Parashat Yom HaShoah and Parashat Shemini
April 8, 2021
Nomi Feinberg, High School Social Sciences Department
“Each Child is Like One Thousand Children, Following this Great Tragedy”
This Thursday, Yom HaShoah or Holocaust Remembrance Day, is observed in Israel and around the world as a day of commemoration for the six million Jews who perished in the Final Solution. While the Shoah constantly informs our collective memory, even if only in the recesses of our minds, on Yom HaShoah we propel this chasmic tragedy into active consciousness for dedicated reflection and to dignify our brethren who were dehumanized so systematically. We contemplate with raw distress the steps which led to the fiery Nazi ovens, and hold dear our lives, our Jewish values, and our country, Israel, which arose from the ashes.
We mourn not only the prisoners of camps like Auschwitz-Birkenau, Treblinka, Dachau, Chelmno, Belzec, Sobibor, and Majdenek, but the generations of Jewish hearts and minds who would have been born to them. How many more Herzls, Einsteins, Salks, Lazaruses, Cordozas, Brandeises, Bubers, Rebbas, and countless others would there have been? On this day we interrupt incessant daily distractions to face the past, praying and taking action so that history never again spits forth such inhumane state-sanctioned violence.
This week is also Parashat Shemini, which recounts the sudden tragic death of Aaron the High Priest’s two oldest sons, Nadav and Avihu, during the joyous inauguration of the Mishkan bamidbar (Tabernacle in the desert). As the Torah portion is read, those of us who are parents might ask, “What could be more excruciating than my own beautiful children predeceasing me?” or “Why did the sons’ personal and mistaken interpretation of G-d’s commandment, a seemingly relatable transgression, result in such a fatal punishment, G-d consuming them by fire?” We may wonder how is it possible and why is it honorable that in the face of such immense loss, “Vayidom Aharon” — Aaron was silent? (Vayikra 10:3). After all, we just recited in the Haggadah our suffering and redemption from Egypt: “the Children of Israel . . .cried out. . .” (Shemot 2:23). As it says: “G-d heard their groaning and recalled His covenant with Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaacov.” (Shemot 2:24) How then could Aaron not have cried out to G-d for mercy, for a reversal of the decree to save his children from the fire? And what do we learn from this extraordinary and stoic reaction? Finally, we may ask, is there a connection between Yom HaShoah and Parashat Shemini that can provide a modicum of meaning or comfort from the abysmal pain of the Holocaust?
To address these haunting questions, allow me to share a bit about Rabbi Yitzhak Halevi Herzog, the first Chief Rabbi of the British Mandate of Palestine and of Israel after its independence in 1948 (restated primarily from https://blog.nli.org.il/en/rabbi_herzog/).
Immediately after World War II, Rabbi Herzog dedicated himself to saving Jewish children, especially babies, and bringing them back from their places of hiding throughout all of Europe, to their families or to Jewish orphanages. Many of these children were hidden in Christian monasteries or by Christian families who refused to return them. Rabbi Herzog stopped at the Vatican to seek help from Pope Pius XII, which he received. With a message of gratitude for the pivotal intervention of Catholic institutions in saving young Jewish lives, the Rabbi also insisted that the children now be released. “Each child is like one thousand children, following this great tragedy,” he told the Pontiff.
Chief Rabbi Herzog and his team searched tirelessly through villages and monasteries. In October 1946, over 500 of the redeemed Jewish children boarded a train in Katowice, Poland, which then made the long journey to Mandatory Palestine. These children soon became citizens of the State of Israel, founded 19 months later.
One day in 1946, it is said that Rabbi Herzog arrived at a large monastery known to have taken in Jewish children. The Rabbi turned to the Reverend Mother, thanking her and requesting their return to the Jewish People, now that the war was over. Happy to agree but perplexed, the nun asked, “How can you know, Rabbi, which of the hundreds of children here at the monastery are Jewish?” After all, it had been many months since their arrival, and many had been mere infants at the time.
Rabbi Herzog assured the Reverend Mother that he would know. He asked to gather all of the children in a large hall, ascended the stage, and cried in a loud voice:
Sh’ma Yisrael Adona-i Elohei-nu Adona-i Eḥad! (Hear, O Israel: the L-rd, our G-d, the L-rd is One)
Immediately, dozens of children instinctively covered their eyes and then rushed the stage, shouting “Mama,papa!”, many sobbing uncontrollably. Though few remembered much of their early lives, the sound of the Shema instantly brought back memories of reciting these words with their parents before bedtime.
In the face of the Holocaust on Yom HaShoah and the loss of Nadav and Avihu in Parashat Shemini, we can learn and perhaps take a minute measure of comfort from Chief Rabbi Herzog as we dedicate our lives to the spiritual growth of our children and to the nurturance of their identity as Jews. To know that each night when you say “Shema” with your little ones you are rebuilding the Jewish world. “Each child is like a thousand.” And by sending our children to our Jewish school we are breathing oxygen into the eternal fire of Jewish life and continuity, while dousing the infernal flames of Nazism. Sometimes as Jews we must cry out in anguish to G-d and plead for His redemption, while at other times we must remain quiet like Aaron, even though the weight of despair could crush us entirely. To know that with integrity to Jewish identity and rituals, through our participation in its intellectual dynamism and pursuit of justice, we, the living, demonstrate that the sons of Aaron and the precious souls of our brethren lost in the Holocaust have not died in vain.
Rather, their memory is a holy inspiration to the generations of today and the future to cherish our Jewish inheritance and to live fully with joy and celebration in order to honor the six million whose lives were so tragically curtailed, and the “righteous gentiles” who rescued Jewish children.
This week is also Parashat Shemini, which recounts the sudden tragic death of Aaron the High Priest’s two oldest sons, Nadav and Avihu, during the joyous inauguration of the Mishkan bamidbar (Tabernacle in the desert). As the Torah portion is read, those of us who are parents might ask, “What could be more excruciating than my own beautiful children predeceasing me?” or “Why did the sons’ personal and mistaken interpretation of G-d’s commandment, a seemingly relatable transgression, result in such a fatal punishment, G-d consuming them by fire?” We may wonder how is it possible and why is it honorable that in the face of such immense loss, “Vayidom Aharon” — Aaron was silent? (Vayikra 10:3). After all, we just recited in the Haggadah our suffering and redemption from Egypt: “the Children of Israel . . .cried out. . .” (Shemot 2:23). As it says: “G-d heard their groaning and recalled His covenant with Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaacov.” (Shemot 2:24) How then could Aaron not have cried out to G-d for mercy, for a reversal of the decree to save his children from the fire? And what do we learn from this extraordinary and stoic reaction? Finally, we may ask, is there a connection between Yom HaShoah and Parashat Shemini that can provide a modicum of meaning or comfort from the abysmal pain of the Holocaust?
To address these haunting questions, allow me to share a bit about Rabbi Yitzhak Halevi Herzog, the first Chief Rabbi of the British Mandate of Palestine and of Israel after its independence in 1948 (restated primarily from https://blog.nli.org.il/en/rabbi_herzog/).
Immediately after World War II, Rabbi Herzog dedicated himself to saving Jewish children, especially babies, and bringing them back from their places of hiding throughout all of Europe, to their families or to Jewish orphanages. Many of these children were hidden in Christian monasteries or by Christian families who refused to return them. Rabbi Herzog stopped at the Vatican to seek help from Pope Pius XII, which he received. With a message of gratitude for the pivotal intervention of Catholic institutions in saving young Jewish lives, the Rabbi also insisted that the children now be released. “Each child is like one thousand children, following this great tragedy,” he told the Pontiff.
Chief Rabbi Herzog and his team searched tirelessly through villages and monasteries. In October 1946, over 500 of the redeemed Jewish children boarded a train in Katowice, Poland, which then made the long journey to Mandatory Palestine. These children soon became citizens of the State of Israel, founded 19 months later.
One day in 1946, it is said that Rabbi Herzog arrived at a large monastery known to have taken in Jewish children. The Rabbi turned to the Reverend Mother, thanking her and requesting their return to the Jewish People, now that the war was over. Happy to agree but perplexed, the nun asked, “How can you know, Rabbi, which of the hundreds of children here at the monastery are Jewish?” After all, it had been many months since their arrival, and many had been mere infants at the time.
Rabbi Herzog assured the Reverend Mother that he would know. He asked to gather all of the children in a large hall, ascended the stage, and cried in a loud voice:
Sh’ma Yisrael Adona-i Elohei-nu Adona-i Eḥad! (Hear, O Israel: the L-rd, our G-d, the L-rd is One)
Immediately, dozens of children instinctively covered their eyes and then rushed the stage, shouting “Mama,papa!”, many sobbing uncontrollably. Though few remembered much of their early lives, the sound of the Shema instantly brought back memories of reciting these words with their parents before bedtime.
In the face of the Holocaust on Yom HaShoah and the loss of Nadav and Avihu in Parashat Shemini, we can learn and perhaps take a minute measure of comfort from Chief Rabbi Herzog as we dedicate our lives to the spiritual growth of our children and to the nurturance of their identity as Jews. To know that each night when you say “Shema” with your little ones you are rebuilding the Jewish world. “Each child is like a thousand.” And by sending our children to our Jewish school we are breathing oxygen into the eternal fire of Jewish life and continuity, while dousing the infernal flames of Nazism. Sometimes as Jews we must cry out in anguish to G-d and plead for His redemption, while at other times we must remain quiet like Aaron, even though the weight of despair could crush us entirely. To know that with integrity to Jewish identity and rituals, through our participation in its intellectual dynamism and pursuit of justice, we, the living, demonstrate that the sons of Aaron and the precious souls of our brethren lost in the Holocaust have not died in vain.
Rather, their memory is a holy inspiration to the generations of today and the future to cherish our Jewish inheritance and to live fully with joy and celebration in order to honor the six million whose lives were so tragically curtailed, and the “righteous gentiles” who rescued Jewish children.
Works Cited