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FAITH, TRUST AND HOPE, I am in ‘YOUR HANDS HASHEM’ PLEASE BESTOW ‘YOUR’ MERCY ON ME, protect me from evil designs against me

February 15th, 2011 · No Comments

King David compared trust in HaShem to the properties of a shadow. Specifically, a shadow casts its shade according to the image that it reflects. If you show it one finger, it shows one finger; if you show it two fingers, it shows two fingers. If you show it the whole hand, it shows the whole hand.

In the same way, the more a person focuses on recognizing HaShem’s help and kindness, the more HaShem will reveal Himself to that person. The more we strive to see HaShem’s beauty, the more He will make Himself known to us.

SENT BY anonymous:
read disclaimer on bottom

A Girl With  An Apple

 (This is a true story and you can find out more by  Googling Herman Rosenblat. He was Bar Mitzvahed at age 75) 

August 1942. Piotrkow, Poland.

 The  sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously. All the men,  women and children of Piotrkow’s Jewish ghetto Had been herded  into a square.

 Word had gotten around that we were being  moved. My father Had only recently died from typhus, which had  run rampant  Through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was  that our Family would be separated.

 ’Whatever you  do,’ Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me, ‘don’t tell  them your age. Say you’re sixteen. ‘I was tall for a boy of  11, so I could pull it off. That way I might Be deemed valuable  as a worker.

 An SS man approached me, boots clicking against  the cobblestones.He looked me up and down, and then asked my  age.

‘Sixteen,’ I said. He directed me to the left, where my  three brothersAnd other healthy young men already stood. 

 My mother was motioned to the right with the other women,  children, Sick and elderly people. I whispered to  Isidore, ‘Why?’

He didn’t answer. I ran to  Mama’s side and said I wanted to stay with her.

‘No, ‘she  said sternly.

‘Get away. Don’t be a nuisance. Go with your  brothers.’ She had never spoken so harshly before. But I  understood: She was protecting me. She loved me so much that,  just this once,She pretended not to. It was the last I ever saw  of her.

My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car  to Germany.

We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp  one night laterAnd were led into a crowded barrack. The next  day, we were issuedUniforms and identification numbers. 

Don’t call me Herman anymore.’ I said to my brothers. ‘Call  me 94983.’

 I was put to work in the camp’s crematorium,  loading the deadInto a hand-cranked elevator.

I,  too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number.

Soon, my  brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald’s  Sub-camps near Berlin.

 One morning I thought I heard  my mother’s voice. Son,’ she said softly but clearly, I am  going to send you an angel.’

 Then I woke up. Just a dream. A  beautiful dream. But in this place there could be no angels.  There was only work. And hunger. And fear.

 A couple  of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the  Barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not  Easily see. I was alone.

 On the other side of the  fence, I spotted someone: a little girl with Light,

Almost  luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree.

 I  glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in  German. ‘Do you have something to eat?’ She didn’t  understand. I inched closer to the fence and repeated the  question in Polish.

She stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt,  with rags wrapped around My feet, but the girl looked unafraid.  In her eyes, I saw life.

 She pulled an apple from her woolen  jacket and threw it over the fence. I grabbed the fruit  and, as I started to run away, I heard her say Faintly, 

‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ I returned to the same spot  by the fence at the same time every day.

She was always there  with something for me to eat – a hunk of bread or, Better  yet, an apple. We didn’t dare speak or linger. To be caught  would mean death For us both. I didn’t know anything  about her, just a kind farm girl, except that she Understood  Polish. What was her name?

Why was she risking her life for me? 

 Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other  side of the Fence Gave me some, as nourishing in its way as  the bread and apples. Nearly seven months later, my brothers  and I were crammed into a Coal car and shipped to Theresienstadt  camp in Czechoslovakia.

 ’Don’t return,’ I told the girl that  day. ‘We’re leaving.’

I turned toward the barracks and  didn’t look back, didn’t even say good-bye to the little girl  whose name I’d never learned, the girl with the apples. 

 We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was  winding downand Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate  seemed sealed.

On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in  the gas chamber at 10:00 AM.  In the quiet of dawn, I  tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to  claim me, but somehow I’d survived. Now, it was over. I  thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited. 

 But at 8 A.M. there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw  people running every which way through camp. I caught up with my  brothers.

Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates  swung open. Everyone was running, so I did too. Amazingly, all  of my brothers had survived; I’m not sure how. But I  knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my  survival.

In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one  person’s goodness had saved my life, had given me hope in a  place where there was none.

My mother had promised to send  me an angel, and the angel had come.

 Eventually I made my  way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish charity, put up  in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust and  trained in electronics. Then I came to America,where my brother  Sam had already moved. I served in the U. S. Armyduring the  Korean War, and returned to New York City after two years. 

 By August 1957 I’d opened my own electronics repair shop.  I was starting to settle in.

 One day, my friend Sid  who I knew from England called me. ‘I’ve got a date. She’s  got a Polish friend. Let’s double date.’

 A blind date? Nah,  that wasn’t for me.

 But Sid kept pestering me, and a few  days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her  friend Roma.

 I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn’t so  bad. Roma was a nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and  smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling brown curls and green,  almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life.

 The four  of us drove out to Coney Island. Roma was easy to talk to, easy  to be with.

Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! 

 We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a  stroll on the boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and  then had dinner by the shore. I couldn’t remember having a  better time. We piled back into Sid’s car, Roma and I  sharing the backseat.

 As European Jews who had survived the  war, we were aware that much had been left unsaid between us.  She broached the subject, ‘Where were you,’ she asked softly,  ‘during the war?’ ‘The camps,’ I said. The terrible memories  still vivid, the irreparable loss.

 I had tried to  forget. But you can never forget.

 She nodded. ‘My family was  hiding on a farm in Germany, not far from Berlin,’ she told me.  ‘My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers.’ 

 I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant  companion.And yet here we were both survivors, in a new  world.

 ’There was a camp next to the farm.’ Roma continued.  ‘I saw a boy there and I would throw him apples every day.’ 

 What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other  boy. ‘What did he look like? I asked.

 He was tall,  skinny, and hungry. I must have seen him every dayfor six  months.’ My heart was racing. I couldn’t believe it.  This couldn’t be.

 Did he tell you one day not  to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?’ Roma  looked at me in amazement. ‘Yes!’

That was me!’ 

 I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with  emotions. I couldn’t believe it! My angel.

 ’I'm not  letting you go.’ I said to Roma. And in the back of the caron  that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn’t want to wait. 

‘You’re crazy!’ she said. But she invited me to meet her  parents forShabbat dinner the following week.

There  was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma,but the  most important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her  goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she  had come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I’d found her  again, I could never let her go.

That day, she said yes. And  I kept my word. After nearly 50 yearsof marriage, two children  and three grandchildren, I have never let her go. 

Herman Rosenblat of Miami Beach, Florida This  story is being made into a movie called The Fence.

anonymous SAID:
Hatikvah (Hebrew: הַתִּקְוָה‎‎, Hatiq’vah, lit. The Hope) is the national anthem of Israel. The anthem was written by Naphtali Herz Imber, a secular Galician Jew from Zolochiv (today in Lviv Oblast),[1] who moved to the Land of Israel in the early 1880s.The anthem’s theme revolves around the nearly 2000-year-old hope of the Jewish people to be a free and sovereign people in the Land of Israel, a national dream that would eventually be realized with the founding of the modern State of Israel in 1948.VV   


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