into Israel, and eventually moved to Israel. But Moshe never forgot the shofar. The shofar was Moshe’s sole physical link to the Rebbe. Finding it—and bringing it to Israel—was the only tangible way he could honor the Rebbe’s memory and inspire people with his story. So Moshe set out to find the shofar…He placed ads in Yiddish newspapers, wrote to Holocaust-survivor organizations, contacted friends of friends.

         One day, in 1977, he received a call. His 30-year search was over. A few months later, in an emotional ceremony, Moshe Waintreter was reunited with the shofar he had shaped and molded in the Skarzysko-Kamienna concentration camp. He formally presented it to Israel’s foremost Holocaust museum, Yad Vashem in memory of Rabbi Yitzhak Finkler, the Grand Rebbe of Radoszyce, who defied the Nazis over and over again.

         My work is finally done, Moshe thought. But the story doesn’t end here. Moshe had a son. When the time came for his son to marry, a match was made with the daughter of a Holocaust survivor in Canada. The young man flew to Canada to meet the young lady. From the very beginning they knew they were each other’s bashert (destined one). Moshe came to Canada for the engagement party. As his son started to introduce the 2 mechutanim (fathers-in-law), the 2 men began to cry and ran into each other’s arms. The future father-in-law turned out to be none other than Shloma, the other young Chassid who had made the beet juice for the Radoszyce Rebbe’s 4 cups for Pesach Seder in 1943!

         These 2 men were the only Radoszyce Chassidim who survived the Skarzysko-Kamienna concentration camp. They survived exactly as the Rebbe had promised.

 Why do I tell you this story on this Shabbat Shuva between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur? It’s with the thought that this story of great adversity, courage and faith will inspire you as it inspires me to take a leap of faith in this New Year—to know that just like the Rebbe in the story, Hashem gives us the bracha we need to have the courage to stand up for Israel and Jews when necessary, to have the courage to make changes in our lives like taking off each of the Jewish holidays from work and school with the confidence that Hashem has your back.  

 This story of death-defying commitment to Judaism opens our hearts and lifts our souls and blesses us with the strength to do what we may think is impossible but miraculously, with Gd’s help, will not be in the New Year. May it be so, and let us say, Amen!