The men sat together, crowded and bent in the large prison room. It was a common ward for Jews and Poles who were locked up for diverse and unusual reasons. Among the prisoners was an aging Rosh Yeshivah, caught by the Germans teaching Torah to his students in a secret basement. One or the prisoners sitting near the old rabbi was a cantankerous apostate, an ex-Jew who was a former high government official. The Germans had stamped the word Jude in red ink on his I.D. card and made him wear a ten-centimeter-wide armband with a yellow star. During an inspection the armband was found to be too narrow and the ex-Jew found himself in jail.
Among the prisoners were some young men and even children. Some were caught climbing the ghetto walls trying to escape. Others were imprisoned for hiding small bags of food inside their ragged clothing, food like groats, flour, and sugar, which was deemed "too good" for Jewish consumption. Still others were jailed for being caught with the most objectionable wares or all – propaganda fliers and underground newspapers.
Among the prisoners were many Jewish peasants who had no idea just what their crimes were. Some were thrown into the prison for being out in the street during curfew. Others, for not showing proper respect to the Germans. But most of them were jailed merely because of suspicion that they might do something which could harm the German conquerors. In that dull, harsh dungeon everything had a dingy gray cast about it, as well as an aura of timelessness. It was almost impossible to distinguish between day and night, and it was forever dark in the low-ceilinged hall. There were neither days of work nor days of rest, but rather each day brought with it its own torture. The only way to note the passage of time was by the arrival or the guards who came in to take one of the prisoners on his last ominous walk.
One day the entire jail room was aroused. Through the high narrow window penetrated a pale ray of light. Whether it was the light of the sun shining somewhere in the outside world or whether it was a moonbeam, no one could tell for sure. But, at that uncertain moment, the voice of the Rosh Yeshivah was heard as he called out. "Gut Yom Tov, Jews! Why are you so quiet? Today is Pesach! It's the first seder night!"
All the prisoners including the Poles had treated the Rosh Yeshivah with respect. They all regarded him as an extraordinary person. He, the Rosh Yeshivah, knew the reckoning or the Sabbaths and the weekdays, and even of day and night, and he would pray quietly, morning, afternoon and evening. At the time of even the most terrible tortures he would draw joy from his hidden, inner wellspring. This time he apparently sought to share his joy with all the Jews in the jail.
Some derisive remarks were heard in the crowd:
"Nu... nu.. a seder yet!"
"On the contrary - let him set up a seder here!"
"Nu... And four cups of wine? Or at least one sip. . ."
"Hee, hee, hee, and matzo balls, Rabbi. . ."
"And a piece of matzo, if only for remembrance. . .
The Rosh Yeshivah did not seem to hear them:
"My dear brothers, Jews? The Haggadah I know by heart. The 'Mah Nishtanah' we won't ask because we have nothing here to prompt the questioning. But what does it say in the beginning of the Haggadah? - This year we are here, next year may we he in the Land of Israel! This year we are slaves, next year may we be free men!' Do you hear? We Jews, we are not slaves! A man is only a slave if he admits it, and we do not admit it! Next year free men, Jews?" The Jewish prisoners, old and young, religious and free-thinking, began to gather around the old Rosh Yeshivah who had stirred them up, infusing them with hope for deliverance. At one corner or the room a "seder table" was set up. The Jews sat around it on straw-filled bags. Even the apostate came over stealthily and joined the crowd. There was no sign of the holiday, not even a single solitary candle, only the festive voice of the Rosh Yeshivah reciting the story of the Exodus.
"We were slaves unto Pharaoh in Egypt...." the voice flooded the room. The old man recited the words of the Haggadah and the entire assemblage repeated them after him, as if they had all been transported to an enchanted world.
Suddenly the chanting stopped. The Polish prisoners seemed to have been startled by the strange scene in front of their eyes. Some or them jumped up from their seats, madly furious:
"That's Jewish impudence for you! Bo-jnitza (Synagogue) you are making here?"
The Jews did not even have time to answer them and calm their spirits, when some inmates started kicking the cell door and whistling to alert the German guards in the hallway.
The head of the guards, a Storm Trooper, came in with a few soldiers, a riding crop in band.
"Damned Jews!" he snapped, foaming at the mouth. "You can still think of praying and singing! Incredible! Kreuzdonnerwetter no-cheinmal! To the gallows I will take all of you, tomorrow!" And he turned to the loudest of the Polish prisoners and said to him: You will keep an eye on them! I hereby appoint you as supervisor over all the inmates. I don't have any time or patience for them right now. But tomorrow I will let them have it. And you, Talmud Jude," he turned to the old man, "you will be the first one!" And he slammed the cell door behind him.
An oppressive, painful silence ensued, lingering for a long time. Both Jews and Poles felt totally helpless. No one knew what to say, and even the chief organizer of the ruckus did not feel at ease in his new role. "Woe to him." It was the voice of the Rosh Yeshivah that broke the silence, soft and tremulous, as if it were not meant to be heard. "Woe, woe to him who of his own free will becomes a slave to the wicked. Woe, woe..." and as he spoke the Rosh Yeshivah began sobbing quietly, without stop. The crying, it was obvious, was not so much the result or suffering as of deeply felt compassion. It was followed by muffled sobs, which emanated from a good number of bitter souls.
"Shame on you, hiring yourself out to the henchman!" One of the tight-lipped young men suddenly stood up and faced the new "supervisor" of the jail.
A heavy silence descended upon every-one in the room. It seemed as if they had all stopped breathing. For a long time they all stood there with their heads bent, mute and frozen.
After a long pause a voice was heard, "Go ahead and pray as much as you want."
It was the new "supervisor." A moment later he added with a sly smile. "But, at least explain to me what is it that they are saying with such enthusiasm, damn it!"
"By all means!" the young man responded. "That old man will continue, and I will explain his words in Polish, so that everyone in the room may understand."
The seder celebration was resumed with renewed vigor. The Rosh Yeshiva began his recitation, starting from the place where he had stopped and all the Jews followed his chant:
"And it is this that has stood our fathers and us in good stead, that while not only one foe has arisen to destroy us. But in every generation an enemy rises to destroy us, the Holy One, Blessed is He, rescues us from him!"
The young man translated into Polish:
"And this, this great faith. is what has kept the Jews going during the most difficult times or oppression. 'that not only one foe,' not only one Hitler has arisen to destroy us, but in every generation new enemies rise to wipe us off the face or the earth –"
"We, the Polish people, we too are persecuted! We also have enemies on all sides!" the chief screamer interrupted him, all excited and agitated. "Chloptzi (boys)!" he turned to his Polish brethren who stood around him, "listen to these wise words! The main thing is not to lose faith and hope! Let's learn from them, from the Zhidki. . .
"Yes, yes," the others grunted in approval. "We suffer too. We too are persecuted. . . Why doesn't the elder of the Jews invite us to the holy ceremony?. . . We all share the same fate!"
The translator told the Rosh Yeshivah what they had said. The latter answered in a grave, measured tone:
"All people were created in the image of G-d. Only the murderer erases the divine image from his face. By all means, we are brothers in trouble! Squeeze together my fellow Jews, and let's make room for our seder guests!"
Jews and Poles sat huddled together. The Rosh Yeshivah continued his lively chant, retelling the miraculous deeds of the Exodus, and the translator told the Poles about Pharaoh and his slave society; how the Jewish slaves built Pharaoh the cities of Pithom and Ramses, and how he, Pharaoh, murdered children or the Israelites. The Jews descended deeper and deeper into the abyss of slavery when Moses, the messenger of G-d, arose and saved them.
"Aha," the Poles interrupted him in excitement, "how similar that history is to what is happening around us!"
"Blood, and fire, and billows of smoke," the Rosh Yeshivah called out in ecstasy.
"And of the entire reign or Pharaoh," the translator explained, "all that was left was blood, and fire, and billows of smoke..."
"Tak nam dapomuz bug, day Boje, day Boje" the Poles responded in great excitement.. "So may the Al-mighty help."
"Forgive me, old man," said the loud-mouthed supervisor. "You are a holy man," and he threw himself at the feet of the Rosh Yeshivah.
The old man looked at him with eyes full or compassion, and out of his thick beard came an old Chassidic folk song in Polish, a song of devotion, mixed with Hebrew words:
On Sunday we had a feast,
We drank plenty of wine.
You must know
How to make merry,
You must know
when to quit.
Mi hulayyem
Mi shpivayem.
We make merry
We rejoice.
Slowly, all of them, the Jews and the Poles, learned the old man's Chassidic tune, and the melody passed from mouth to mouth, from heart to heart, and the entire ward resounded with brotherly, devout, soulful joy.
"Ba-a-a-am." a shot was fired, and all eyes turned to the wide open door. There stood a guard, gun in hand, mad with anger!
"Donnerwetter, you are having a party, eh? To bed, or I'll empty all my bullets into your heads!"
No one was afraid of him. And no one, Jew or Pole, slept all night.
It was Lail Shimurim, the night of Pesach, a Night of Watching...
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