Shammai Davidovics

http://www.aish.com/sp/so/48909827.html
Smuggling Out Of Hell'
Through ingenuity and chutzpah, one man saved lives in the Holocaust. His daughter tells how.


by Tova Lebovits I am the child of Holocaust survivors. I belong to the generation that will always be overshadowed by the calamity of our parents. I belong to a generation of kinless childhoods, where we grew up without grandparents, numerous uncles, aunts, cousins and relatives who had perished, yet whose silent presence loomed in the background. I belong to a generation that has to face the horrors of the past, and bridge that past to an uncertain future.



I cannot explain Hitler nor can I make what happened go away. But I can remember and I must pass that memory on. I must remember the Nazis, their great evil, and their threat to my existence, my people, and humankind.



Only through our collective memory can we combat such demonic evil. I am a messenger, and I bear witness in the name of my parents' families and friends.



My father, Shammai Davidovics, taught me to fight for life. He could not speak about what happened to him during the war, nor of his family who perished. He kept a life-long self-imposed silence, which I painfully learned to accept despite my need to know.



Over the years, survivors and people he had saved would find us, and then I would hear their tales. It is only before his death that my father broke his silence and substantiated the stories my brothers and I had collected. And it was only then that he answered, painfully, some of our most heartrending questions.
UNDERGROUND FORGERY RING




My father was born in 1912 to a chassidic family in Danilev (near Hust), a small Czechoslovakian town in the Carpathian Mountains. My grandma Gitle, after whom I am named (git=good=Tova), was said to be a cheerfully energetic thin wisp of a woman. She managed to bring into this world 14 babies, of whom 12 reached adulthood - eight sons and four daughters, with my father somewhere in the middle.



Like those around him, my father went to cheder (Torah school), spoke Yiddish, and led a religious life. Yet his curiosity and adventurous nature led him to seek knowledge in the big world outside the shtetl (village). He studied Hebrew and other secular subjects. At age 16, he was accepted to a German gymnasium (high school) in Berne, while he continued his Torah studies on the side as well. From there he joined the Czechoslovakian army, and then was one of the few Jews accepted to the University of Budapest.



He was fluent in 12 languages, had a PhD in sociology, and received rabbinic ordination.By the end of 1943, when the German army invaded Hungary, he was fluent in 12 languages, had completed his PhD. in sociology, and had received rabbinic ordination from Beit Hamidrash Lerabanim in Budapest.



At the start, the Germans deported only those Jews who did not have Hungarian or Czech citizenship papers. Unfortunately, most Jews, especially those living in small villages, though having lived there for centuries, did not have such papers. My father and several of his friends organized an underground forgery ring, where they began producing forged citizenship papers and other necessary documents for Jews. They were financially backed by wealthy Jews, and worked with Raul Wallenberg, providing him with the needed documentation.



MASTER OF DISGUISES



At this time my father also became a master of disguises, taking on various identities when necessary for his mission. Fortunately he looked Aryan, spoke a fluent German, and unlike some who could not see the writing on the wall, he believed that these times required desperate measures.



His exploits were described to us by several survivors of my father's hometown of Danilev, and were later corroborated by my father.



In those critical days of the German invasion, my father collected all the names of the Jews of Danilev without citizenship papers (half the town was related) and worked as fast as possible to forge those papers, several hundred in all. He knew that time was of the essence. It took almost five days to reach Danilev, and he knew the German army was now deporting Jews of nearby regions and would get to his hometown and family within weeks.



The entire town, including his family, had been herded onto cattle cars.With papers in hand, he set out to Danilev in great haste. As he neared his region, he heard that the Germans had worked much faster than anticipated and had most probably reached Danilev. He arrived at his hometown too late. The entire population, including his family, had been herded onto cattle cars and the trains were about to depart. When my father saw the German soldiers guarding the trains and taunting his people, he realized there was only one thing to do...



On the scene arrives an impeccably dressed high-ranking German official. He walks with a quick sure gait and the self-confidence of a haughty personage. And he is furious. He approaches one of the guards, who immediately salutes him, and in harsh tones demands to see the highest-ranking officer in charge. He sends the guards scuffling off to obey his orders.

A perplexed and harried officer quickly appears, and thus ensues a humiliating scolding and berating of the mortified officer in charge. This inevitably draws the attention of those around. "Do you realize you have blatantly disobeyed and violated military orders?" yells the arrogant stranger as he slams a stack of papers in front of the officer.



This stranger was my father. The Jews who recognized him could not believe their eyes. On that day, through sheer chutzpah, he succeeded in reversing the decree. The Jews of Danilev were released from the cattle cars and returned to their homes (what was left after the looting, that is). They were now all legal citizens.

WHERE CAN WE RUN?




Theirs was not a happy ending, however. The Jews were safe in Danilev for just one more year. During that time, on his occasional visits, my father tried desperately but in vain to convince his family and townsfolk to flee. He succeeded with but a handful of people, mostly teenagers. The others simply did not believe him. The things he said "will" happen, they argued "could not" happen. And besides, "Where can we run to?!"



He offered to get them forged gentile papers, and to help them escape to the forests, providing them with peasants' clothes. But to no avail. To them, such acts seemed too desperate. They felt they stood a better chance of surviving at home than in the forest.



He felt responsible and guilty for his family's death, feeling he should have somehow saved them.My father remembers begging his favorite brother Hillel to come with him. But when Hillel heard it would entail hiding his Jewish identity, he could not.



Almost a year later, the Jews of Danilev were again herded, and this time deported and murdered. This time my father arrived several days too late. There was nothing he could do by then. He was only able to reach one sister in time. Until his dying day, my father felt responsible and guilty for his family's death. He believed he should have been able to get through to them and somehow save them.



24-HOUR DIPLOMAT



When the Nazis occupied Budapest, they made an agreement with the Hungarian authorities, whereby the Hungarians would recruit a special police Hungarian force - called the Kishket - that would be in charge of taking care of buildings which the Germans gave political immunity to, such as the Austrian Embassy.



My father and several of his Jewish friends joined this force (as gentiles, of course, since Jews were not allowed). This way, they created an underground that could gather information about enemy activities. (Years ago, Yad Vashem had a life-size portrait of my father in his Hungarian Kishket uniform, as an example of Jewish underground activity.)



By then, Jewish citizenship papers were no longer good enough. My father obtained for my mother and her entire family gentile papers, and later when that became too dangerous, he hid them in an attic. He brought them food and provisions until the remainder of the war.



One day my mother came running tearfully to my father. Her mother (my grandma Cidi) and her uncle (Cidi's brother) had become careless and gone out of hiding for a bit. They were caught by German soldiers and taken to a concentration camp. My father must help.



He assumed the identity of the Austrian counsel for 24 hours, and entered the concentration camp.My father found out exactly where they were detained, and with the help of his friends, organized an escape. He found out that the Austrian counsel (the Austrian representative in Hungary at the time) was leaving the capitol for a few days. My father assumed the identity of the Austrian counsel for 24 hours. He had friends in a Kishket police car wait outside the camp for him.



The "Austrian counsel" entered the concentration camp. He approached the officer in charge and with perfect Austrian German introduced himself. He was also in charge of the Swiss in Budapest, and said it had come to his attention that through some terrible error, two Swiss citizens had been wrongfully deported and now detained in this very camp. He held their papers in his hand.



The officer in charge said that was impossible, but my father insisted on checking it out, for he had personally promised their relatives he would attend to the matter.



So together they went from floor to floor searching for these citizens. On each floor, they announced the names of these citizens. And so they found my grandmother and her brother. They took them out, into the waiting police car, sped away, back into hiding.



My father sadly recalled as he walked through the camp, how many Jews begged and pleaded with him: "We too are Swiss citizens. We too are Austrian citizens. Help us." But he could do nothing for those unfortunate people, and he said he would never forget them.



TRAVELLING PRIEST



One time in Israel, my brother Shmuel got on a public bus with my father. The driver took a look at my father, became very emotional, got up, hugged him hard, and began weeping and crying my father's name, "Shammai, Shammai." He refused to take payment, sat my father in the front seat, and as he drove began telling his tale to the astonished riders.



This bus driver told how my father - disguised as a priest - came and rescued a young chassidic boy, himself.



Apparently, my father's priestly disguise had become almost his second identity. It enabled him to travel from village to village for weeks at a time on, even entering concentration camps and thus saving lives.



How did this disguise come about? While attending university, he was required to remain in class during Christian prayers and theology classes. He learned his lessons well and was also fluent in Latin. This oddity later saved his life many times, and helped save others. God works in mysterious ways.



My father used his black graduation robe from rabbinical seminary as his priestly garb. He became a travelling priest, the kind that kept a special pouch with various relics and talisman, holy to the Christians and especially the peasants, and he knew how to perform the various rituals. He always had two "altar boys" to assist him, and he would pick them up here and there where he would find lost Jewish children. He would dress them in gentile clothes and teach them their prayers and duties, and they would travel together until he found a way out for them.



This particular bus driver was one of those he'd smuggled out of hell to Israel.

LEFT FOR DEAD




One day, while my father was living with me in Jerusalem, someone called and asked if Dr. Davidovics was there. When I replied, "Yes," he insisted on coming over with his wife and son. They had just flown in from Hungary and when he entered our home, he ran excitedly to my ailing father, got on his knees and kissed his hands.



My father's eyes became red, as they do when he cries tearlessly - the closest he ever got to crying. Years earlier, my father had found this orphaned boy, neglected and frightened on the street. He took him in, washed him, fed him, dressed him, and got him new gentile identity papers. Then he took him to a Christian orphanage where he was cared for by nuns. My father told him: "Do as you are told, but never forget who you are. One day you will again live as a Jew."



And so it was. They regularly keep in touch and send us cards several times a year.



He was thrown onto a pile of other bodies, but through some miracle he crawled away and lived.Ironically, it was this priestly disguise that had almost left my father for dead. On one of his many trips to the concentration camps, as he forced himself to walk quickly past the human skeletons that were his people, he was seen by a neighbor from Danilev. The man was so overcome with joy that he yelled out, "Shammai! Shammai!"



My father tried desperately to signal to him to stop, but it was too late.



My father was taken, and now he too became an inmate. He was tortured and beaten and finally left for dead. His body was thrown onto a pile of other bodies, but through some miracle he crawled away from that hell and lived. He had marks all over his legs for the rest of his life, and sometimes he would get headaches where they had beaten him. But he never complained about anything.



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The Holocaust was a tortuous time for the Jewish people. My father lived with these horrors for the rest of his life. He couldn't cry, because the smell of burning human flesh still came back to haunt him.



My father had done all he could to reverse the evil. For his family, his townsfolk, and the 6 million Jews, it was not enough.



We shall never forget.

Chapter IV: The Interview-Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch

http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/2990/jewish/Chapter-IV-The-Interview.htm

Learning & Values » Jewish History » Chassidic Personalities » The Rebbe’s Prison Diary


Chapter IV: The Interview

From the writings of Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch

Published and copyrighted by Kehot Publication Society

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Chapter V: On the Staircase Tractate Geihinom, First Section



I stepped across the threshold and gazed into a room approximately 36 feet square. Along three walls of the room sat some 20 women, most of them writing and smoking. They faced the center of the room, and on the other sides of their tables stood the benches where the "guests" were brought in to sit.



The room had three doors: one, open wide for the prisoners who were brought through the dark corridor; a second door, to the right, seemingly for petty prisoners who came through a different corridor (through which Chimka thought I was led); and a third door, leading to the next section. On the right side of the entrance from the dark corridor, I saw my bag lying on the floor, together with the plaid blanket.



It was a strange sight: there were approximately forty people in the room: the twenty secretaries writing on long forms and the twenty prisoners answering their questions, either willingly or because of the force of circumstances. Nevertheless, absolute silence prevailed; a deathly stillness. The questions and answers were exchanged very quietly. Only the scratching of the pens on the sheets could be heard.



In the open center of the room stood a group of people. It appeared that their task was to supervise the interrogation procedures, for they did not speak to each other. No detail was lost upon them as they peered at every side of the room and at each person. They were armed, and although they wore simple military garb, their very appearance was frightening. Their faces were red and sullen with rage, their eyes glimmered, their buttons were of burnished copper and they were of massive build.



My general impression was that here the web was woven. Here the prisoner would begin by giving basic information: his name, age, birthplace, family, religion, residence, etc. But by means of the innumerable questions, the person was transformed from one stating simple information to one admitting matters that he never dreamed of. The sensitive manner of the secretaries, and their soft speech, together with the confused thought and crushed state of the prisoners, served to elicit answers for the questionnaire that would later provide ample basis for the prosecutors accusation that the prisoner had, in fact, already acknowledged his guilt.

As I stood viewing and assimilating all that was taking place in this first section of Geihinom itself, one of the officials lifted his arm, indicating that I was to proceed toward a table to my left. An interrogation place was now available for me, as the secretary had just finished with a prisoner.




I saw the secretary hand over to one of the escorting guards the papers and documents of the prisoner and his yarlik number. The term "yarlik" is to be encountered under various circumstances. A customer coming to a large department store to buy merchandise from the different departments proceeds to the cashier and is there given the yarlik package number of his purchase. A package is dispatched through railroad mail, express or regular, and a receipt is given with the yarlik number.



But in Spalerno, yarlik numbers are imposed on human beings. Customarily, the yarlik number is pasted on the merchandise package, but this yarlik number is not actually affixed to the body of the prisoner; rather it is impressed upon his very soul. His personal identity is lost. He is transformed into a number.



Up to this point, the prisoner is addressed by his actual name, but from the point that the questionnaire is signed and sealed, he is addressed by his yarlik number. I do not know if the yarlik is a reference to the month, day, or some other numerical sequence, but I am aware that the person preceding me, in whose place I sat, was designated as yarlik 26803.



His clothing was of medium quality, and he seemed to be about 60 years old. He had a kindly face and appeared to have some white-collar profession-bookkeeper or director of a business; he was mild mannered and spoke quietly and politely.



As he stood up, he was approached by the escorting guard, who upon reading his form exclaimed: "Aha! So much is written here!"



The face of yarlik 26803 turned green, his eyeglasses slid off his nose and his whole body trembled.



"Follow me!" commanded the guard. "Don't be so agitated, in a short while you will rest upon bedding of straw and stretch out on thin, narrow planks . . ." (I could not hear anymore, for they had left the room).


"Sit, Citizen," said the stenographer. "Here is a sheet of questions. Answer each question clearly, and answer each question in the correct space."




"I have nothing to write," I replied, "this does not relate to me, and I have nothing to answer."



"What?" inquired the secretary, "you do not wish to follow the official procedure? It is an established law that each individual arriving here must fill out this answer sheet and clearly respond to all the questions."



"I did not come here to visit," I stated. "I was taken here. The persons who brought me know who I am and what I am. Why do something utterly pointless?"



"Do you forget where you are? Or is your mind confused? Do you mean to institute new procedures in this department? What is your name?"



"I know very well that I am a prisoner brought to Spalerno, and my mind, thank G-d, is in good order. I do not seek to institute new procedures. My name is Schneersohn. I live at 22 Machovaya Street, Apartment 12. I will not write any answers to the questionnaire, and you can enter the information just given."



The secretary took the form, entered the facts given, and then continued: "What is your title?"



"I am an Honored-for-Generations-Citizen." *



[Note * Czar Alexander I had bestowed the title "Citizen of Hereditary Honor" upon the Rebbe's ancestor, Rabbi Schneur Zalman on Liadi, in recognition of his active role in the Russian effort to repulse Napoleon's invasion in 1812.]



"That title no longer exists."

"I do not know if it does or does not exist, but my title is Honored-for-Generations-Citizen."




"What is your vocation?"



"I am involved in studies, the study of the knowledge of G-dliness known as Chassidus, and the study of Jewish Law and its observance in accordance with the Jewish religion."



"Religion! G-dly knowledge!"



"Yes! The knowledge of G-dliness. One G-d has created and formed all existence, and His Divine Providence extends over all creations: the crawling creature in the sea and the small creatures in a desert wasteland, and mankind in civilized society."



"How can I possibly write such answers on the questionnaire?"



"Who compels you to write? As far as I am concerned, you need not write anything. If you want to write, then write, and if you don't want to, then don't."

Suddenly three men appeared at the threshold of the Second Section and gazed into this one. Their eyes searched the room, and upon perceiving me, the expression upon their faces indicated that they had found what they sought.




I recognized one of the three as the driver of the arrest vehicle which had conveyed me to Spalerno. They were all young and dressed in normal civilian garb: breeches, silk shirts of different colors of either English or American make, and red knee button boots. Their thick belts had holders for watches on the left side and holsters for guns on the right. Their hair was finely combed, and a look of pleasure could be discerned on their stoic, frozen faces.



Their entrance cast a chill throughout the entire room. Though the guards in the center of the room and the secretaries made no sound or additional movement, a definite change of atmosphere could be sensed in the room.



The three stood silently, but their entrance seemed to instill a deathly fear that affected even the prison workers. Each secretary tended to her task with greater intensity and rigidity; the faces of the sentries in the center of the room changed perceptibly from flushed red to pale white, their eyes moving about and scrutinizing all within their gaze, driven like violinists in an orchestra following the baton of a raging conductor.



One of the three took out a gleaming silver holder filled with cigarettes and offered it to his companions. They all looked toward my table, and I was certain that they sought a plausible reason, any slight pretext to approach.



I understood that they wished to know what was being written in my questionnaire. I was certain that they knew of me and my work. I did not know whether they were of the Second or Third Section, but be that as it may, they were officials of high station who did not customarily visit this department. And this was the cause of the fear which had gripped the entire room.



I surmised that they wanted to involve themselves in my questioning and to augment the explicit questions already on the form, to pound in pegs on which they could later suspend false accusations.



But how could this be done-that high officials should dabble in the tasks of a simple secretary? This itself would reveal their devious intents.





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"What am I to do?" said the cigarette-smoking secretary, as though speaking reflectively to herself,"I cannot write such answers. It is my responsibility to ask every written question and to transcribe the answers. I am unable to write of such things as G-d, religion, and G-dly commands."

"Is it possible," I asked, "for a prisoner to smoke, too?"




"Yes," she replied, "it is not forbidden to smoke in this room, although the prisoners do not customarily smoke. If you desire to do so, I will request permission from one of the officers standing in the center of the room."



She spoke in such a tone that the newcomers who stood nearby could hear.



With a light smile upon his lips, one of the three high officials approached and with simulated surprise inquired, "Does this citizen desire to smoke a cigarette?" And turning to me, he declared, "Here it is not forbidden to smoke. You may take a cigarette."



I took a cigarette, while the official offered me his cigarette for a light. I thanked him saying that I had matches.



The secretary complained to the official who had approached the table, "I am unable to fill out this citizen's questionnaire since he does not provide any responses. He asserts that this is completely unrelated to him, and he refuses to answer anything but his name, address and family title."



The official took the form, scrutinized it for a few moments, and then turned to me: "You have not answered any of the questions in this form; you must fill it out completely. There is no other alternative."



He spoke calmly, like an administrator scrutinizing a report written by a subordinate. He added, "I am sure that the citizen knows where he is at present. This official division has special laws and regulations, and all who come here must comply with them. The officials of this department expect their demands to be fulfilled immediately and precisely."



I responded, "I wish to take this opportunity to clarify whether the assurances of those authorized by your agency, or more precisely, the representatives of your agency, are trustworthy, and if one may rely that their assurances will also be observed meticulously."

The official replied, "I do not understand what you are saying, citizen?"




"A representative of this agency who came to arrest me tonight assured me that I would be allowed to put on tefillin and to pray. It is already an hour and a half that I am here and his word has not been kept. He told me on his own initiative that I would be here merely for a matter of hours and that upon my arrival, a number of high officials would ask me a few questions and then permit me to return home.



"I do not know why he said this to me. I do not know if his motive was solely to calm the members of my household or whether it was his malicious intent to perpetrate this bizarre jest.



"Frankly, I am totally unconcerned as to the rationale for his conduct. But I am a religious Jew. I desire to put on my tefillin and pray. No one on Earth has the power to disturb my service of G-d. I demanded this at the time of my arrest, and I was given this assurance by the representative of the G.P.U. His final words to me were 'Though I am a Communist'-this was with irony-'I will not lie.' These were his words and I now demand that they be fulfilled.



"As to the questionnaire, I have already stated that I did not come here of my own free will; I was brought here by the emissaries of the G.P.U. I am certain that those who arrested me, as well as the high administrative officials, know who and what I am.



"All I have to state is as follows:



I am Rabbi Schneersohn, son of the famed Rabbi Schneersohn of Lubavitch. I bear the hereditary title of Honored-for-Generations-Citizen. My birthplace is Lubavitch; I studied there at the yeshivah and I subsequently lived for eight and a half years in Rostov and three years in Leningrad. My primary preoccupation is religious study. I am involved in the philosophical system known as Chassidus and also concern myself with clarifying the laws and statutes of the Jewish religion. I, like all other religious Jews, have no link with politics. I have nothing else to write."

The firm answer, the clear response, my cold composure and the equanimity reflected in my smoking calmly were all natural vessels for that which transcends nature, and the official, as though reflectively talking to himself, said, "What is written is adequate." He turned to the secretary and with light laughter, but with burning eyes, said, "Write as the citizen states."




Directing my question to the official, I asked,"And what of prayer?"



He answered majestically, "You will receive an answer from the prison administrator of the division where you will be escorted for confinement."



He left with restrained rage.



The secretary took a new form and wrote my statement with great care and handed it to me for my signature.



I took the questionnaire and read it carefully. I drew a line through all of the blanks of the remaining questions to clearly indicate that these questions were unanswered. After I had finished reading it, I signed the document.



During these last few moments, the three officials conversed with each other, and attempting to conceal their primary interest in me, they glanced around the room and then left.

"Wait here a few moments," said the stenographer. She took the form and went to the second room. She returned and took a piece of paper the size of a postcard upon which was written in large black letters thus:




"yarlik number&. ."



I perceived that in a moment, I would also be transformed into a yarlik; I did not yet know the number, but in a moment I would know this also. She was still writing in books: large thick books, of which there were many.



All the secretaries wrote in these books. I did not know what she wrote, but after writing, the secretary placed a seal on the form that I had signed.



I will not deny that the placing of the seal pleased me. I would have been far more pleased if the entire arrest incident had not occurred. But since I had been brought there and had been compelled to sign, it was much better that it bear the official seal so they couldnt substitute a similar form or one totally different. Who knew the mentality of these officials capable of creating something from nothing? But hopefully, the seal would prevent this.



Her entries into the four thick volumes were completed. She wrote on the dotted line of the card next to the word "yarlik" my number, 26818. At that moment I was transformed into a yarlik. I thought to myself that most certainly in another few moments a guard would come to escort me to the Second Section, or, as I had been previously told by Chimka and the senior official, directly to the head of the division where I would be imprisoned.

"Yes, everything is prepared," said the secretary, and glancing at the form, she said, "Yes, little is written, but its content is highly significant." Her face assumed a compassionate expression and she whispered, "Perhaps you wish to send a message to your household. Tell me and I will pass it on immediately after work."




I did not reply at all. I merely awaited the escort, for I had already begun to experience the painful anguish of this ordeal. I wished that the matter would be brought to a head. I suffered emotional turmoil from these unnecessary preludes.



The secretary gathered all the documents and told me to follow her, for she had been instructed to do this personally and not to use the customary escort.





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As stated, I was agitated. The clock struck half past four, and I had already undergone innumerable painful experiences-the talk with Chimka, the memory of the market in Lubavitch, with the farmers bringing their horses to drink the well water, the argument with the stenographer, the talk with the senior official-all of which disgusted me. I hoped that something concrete would occur, to speak to an authoritative interrogator or to finally be in a cell, but in any event to be released from this psychological manhandling.


With strengthened heart and a regular stride, I proceeded on.




I passed through the second room, which I had taken to be the Second Section when I sat in the first. Now I saw that I was mistaken. We passed through a third room, and I came to a dark corridor, but not the one that Nachmanson had brought me through at first. Here, there were a few burning candles and no armed guards, and in this corridor we had to descend on iron steps in four or five ladders.



"My traveling bag," I said, "I left it in the room where I wrote the form. Can I return later to obtain it? It is in the area between the entrance door to the dark corridor and the threshold to the second corridor, a reddish sack wrapped in a cover with a green, plaid blanket resting on it."



"Why didn't you take all your belongings?" she answered. "Now you cannot return. It will be necessary to write a special request form, which cannot be done now. The only choice is that I go and bring them to you, or even better, when I go back, I will be able to bring them or send them to you. Perhaps they will permit me to send it with one of the escorts. You should know that the security here is very strict. The slightest infringement of the rules through unnecessary speech or the slightest sign of communication with one of the prisoners can result in a punishment of imprisonment for three or four months. It is better, therefore, that upon arriving at your destination, that you inform them of having forgotten to take your belongings, and they will certainly let me bring them here.



"You should know that they are preparing very serious charges against you. I know that they have gathered much evidence. Now I know who you are, for I have been informed by officials B. and R. They intend punishing you severely and the situation is very dreadful. Among the three officials was R. himself."

We climbed from ladder to ladder as she spoke. My feelings alternated between fleeting moments when it appeared to me that her words were lies intended to frighten me and then for brief instants to the impression that she spoke the truth. Who knew, perhaps there existed, even within this secretary, a drop of human feeling. I will not deny that these moments were intensely difficult. My thoughts blurred, my head pounded very rapidly, my feet stumbled, and an inner tremor passed through my entire body.




Nevertheless, I did not inquire where I was being led, though I was certain the secretary would tell me. I feared it would exert a strong adverse effect upon me and make my spirit fall. I felt stronger not knowing.



She related: "Twelve people were brought here tonight, the majority of them clergymen-Russians, Lutherans, Germans, Poles, a Moslem and only one Jew-yourself. A Russian, a Georgian and a Pole were brought through the dark passageway with armed guard directly to the third room (it appears that this was one of the doors in the dark passageway) and from there to the sub-cellar under the building, where they were shot to death without any interrogation. We were only told to make an entry in the book-unlike the case of those instructed to answer the questionnaire; in all probability you will remain in the fortress for a few days and then be interrogated.



"I was instructed to bring you this way to the first story inspector-control. All of the prisoners brought to Spalerno are led through there."



At this moment I realized that the entire procedure was meant to frighten. The darkness, the ladders with their iron rungs, the dark walls, stale air -- all evoke intense emotions and the dread of being led to a fearful place.



I am certain that sensitive and talented authors would find much material for lengthy works on the nature of human feeling and conduct by merely depicting the range of my experiences during the past two hours from my arrival in the prison until my arrival in this place where they brought ordinary prisoners.


She knocked on a door and the guard, an armed soldier, opened it and asked in great amazement, "Where is the escort guard?"




"There is no guard," answered the stenographer. "I was ordered to bring this citizen prisoner to Room 4; permit me to proceed."



"And the password?" asked the guard.



"I do not know it, please call Comrade C."



"Go out to the vestibule," answered the guard, "and I will call the official. He will give you the authorization to enter; I cannot permit you to stay here."



She said: "What heavy security! Every step is guarded with sword, spear, guns and bayonet."



This transparent charade was abhorrent to me. For it was obvious that causing fear and confusion was the primary goal. This was the means for implementing their evil intentions. I moved to the side, leaned on the wall, and waited.



A few moments passed; the door opened and there was a dark-complexioned face, black as a raven with long wild hair. This person, dressed in a green tunic without a belt, appeared at the threshold of the structure.



"Good morning, Comrade," said the secretary. "Official D ordered me to lead the prisoner this way to the fourth investigation division through this corridor. Please permit me to obey this command because I have a message for the comrade investigator which I must give orally."



The comrade with the coarse features scrutinized me from head to toe. I sensed the animosity he bore me and my mode of dress -- I was dust to him.



He scratched his forehead, spat profusely and yawned. Then, sharp, pungent words came out from between the teeth of this lion: "May darkness take all the prisoners! I worked a double shift tonight. It is less than an hour that I lay down to rest. And behold, the black wind brought this refuse! Was he then sick and unable to be brought through the entrance where all the prisoners go? And why did he come by way of this specific entrance? Through this entrance they are led to the basement dungeon to rest in eternal sleep."

"I have no time," answered the stenographer, "tell the comrade guard to let me obey the command. In the administrative section there is much work, and I cannot wait too long."




"Go," said the eloquent comrade. He opened his mouth in an extended yawn, emitting a strange sound. He spoke but his words were unclear. Only the final phrase of his triple benediction was understandable: "May darkness take you and all the prisoners together!"





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We came to a small dark corridor and then turned right into a clearly-lit corridor. We took a few steps and entered a large room approximately 24 feet square. There were four writing tables with chairs. Two tables were empty, and two officials sat at the other tables; they were both immersed in their work, and there were open ledgers and papers resting on the tables.



The stenographer hastened toward one of the officials and said, "I have brought yarlik 26818," and placed the papers on the table.



The officials conveyed the image of stereotypical functionaries accustomed to sitting at a desk. They apathetically shuffled the pages of the thick books and lazily picked away at the many accumulations of documents and papers scattered on the table.



It appeared that these officials, too, were extremely exhausted and that their presence here was either voluntary overtime or a function of administrative requirement. From moment to moment they lapsed into sustained yawns. They scratched their backs and heads lethargically, and they listlessly lifted papers and put them down again.



The stenographer whispered some words to the official which stimulated him to the effort of overcoming his weariness and sloth. He turned to me, saying, "Wait in this room," and pointed toward the door to the right of the entrance.



"Very well," I answered, "but my personal belongings are in the area where I filled out the form. How can I obtain them? Is it possible for someone to bring them?"



The official responded with rage, "We have no servants to concern themselves with the personal belongings of prisoners. What need do you have for your belongings? There in your prison cell belongings are unnecessary. What exactly do you have there?"



"There," I answered, "I have my travelling bag; I have some things I need, tefillin, talit, siddur, a book of Psalms, other objects, and a thick green silk blanket. If you instruct one of the attendants to bring them, I will pay him for his effort."



"Bourgeois customs!" exclaimed the enraged official, "give them servants! The prisoners are too sick to carry their bags! It is forbidden to bring any kind of religious garments within the walls of the prison. In any event, the division head, in whose custody you will be placed, will confiscate all clerical garments and religious books. What difference will it make to you if they remain where they are now or in the storage chambers of the head prison official? Forget this nonsense: You must understand that you are a prisoner."

"During the two hours that I have been here," I answered emotionally, "I have heard repeated dozens of times that I am a prisoner. I do not know if I alone am a prisoner or if all the officials here are also prisoners. We are identical to each other. You are not allowed to move from your guard post. Just as I must obey prison discipline, similarly you must fulfill your obligations. Stop your abusive diatribes regarding religious matters which are holy to me. The law authorizes me to request my belongings and that you permit me to pray."




My emotional outburst had a strong enough effect to awaken the other official, and he stared at us with eyes of intense astonishment. My official, with smoldering anger, stroked his moustache and delved into the piles of paper resting on his desk.



It appeared that they were unaccustomed to hear someone speak with such self-assertion. For a moment I had actually poured out all the rage that had welled up within me when I was in the first section. The official rose from his chair, approached me, opened a door, and said, "Sit in this room till I call you." He left and closed the door.





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Tractate Geihinom, Second Section
I entered the enclosed room, which had only the one door which I had used. It was a small room, six feet in width and twelve feet in length, and its walls were painted red. The one large window had been enclosed from the outside with iron bars, the normal prison practice, particularly in Spalerno. A table stood in the center of the room with a number of chairs around it.




I sat down on one of the chairs and noted that the time on the room clock was twenty minutes to five. "What is my family doing?" I thought. By now, word of my arrest had surely reached my friends and even those in the new suburb adjacent to Leningrad. I sighed deeply.





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I thought: "It is not appropriate, nor can I permit myself at this time to yield to thoughts that will cause me despondency. This is not the place for sadness or anxiety. This time and place require G-d's Divine mercy and His sustenance to be resolute in spirit, with an uplifted heart. Yet, at the same time, I must be fully aware both intellectually and emotionally of the details of G-d's constant Providence, a consciousness of the Divine that can only be evoked by bitterness of soul and retrospective reflection upon the sacred countenance of my father, the Rebbe of blessed memory,- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(thought letters) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Father, sacred father - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -




For a few moments I thought that this would be my place of imprisonment and that I would be confined here. But was it imaginable that they would put a prisoner in such a room, and not a common prisoner, but a prisoner upon whom revenge must be taken, one subject to false accusations, to coerce to reveal information?



I thought, "I must not dwell on these thoughts. I must prepare myself for a totally different mode of conduct in response to a totally new situation: the circumstance of being a prisoner. I must prepare myself for an experience, similar to the ordeal of the Alter Rebbe in the Petropavlovskaya Krepostj-Peter-Paul Fortress, and his questioning by the Taini Soviet-the Secret Commission. I must condition myself not to be panicked nor frightened, so that I can maintain a firm composure and not yield in the slightest to the right or left from my original firm intent, so that the dignity of the Jewish people should not be trampled underfoot. G-d will strengthen me."



Only three hours had passed and I was already weary. No limb was without pain. I had an intense searing in my head. My heart pained me and I sensed a sharp piercing on the left side, and in addition, my throat hurt intensely.



"At this moment," I thought, "I should not be concerned with the suffering of my body as compared to the anguish of my soul. And indeed my soul endures profound anguish. I plead with You, G-d, look down and see the suffering of Your nation. This was not an arrest of merely one prisoner, nor do they seek to punish me as an individual. For in my own right, who am I? They only persecute me because I am a descendent of my sacred forebears, one of the stones that support the pillars of the courtyards of G-d, the courtyards of Torah. I plead with You, G-d&.



"In another five minutes it will be five oclock. How gratifying it would be if they brought me my bag and permitted me to pray in this very room. And who knows, perhaps it was for this very reason that I was brought here. For G-d 'Who spoke and created the world' has specifically decreed that in the light-filled corridor-the place where I sat to rest immediately upon my arrival-a Jewish man should come on that specific day and hour. He would recite the morning blessings and the special prayer beseeching G-d to protect him from all harm. Perhaps G-d, may He be blessed, decreed that in this place a Jew should pray, so that an exalted and concealed Divine purpose should be brought from the potential to the actual. Any other rationale is inconceivable."

At that very moment I thought that every Jew who believes in G-d with pure faith and in accordance with the Torah teachings of the Baal Shem Tov, his successors, and my illustrious forebears would view this event with clear faith and certainly perceive that a dew of reawakened spiritual life was caused by the walking of just people on these stones or beams of wood, on this very floor, these dark corridors, and the ladders with steel rungs. This, despite the fact that the entire structure was built from the very beginning for the purpose of torture, to impose an oppressive yoke on the necks of human beings, to stifle and crush all those who enter within its confines.




Thus, a Jew entering this prison must fortify his mind and heart to recite verses of Torah and verses from the Psalms, to reflect upon the absolute, all-pervasive unity of G-d, Whose glory encompasses the entire world, pervading even this abode of the violent and the dungeons of those lusting for blood.

note this story

Suddenly in my mind there flashed the recollection of a splendid scene from nature pointed out to me by my father in my early childhood, when I was five or six years old:





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We were traveling in the Crimean mountains between Sevastapol and Yalta in a covered wagon harnessed to a team of four horses, as is customary in that area. The travelers were my father, the Rebbe, of blessed memory, and may she be designated for a long life blessed with spiritual and material goodness, my honored mother and teacher, the Rebbetzin, and sitting on the side of the coach, our cook, who also cared for me.



The journey was between tall mountains, an area abounding with boulders, and we traveled a circuitous path below the mountains; to our right were the mountains and to the left the sea.

We passed through one resting station located on a mountain and from there we journeyed through the mountains. At one point between stations we stopped to rest in a field where traveling coaches permit their animals to graze. We sat upon one of the boulders. My father turned to the side below one of the tall boulders, or more precisely, entered a small enclosure between two boulders, and recited the afternoon prayer, though it was only two oclock in the afternoon.




My mother set out some food, for we still had to journey four to six hours. And though I wanted very much to be among the coachmen tending to the four horses, an intense concern weighed upon my mind. My father had told me that upon our arrival in Yalta, a special person would come to be my tutor. I did not yet know his appearance or his nature or habits, or how he would compare to my previous teacher, Reb Yekusiel.





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Reb Yekusiel the teacher was an elderly man, seventy years old, if not more, but he had remarkable insight into the thought and behavior of small children aged four or five years old, and he could elicit their love for him and for the subject he taught them. Reb Yekusiel was an unusually gifted educator, and I cannot discern if he inherited this talent or if G-d had specifically singled him out and bestowed it upon him. Be it as it may, he was highly gifted, an utterly unique teacher.

The ingenious illustrations and examples used by Reb Yekusiel to explain the form of Hebrew letters would stimulate the interest of his students, and his lessons were impressed upon their minds and seared in their memory.




Thus, an alef is comparable to the burden of the water carrier: a bucket on each side joined by a stick in the middle. Similarly, the form of the letter alef consists of two letter yuds, one on each side with a line joining them.



Whenever we would see a water carrier we would immediately picture the letter alef. Our teacher provided such evocative depictions and illustrations that every occurrence in our lives reminded us of something we had learned.





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When we decided to journey to Yalta, my father of blessed memory himself started to learn with me, and I had already commenced the study of the Siddur and knew the meaning of a number of words. During the course of our travels we spent two weeks in Kharkov, where the doctor wished to perform tests on my father and monitor treatments. During this period my father himself learned with me, not entrusting me to a teacher. He also assured me that if I behaved properly, he would personally learn with me. However, when we left Kharkov, he told me that the doctors had instructed him to avoid the strain of speaking excessively, and he would therefore obtain for me a private teacher, and from time to time, my father said, he would learn with me himself.



I had matured enough to realize the obligation of a child to be concerned for his parents well-being, and I was deeply pained by my father's fragile health. However, my intense desire that my father should himself learn with me prevailed on all other considerations, and I thought to myself that through my good conduct I would cause an improvement in my father's health.



So closely concerned was I with my conduct that, from the time of our Kharkov departure, no aspect of my behavior was done without forethought so as to be most appropriate. In this spirit I took a prayer book, sat upon one of the small stones, and reviewed the lesson on the chapter in Psalms, commencing, "The heavens relate G-d's glory."


We sat down to eat. My father pointed out to us an area in the distance on the heights of a very tall mountain, and from afar we could see a large opening in a boulder standing on its top.




My father related that in the year 5644 (1884) he journeyed with his brother, Rabbi Zalman Aaron along the same route. They left the resting station at night; they stopped to rest in this field at six in the morning. From the distance it appeared that there was only an opening in the stone. Reaching it, they found a long cave, and within it, small boulders providing comfortable places to sit.



At that time my father explained to me that G-d created the world so as to enable each Jews fulfillment of G-d's commands. Thus, a traveling Jew may realize that it is time for prayer. According to Jewish Law, he should not pray in an open field, but in an enclosed area. It was for this very reason that G-d created rocks formed in this fashion, similar to the shelter of a house, so that a Jew could pray in a proper way even in this remote area.





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Yes, I thought, perhaps I will pray in this room. I still do not know what my fate will be, and whether it will be possible for me to pray today at all. For who knows what G-ds Divine Providence has decreed?



Suddenly, the door opened and the official called for me to come forward. He inquired angrily, Is this your bag and blanket? A soldier stood near the door holding a glittering sword in his left hand and a rifle in his right. Two knives dangled from his belt.



"Yes," I answered, these belong to me. "Would you permit me to pray and to put on tefillin in this room?" Taking my tefillin out of the bag, I said softly, "Please, give me fifteen to twenty minutes to put these tefillin on, as my religion requires with the guard watching."



"No," replied the officer harshly. "What is this? Do you wish to make a synagogue even here? What do you have in your possession? Money, a watch, objects of gold or silver? Whatever you have give to me; a prisoner has no right to have precious objects. Your belongings will be well protected; personal belongings are returned to released prisoners. For those exiled, the valuables are sent to the place of exile, and for those executed, the valuables are given to the heirs."



I handed over all that I had with me. He counted and documented it all. He then gave me a receipt for everything I had given him: a simple watch and 58 rubles.



The officer turned to the soldier and said, "I now entrust you with prisoner 26818. Take him to the head of the sixth division. He already knows the prisoner's room. I have been ordered to tell you to carry his bag, for he is ill and has been promised assistance."



"Yes," answered the soldier," but how will I carry his blanket?"



The officer replied, "I grant you permission to place the sword in your scabbard and the rifle in his case, for he will most assuredly not flee. Surely with two fingers you can crush such a fragile insect."



The tefillin remained in my hand, and the soldier rearranged his weapons and stared at me with smoldering arrogance. He opened the door and we proceeded through the dimly lit corridor till we reached an iron gate.



The gate guards, armed soldiers both inside and outside, stood like marble statues with their weapons. Their task was to guard the prisoners caged in the six sections, each section said to contain one hundred cells.



At the sight of my guard walking proudly with the bearing of one distinguished in rank accompanied by a Jew with a reddish beard and a Rabbinical hat, mocking smiles flicked across their faces. The senior guard read the confidential memorandum sent to the head of the sixth division and placed his seal upon it and the yarlik-prisoner document. The gate was then opened and we entered the Third Section of Geihinom.






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Spalerno prison,Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch Chapter III: In the Corridor

http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/2973/jewish/Chapter-III-In-the-Corridor.htm

Learning & Values » Jewish History » Chassidic Personalities » The Rebbe’s Prison Diary


Chapter III: In the Corridor

From the writings of Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch

Published and copyrighted by Kehot Publication Society

These thoughts sustained my soul and strengthened me greatly. I was unconcerned with the present situation and sat in absolute peace.



Then I began to readjust: "I am a prisoner in Spalerno, I do not know for what cause. In the interrogation room they will subject me to a barrage of questions: some normal inquiries for information and others startling and totally unanticipated. From my answers they will attempt to weave a net of false accusations or provide a match to ignite a blaze of revenge."



I took a cigarette and then began to formulate a general outline of response. I resolved to be strong and not yield to fear, to speak clearly and in no way to be affected by the intrigue in which they sought to enmesh me.



This strong personal resolve caused a sense of inner exaltation and a sense of self-worth, as though I was sitting in a garden or strolling on a sunny day. This specific feeling was evoked by the rays of the sun that shone upon the white wall opposite me.



I was on the verge of retracing my steps and returning to the "door open for all prisoners." But then I reflected: What need was there for haste? Would I miss anything due to my delay? Indeed, I felt the need to organize my thoughts once again. It was my custom that, prior to publicly delivering any chassidic discourse, I would review it once again, even though I was wholly conversant with the concepts involved. I felt that I had now returned to my usual frame of mind, thank G-d.





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How great is the inner faith, the perfect faith, which is transmitted through our heritage to all Jews, a spiritual inheritance from our patriarchs. How great is the power of absolute trust in G-d. These are not only the foundation of our Jewish faith, our holy faith, but the foundations of life itself, normal everyday life, the material existence of every Jew.



"Give thanks to G-d for His great kindness," that He had caused the seeming error of my turn into the corridor. For it provided shelter and respite from falling into the web of fright and confusion prepared for me by Nachmanson and Lulav. G-d's Divine Providence had led me like the strand of straw or tree leaf thrust by the driving current of the wind.



I was like them, but my situation was more significant (for those possessed of human speech are above objects of vegetative existence, this is even truer in the case of pure and holy [i.e. Jewish] souls who surpass mortals who are capable solely of human speech). I was fully conscious that I was in the hand of G-d's Divine Providence, may He be blessed and exalted.


I was still sitting in my place when I heard the clamor of voices in one of the rooms behind the wall opposite me -- not the sound of outcry or anguish, but the sound of laughter, of people secure in their existence and fortunate in their lot. A few moments passed, one of the doors opened, and three people emerged. The sight of a strange man sitting with a confident spirit smoking calmly, took them aback. For a moment they stood on the threshold startled, hesitating to emerge and scrutinizing me closely.




I remained sitting with the same serene composure of the past ten minutes as though unaffected by this new occurrence, but my heartbeat intensified. I feared they would ask me why I was on the bench in the corridor.



After gazing at me for a few moments, they continued toward the left, to the wide open door which I have already mentioned a number of times. However, one of them retraced his steps and entered one of the rooms. I paid no heed as to which room and I was sure that someone would shortly appear to question me. I decided, therefore, to wait there and not proceed to the administrative center until the arrival of this person.



My presumption proved accurate. The person who had returned now came out of the room accompanied by someone else, who in turn approached me, inquired about my presence, and asked for whom I was waiting.



"I did not come here," I replied, "I was brought here and I was told to go to the administrative center. I am waiting for my talit and tefillin, for the man who brought me here assured me while I was yet in my home that he would provide a place to pray. He also said that I was being brought here merely for a few hours to answer some questions."



It appeared that the fluency of my answer, my sincerity, and my dispassionate composure took my questioner aback. He stood without uttering a word, scrutinizing me from head to toe in amazement. I could not tell for sure, but it seemed to me that he was a gentile, not a Jew, a Russian from the regions of Vitebsk, Smolensk, or Mohilyev; a calm, deliberate person, though young, not more than twenty-five. His eyes glimmered with inner feelings, the emotions of a toiling farmer.

He stared at me and I gazed back at him. There was no word or communication between us. I took out a cigarette. He, too, took out a cigarette from his container and hurried to offer me his lit match. He turned aside to sit on the very same bench with me.




I now realized that being in this corridor was in no way a trespass of prison regulations. However, who knew what Nachmanson and Lulav could make even of this-to stir up a cauldron of intrigue, a thick morass of hearsay and hatred of religion in order to denounce me? But in any event, my fear had passed.





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"It is only half past three and they have already brought many people here tonight. They are bringing in unusually large numbers," the man told me. He spoke reflectively, as if speaking to himself: "Our comrades are working tonight far beyond their duty, and I also have been here four hours overtime already."



"Where are you from?"



I replied, "I come from a small city-I do not know if you have ever heard of it. My birthplace is Lubavitch. It is bounded on one side by the train station Rudnia, located between the cities of Vitebsk and Smolensk, and on the other side by the train station Krasnoya, situated between Arsha and Smolensk."

"Lubavitch," he replied, "Yes, I know it well. Even from early childhood I know of it. It is not small at all. There was a big market place and two houses of prayer. He asked me, Gusin-would you know of that town?"




I knew Gusin, and the station and surrounding villages. Many of my acquaintances lived there, obviously Jews. However, I had no knowledge of the landowners and peasants in that area, for I had no contact with them.



I thus ascertained that my guess that he was not Jewish and from the south was correct.



"In Lubavitch," he continued, "dwelled the family of a saintly man. They lived in a large courtyard close to the marketplace. There was a well in their courtyard, and whenever I would come with my father to the market place, I would go there to drink water. We would also lead our horses there to drink."



"Yes, yes," I answered, and my heart began to pound from great emotion and the awakening of many memories and associations. At the same time I was surprised by this unusual encounter. I could not determine if it could affect me favorably or adversely, and I was on the verge of deciding to proceed to the administrative center.



I began, "I am required to go to the administrative center," and arose from my place.



"Yes," he answered, "I will accompany you and show you what is to be done and with whom to speak. He continued, Were you ever here before? Are you aware of what is required? Can you write?"



I replied, "No, this is my first time here; I do not know what is required of me, nor what must be written."



He told me, "Stenographers will question you and transcribe everything you answer. After you have answered the questionnaire, they will take you to the search room. They will take all those things not needed by a prisoner: your money, watch and other belongings. They will then hand you over to one of the orderlies to lead you to the administrator of a prison division, and you will be placed in a cell under his custody."



I listened attentively. I was gratified by G-d's kindness, that He had strengthened and fortified my heart so that these words did not cause me fear or panic. I sensed that I had adjusted to the current situation. I hoped that I could sustain my present stance with G-d's help, not to allow Judaism to be trampled underfoot. I could not permit any coercion to affect my firm resolve; I had to remain staunch and unwavering.



"Through which corridor were you brought here?"



"I was brought here through the corridor to the left of this one. I was weary from my trek on the stairs, and seeing that there were benches here, I sat on one of them to rest."



"That corridor?" he asked in great anger. He stopped walking, his face glowering with astonishment. "Who are you? Where are you from? How long have you lived in Leningrad?"

"I am Rabbi Schneersohn from the city of Lubavitch. In 1915 we fled from the Germans when they advanced toward our borders. We traveled to Rostov and dwelled there till 1924. In May of that year we came to Leningrad."




"Why were you brought to that corridor?" he asked incredulously. "Where were you arrested? Were you in the company of traitors? Who was with you at the time of the arrest? Did they find in your possession subversive propaganda or other kinds of literature? Who brought you here?"



I answered with equanimity, "I was arrested in my dwelling on 22 Machovaya Street, Apartment 12. I was with my family eating supper, and no one else was in my house aside from my family. I had no literature nor any form of subversive propaganda. Thus, there was nothing to be discovered. I was brought here by two officials named Nachmanson and Lulav."

He exploded in rage: "May darkness take them! And why through that corridor? Have they brought a traitor? Have they begun using that corridor?" He muttered to himself as he scratched his brow.




"No," he said, "what you are saying is untrue. Undoubtedly there was some serious violation of the law. They would not lead you through that corridor unjustifiably. Tell me the truth, comrade, or you will make the situation even worse for yourself."



"There is nothing to reveal," I stated, "I have already spoken the truth. Nachmanson and Lulav brought me to the door of the corridor. Nachmanson whispered something into the ear of the guard standing by the door and transferred me to his custody. The guard directed me to proceed into the large room through the open door. However, I was very weary, and seeing benches to sit in the corridor, I sat down to rest. And there is basically nothing more to relate."



"Ach, not true," he said, "something is irregular here. You speak falsely. For this you will be placed in solitary confinement with an increased penalty of three or four months of additional imprisonment, perhaps even more, unfortunately for you. Speak the truth, what is your actual crime?"



We heard a voice calling from behind, "Chimka, what is all this chatter? Come here quickly and stop the foolish talk there."



He responded, "Yes, wait, I will be there shortly. I need something in the office."



Turning to me he said, "No, this matter must be clarified."
From Chimka's astonishment I understood that the dark corridor through which Nachmanson had directed me to proceed to the administrative center was for serious offenders. Anyone led that way was obviously quite a criminal.




Actually, his words had no effect on me, and I turned toward the administrative center, the room with the open door, the place, as described by Nachmanson, where one speaks either willingly or through coercion.








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Spalerno prison,Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch

http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/2989/jewish/Chapter-II-Spalerno.htm
Learning & Values » Jewish History » Chassidic Personalities » The Rebbe’s Prison Diary


Chapter II: Spalerno

From the writings of Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch

Published and copyrighted by Kehot Publication Society

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Chapter III: In the Corridor "Stand and descend from the vehicle 'distingueshed citizens,'" was the command. The guards abruptly formed a path from the vehicle to the gate. My neighbor descended first, for he had sat to my right and was closer to the door. I noticed that I had been wise not to hurry, for when he descended, they took his personal belongings, which were in a large trunk on which a guard had perched during the journey. It was a handsome trunk, with finely carved details and of foreign make, for such elegant objects are not seen nowadays.



I then realized that he was indeed a foreigner and unable to speak Russian. The guards gestured to him to proceed to the gate. Two men came out of the gate and carried in the trunk, and afterwards, Nachmanson signaled to his comrade Lulav from within the gate. Lulav turned to me and with subdued joy said, "Now would you please exert yourself to proceed. I will take your bag if you wish or if you do not. You are now a guest with us, and you are obligated to submit to our orders."



"Yes, this is a great victory, but I hope that it will only be a brief one," I replied patiently and with confidence.



"Speaking is forbidden!" shouted an armed guard. It seemed that he could no longer suppress his cruelty and his hatred for Jews, especially a Jew respected by his religious brethren.

Nachmanson went before me. There were now two new armed guards accompanying me, for the earlier ones remained outside. One was on my right and the other on my left, and Lulav walked behind me.




We passed through a large courtyard within a building, six stories high and extending to all four sides of the courtyard. On each side there were two or three entrances. No one else was in the courtyard except for the guards at the entrance. Nachmanson walked quickly, but he was compelled to wait for me because I walked with unusual deliberateness. This was because my legs were in pain and, in fact, I was not in any particular hurry. Even before I entered the gate, I began requesting that Nachmanson keep his word about restoring my tefillin and letting me pray.



I walked step by step with occasional short intervals to rest as I moved from one level to the next. With difficulty I climbed upon the rungs leading to the administrative headquarters, as Nachmanson went before me. He turned to me, his face red with rage, and said: "Even before entering the administrative headquarters to be informed of your obligations, you are already badgering me with such demands. This is astonishing. Are you oblivious to your situation? Are you unaware of the rigorous discipline of prison? First you will be brought to the administrative headquarters. There you will fill out the required questionnaire. Only later, when you are brought to your cell, can you pray. I think that in a short while you will forget your present concerns and realize the seriousness of your situation. You will no longer be preoccupied with these foolish matters. Forget that you are Schneersohn, the distinguished Bogamolnik (one who prays to G-d). You are now a simple person who is being punished with imprisonment or other punishment for your flagrant acts against the proletariat. Now you will pay for everything."



I did not respond but gazed at him intently, and I perceived that this had a far more piercing effect than any words.



Nachmanson turned to Lulav, "What do you think will happen to this distinguished citizen, who has waxed and thrived for many years in the affluence and luxury of bourgeois life, when he comes to his new apartment-Spalerka Salon? The simple fare of black bread and kasha will not rest well with him. There he will leave behind his pride. There, at the interrogation table, he will speak, declare, answer all the questions put to him. Right, distinguished citizen?"



As though oblivious to Nachmanson's conversation with Lulav, I pursued my former inquiries: "Where are your assurances in your official capacity as a representative of the G.P.U. that I would be permitted to put on my tefillin and to pray? Why didn't you reveal to me while I was still in my home that you would not let me pray? What prevents you from being truthful? Whom did you fear? Why did you give me such firm assurances? Is this the normal conduct of a representative of the G.P.U.?"



Nachmanson laughed sardonically, with a mixture of pleasure and vengeance. I saw then that I was dealing with a totally different person. This was not the Nachmanson who was in my apartment, nor the man in the courtyard. This was a G.P.U. official, whose primary task was to frighten the prisoners, to confuse them and render them submissive -- ultimately to extract confessions and admissions about imaginary events.



At that moment I recollected the text in Reishit Chachmah at the beginning of the Tractate Geihinom: "It is written, 'Who can stand before His anger? And who can be upright before the fierceness of His wrath?' Rav Zeira commented, citing the verse from Proverbs, 'The leech has two daughters who cry out, Give, give.' Rabbi Elazar commented further, 'Two groups of angels stand at the gates of Geihinom and cry, Give, give, bring, bring.'"



We advanced a few more steps. Nachmanson opened the door to the corridor of the administrative division. He whistled, signalling to one of the guards, "Take this citizen," he ordered, handed him a paper, and said, "Here are his documents. Escort him to the administrative office and give this to official X."



He turned to me laughing, "Now you will begin to understand where you are." Even before he had finished the sentence, he hastened to descend and run after Lulav, who had already gone down. They were obviously in haste to accomplish important tasks. Apparently their night's work was still incomplete.



The guard lead me and indicated with his finger that I should walk the length of the corridor to the wide open door. He told me that I would then be given a questionnaire by one of the secretaries and that I should answer all the questions in writing.

This corridor was a long room, more than 150 feet long and twelve feet wide. On both sides there were many closed office doors, and at every 30 feet was a small burning candle suspended from the ceiling. Along the length of the room stood ten or twelve armed guards, each armed with a Cossack pike at his back, a polished sword in his left hand, and a rifle in his right. They stood like marble pillars, unmoving, yet their eyes attentively surveyed the entire area.




The dreadful, bizarre scene would inevitably frighten any normal person, who could not begin to comprehend the reason for the elaborate display of weaponry and the intended targets of these instruments of destruction. Indeed, where could people be found so callous and corrupt as to be capable of wielding such weapons? Could a person be such a wild animal that such things must be used to tame him?



The enveloping silence, the darkness, the blackness of the walls, the small candles, the malevolent statue-like soldiers with massive powerful figures, their height, the broadness of their shoulders, the harsh outline of their features, their uniforms of stark red and black, the excessive display of weaponry-pike, sword, rifle -- all merged into one composite image that terrified the eye of the beholder and made the heart shudder.



Through the two rows of soldiers in the frightening dimness and in death-like stillness, I walked to the end of the corridor. In my mind the question arose, "Where am I going and for what purpose? What is required of me and how will this all end?" As if in internal dialogue with my soul, I responded clearly, excluding all doubt: "I shall shortly arrive at the open door, exactly as the guard told me. Did he not give me clear instructions that I must write out the answers to the questionnaire?



"And what then? Later, surely Nachmanson's promise will be fulfilled, that I will be brought to the place where one speaks willingly or unwillingly." I advanced slowly and thought:



Tractate Geihinom - First Section.

Whether inadvertently or deliberately I do not know, but apparently because of my intense inner reflection or the agitated confusion of my thoughts, I veered to the right. As I approached the open door I perceived another hallway extending to the right. It seems that without any forethought I had turned in this direction.




The corridor was exactly as long as the one through which I had just passed. But aside from this there was a stark contrast: here the walls were plastered, and there were many windows. There were no armed guards, and long benches extended along the entire length of the room. In this area there were also many doorways, but they were white, with numbers written on them, and signs printed with thin, sharp words. I did not pay attention to them, however, because I was very much shaken by the incredible contrast between the first corridor, coarse and dark, with its intense security, and the present environment, so normal and civilized. Somehow, under the influence of these new surroundings, I walked with longer and more confident strides, and no one challenged or directed me. As I advanced I realized that I had erred in my movements, for I had been instructed to go forward up to the door open for all prisoners. How had I somehow turned and arrived here? Would this magnify my supposed violation of the law? Perhaps now they would accuse me of intruding into an area prohibited to prisoners, thus enabling them to bring harsher and more perilous accusations: that I was now attempting to ferret out knowledge of the ins and outs of the Spalerno Prison.

role of providence  hashgachah pratis

Nevertheless, I did not hurry back. Had I been aware originally, I would not have ventured in this direction; but since I was already there, I had already crossed the line, though without conscious intent. And indeed, this is the way of Divine Providence. Were my actions any less significant than those of the wind-buffeted wisp of straw, or a driven swirling leaf? Rabbi Yisroel Baal Shem Tov had taught that even these seemingly minor incidents were all due to G-d's exalted Providence.



I noticed a bench standing a few steps away, approached it, and sat down to rest a while. I suddenly remembered that I did not have my bag. I was surprised at my forgetfulness-where might I have lost it? I concentrated and recollected that I misplaced it when I was separated from the second escort group, from the "angels of Geihinom," namely Nachmanson and Lulav, and transferred to the guard who had escorted me to the dark corridor. Apparently I was so concerned and preoccupied that I had forgotten it.


Like myself, I thought, my bag is also here in this section. Whatever the circumstances, no one would steal it. If Lulav had taken it to the administrative headquarters, it would certainly be there. If he had entrusted it to a guard of the dark corridor, it would be there. At any rate, it was most certainly secure. At this time, I must use these precious moments to prepare myself for the "room open for all prisoners."






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"What is happening in my home right now?"



This thought possessed me: Conscious of the different personalities in my family, I could imagine their reactions and behavior, and the composite scene. I pictured the sobbing of my mother; the white, apprehensive face and the deep inner anguish of my wife and her shocked muteness; the shattered hearts and the confusion of my helpless daughters; the apprehension and concern of my son-in-law. I also thought about my future son-in-law, Rabbi Menachem [Schneerson], who had gone to the home of my secretary, Mr. Lieberman. I hoped to G-d that he was not also ensnared in this net of intrigue. What of all my dear friends and my chassidic disciples? What were they doing at this very minute? This vivid panorama excited me, and my eyes flowed with hot tears. I was deeply agitated and my entire body trembled: G-d forbid, was it possible that the sacred chassidic manuscripts and writings were also taken? I now realized that they were attempting to exact revenge from me. The angry words of Nachmanson, his conversation with Lulav, clearly indicated that I was dealing with people set on vengeance, on weaving lies, improvising dangerous charges against me. Who knew if they had not touched the core and apple of my eye, the sacred chassidic manuscripts and writings. And if, G-d forbid, this had actually occurred, how awesome was this situation. How incredible the catastrophe that these sacred manuscripts would also be swept into custody and imprisoned!



I felt the need to still this surge of thought. Like a flash of lightning there gleamed within my mind, "And what of G-d? Who has done this? Who has generated this entire sequence of events? Everything has its source in G-d. True, I am indeed a son, a husband, a father, a father-in-law, one who loves and is beloved. They are all dependent upon me, but I and they in turn are dependent upon G-d Who spoke and created the world. I have done all that I am capable of doing, and G-d will do according to His will, may He be blessed. At that moment I emerged from the mire and constraints of my situation, and ascended to transcendent spiritual heights, with thoughts beyond the confines of finite, physical existence. I was bolstered by pure faith and absolute trust in the Living G-d, secure in the merit of my holy ancestors - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - (thought letters)








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