Memories of a never-to-be-forgotten Yom Kippur

     The Voice of Survival

    Carola Schiff

Last year on Yom Kippur, while davening minchah, I remembered a Yom Kippur davening

of long ago.

I was born during the Holocaust and grew up and attended school during post-war Europe in Vichy, France. At that time, there was a small, vibrant, Orthodox Jewish community there, with all the trimmings. We had a shul, a mikveh, a talmud Torah, kosher restaurants, a butcher... My father was the spiritual leader. He served as rabbi, rebbe (Hebrew teacher), cantor, and shochet (ritual slaughterer).

Every morning, after my father came home from shacharis (morning prayers), he would walk me to school. The school I attended had been Marshall Petain's personal hotel, and I shudder today at the dreadful decisions that had been made there only a few years earlier. The school building was located at the edge of a large, magnificent park. When the weather was nice, the students lined up in the schoolyard, which was situated within the park.

One sunny fall morning, my father, as usual, was walking me to school. As we neared the schoolyard, my father spotted two men in Chassidic garb at a distance. It was the first time I had seen people dressed in this manner, and even from a distance, one could see that they seemed lost. My father said to me, "Quickly, run into the schoolyard by yourself. I'll watch you go in. I see two Jewish men who may need help." I did as I was told. Beyond the schoolyard fence, I could see my father talking to the two men.

It turned out that they were shochetim from Switzerland. They had come to slaughter kosher meat in France since they were prohibited from doing so in their own country. They were unable to return to Switzerland in time for Yom Kippur and had heard that there was a small, frum Jewish community in Vichy. My father invited them to our home. Over a cup of tea, they told their story.

At that time, almost everyone was a Holocaust survivor with a tragic story and a miraculous survival tale.

One of the men, in addition to being a shochet, had been a chazan (cantor) endowed with an exceptional singing voice. When the Germans overran their small Polish town, the Nazis found the man's chalafim (ritual slaughtering knives). The Nazis killed almost every Jew in town and devised an especially cruel punishment for the shochet. They decided to slaughter him like cattle and left him for dead. However, Hashem willed it other wise. The shochet miraculously survived. But his once-exquisite, melodious voice was now hoarse and scratchy and at times could barely carry a tune. Nevertheless, he asked my father to allow him to daven the minchah prayer on Yom Kippur. My father gladly complied.

I will always remember this courageous man's beautiful, meaningful davening. Though he could barely sing, he offered his prayers to Hashem before a small congregation of survivors. The Germans tried to kill him, both physically and spiritually, and yet they failed completely. To me, this man's courage represents the triumph of the irrepressible Jewish spirit.

Carola Schiff was born during the Holocaust, while her family was in hiding, in France. After the war, she moved to Vichy, France, where her father was the spiritual leader. The above story occurred in the fall of 1948.