My families from the East
Family genealogy
Title 2
In memory of my grandparents' family
Around the days of Yom Kippur 1942, in mid-September, my father's entire family left on this train bound for Treblinka: 301 km in a windowless wagon, crammed together, perhaps hungry, thirsty.
How long does it take to travel these 301 km?
My grandfather Kasriel, his wife Fajgle, my father's two brothers Moshé and Meyer-Ber, his wife and their two grandchildren, Yankel two years old and the little one still an infant.
What could they be thinking?
I dedicate this story and this nigun to them.
This nigun has a particular story that I found on the Chabad website:
The Rabbi of Modzitz, Rabbi Shaoul Yedidya Elazar, had 'hassidim in the main cities of Poland.
One of them was Reb Azriel David Fastag, who was renowned throughout Warsaw for his exceptional voice.
Many Jews flocked to the synagogue where Reb Azriel David and his brothers, who had also been blessed with beautiful voices, prayed during the High Holy Days.
Reb Azriel David led the prayers while his brothers accompanied him in choir. His clear, distinct, and moving voice had a profound effect on all who heard it.
Reb Azriel David lived simply, earning his living by running a small clothing shop, but his happiness and fulfillment came from another source: the world of 'Hasidic' music.
The moving melodies he composed made their way to Otvoczk (a suburb of Warsaw) where his Rabbi, Rabbi Elazar Shaoul Yedidya, greatly appreciated them. The day a new nigun (melody) by Reb Azriel David arrived was a day of celebration for the Rabbi.
Dark clouds began to cover the skies of Europe. The clouds of Nazism.
Despite the terrible decrees, the yellow badge and the ghettos, most Jews could not imagine what was going to happen to them.
Only a few managed to escape the clutches of the Nazi occupation and reach safety. One of them was the Rabbi of Modzitz, Rabbi Shaul Yedidya Elazar, whose rescue was greatly expended by the Hasidim. When the Nazis entered Poland, the Hasidim smuggled him from Poland to Vilnius, Lithuania, and from there he traveled through Russia to Shanghai, China, finally arriving in America in 1940.
Meanwhile, in Poland, tens of thousands of Jews were being sent to their deaths daily in cattle cars.
Pulled from their warm beds in the middle of the night in Warsaw, husbands were separated from their wives, children torn from their parents' arms.
Elderly people were often shot dead on the spot, in front of their loved ones.
The Jews were rounded up and sent on these trains to a place where their existence would no longer pose a problem for the Nazis: to Auschwitz, Treblinka, Maidanek.
Inside the crowded carriages, above the noise of the train, rose the sounds of people panting, sighing, crying, dying. One could hear the muffled cries of children crushed against each other.
But, in one of those wagons heading towards the infamous Treblinka extermination camp, the sound of singing could be heard.
It seems that an old Jew, wrapped in his tattered clothes, his face as white as snow, had approached his neighbor on the death train, begging him to remind him of the tune of Mareh Kohen that the Modzitzer Rebbe sang during the Yom Kippur service.
"Now? Now what you want to hear is nigunim?" the other replied, giving the 'hassid an uncertain look and wondering if all this suffering had made him lose his mind.
But this 'hassid Modzitz, Reb Azriel David Fastag, was no longer paying attention to his friend, or to anyone else on the train.
In his mind, he was praying, standing next to his Rabbi on Yom Kippur, and it was he who was leading the prayer in front of the Rabbi and all the Hasidim.
Suddenly, the words of the twelfth of the Thirteen Principles of the Jewish Faith appeared before his eyes:
Ani maamine béémouna sheleima, beviat hamashia'h ; veaf al pi sheyitmaméa, im kol zéh, akhakeh lo bekhol yom sheyavo – “ I believe with perfect faith in the coming of the Messiah , and even if he is delayed, despite that, I await his coming every day.” With his eyes closed, he meditated on these words and this thought: “It is now, when all seems lost, that the faith of a Jew is put to the test. ”
It wasn't long before he began to hum a sweet tune to those words. There, amidst the death and despair on the train to Treblinka, the Hasid transformed into a pillar of song, emanating from his bloodless lungs the eternal song of the Jewish people. He was unaware of the silence that had fallen in the cattle car and the hundreds of stunned ears listening intently. Nor did he hear the voices that gradually joined his singing, softly at first, but soon louder and louder.
The song passed from carriage to carriage. Every mouth that still possessed an ounce of breath joined in the Ani Maamine of Reb Azriel David.
As if waking from a dream, Reb Azriel David opened his eyes and saw the singing train. His eyes were red, his cheeks wet with tears. In a choked voice, he cried out, " I will give half my share of Olam Habba (the World to Come) to whoever brings my song to the Rabbi of Modzitz! "
A great silence fell over the carriage.
Two young men approached, promising to bring the song to the Rabbi at all costs. One climbed on top of the other and found a small crack in the roof of the wagon, which he widened to make a hole large enough to escape through. Sticking his head under the open sky, he said, "I see the blue sky above us, the stars twinkle, and the moon, with a fatherly face, is looking down at me. "
" And what do you hear? " asked his companion.
" I hear the angels singing Ani Maamine, and it rises to the very summit of the seven heavens! "
They said goodbye to their brothers and sisters on the train and jumped off one after the other.
One was killed instantly by the fall. The other survived, carrying the song in his memory.
He finally succeeded in reaching the Land of Israel, and the notes of the melody were sent by mail to Rabbi Shaoul Yedidya Elazar in New York.
Having received the melody of Ani Ma'min from Reb Azriel David and after hearing it sung before him, the Rabbi of Modzitz said: " When they sang Ani Ma'min on the death train, the foundations of the world trembled. The Almighty then said: 'Every time the Jews sing Ani Ma'min, I will remember the six million victims and I will have mercy on the remnant of My people. '"
It is said that on the first Yom Kippur that the Modzitzer Rebbe sang Ani Ma'amin, there were thousands of Jews in the synagogue. The entire congregation burst into tears, which swelled the pool of tears and blood of the Jewish people. The melody soon spread to all Jewish communities throughout the world.
" With this nigun ," declared Rabbi Shaoul Yedidya Elazar, "the Jews went to the gas chambers. And with this nigun, the Jews will march to welcome the Messiah. "
Because life is made up of multiple and incredible coincidences, this story takes on a very special meaning.
This morning I heard on the Talmudic program on France-Culture, this nigun sung by Talila and the following explanation: it has become a symbol of deportation.
My sister searched the internet for the reference and found it on the Chabad website.
While reading the story, I recognize a name: David Fastag.
The day before I had reconstructed the Raabe family, brothers of my great-grandfather Szlama Leizerson.
They all lived in Warsaw.
All I knew about this David Fastag was his origins and his dates of birth and death: 1923-1942.
He was the great-grandson of Gershon Meir Raabe-Leizerson.
His granddaughter Justine was the daughter of his son Szmul-Eliezer Raabe. This Justine married Jacob Fastag, and David is one of their five children.
So I learn that he was a Rebbe, that he owned a clothing store and that his passion was Hasidic music.