The principle “and thou shalt live by them” had its ramification in a halakhic question far removed from the dietary laws. The duty to preserve one’s life implies that it is forbidden for a Jew to commit suicide. In fact, according to all records, the number of suicides among Eastern European Jews in the inhuman conditions of the ghettos was surprisingly low. Yet, one day, in the ghetto of Kovno, a pious Jew presented a rabbi with the following question. He intended to commit suicide; was he permitted to do so? He knew well that under normal conditions suicide was a sin. However, during the massacres in the ghetto he saw that it was the game of the Germans to murder children in the presence of their parents. He could not endure the thought that this might happen to him. Secondly, people who were deported from the ghettos by the Germans would not be buried traditionally among other Jews. If, however, he died in the ghetto, he would be sure that he would be brought to Kever Yisrael, be buried in a Jewish cemetery. The rabbi, basing himself on the precedent of King Saul, who committed suicide in order to save himself from humiliation by the enemy,1I Samuel 31:4. accepted the reasoning of the man and ruled that in his case, he was permitted according to halakhah to kill himself. However, he insisted that his ruling not be made public; one was obligated not to despair but to show trust in God.2Oshry, I, chapter 6.
Even though, on the one hand, one was never to despair, the requirements of the halakhah did not allow Jews to forget the true nature of their situation. To trust in God does not mean fooling oneself regarding the prospects of tomorrow. According to talmudic teaching, those who escape from any dangerous situation or crisis should offer thanks to God by saying the blessing Birkhat haGomel: “Blessed art Thou Eternal, our God, king of the universe, who renderest goodness to the guilty, and hast rendered all good to me.”3T.B. Berakhot 54b; based on Psalm 107. After one of the worst “selections,” when thousands of Jews had been forcibly removed from a certain ghetto, the remaining community asked the following question. In view of the fact that they had escaped being selected and transported to the only too-well-known “unknown destination,” were they obligated to recite the Birkhat haGomel? The answer they received was in the negative for two reasons. Firstly, having escaped one “selection” was no real escape. In essence the danger had not passed and might reoccur at any time. Secondly, reciting a thanksgiving blessing for having been saved would lull the people into a false sense of security. Thus, it was ruled that the situation did not warrant the recitation of the blessing.4Oshry, I, chapter 7.
A similar awareness of reality was manifest in another decision. The question arose in the ghetto whether it was required for the doorposts there to have the mezuzah fixed to them as prescribed in the Torah. It appears that there were difficulties in acquiring the necessary materials for the preparation of mezuzot in accordance with halakhic specifications. This time, too, the answer was in the negative. The law is that a mezuzah does not have to be affixed to a temporary abode and one could certainly not look upon the ghetto dwellings as anything permanent. This was tragically true especially in the light of the ever-increasing “selections” which made the stay of everyone in the ghetto of only limited and uncertain duration. In addition, a mezuzah has to be affixed only to the doors of living quarters, but not, for instance, to the entrance of a bathroom. The ghetto homes could not be considered to have the dignity of living quarters. Furthermore, one has to attach the mezuzah to a place where one lives in freedom, but not, for instance, to the door of a prison cell. No one would dispute that the ghetto was nothing else but a prison.5Ibid., chapter 13.
Implied in the halakhic awareness of the desperate nature of their situation was also an evaluation of the enemy and their relation to him that was occasionally formulated halakhically. Following a biblical injunction,6Numbers 15:37-41. the Jew wears a four-cornered garment, usually under his shirt, to the corners of which “fringes,” ẓiẓiyot, are attached. The “fringes” are to be made out of wool, but where could suitable wool be obtained for this purpose in the ghetto? There was one place where the necessary materials could be found. The warehouses of the Germans were bursting with plunder and there was no treasure that they did not contain. Notwithstanding the danger involved, the workers there could always “organize” something and so the possibility existed of taking the wool from the warehouses. The question was asked whether it was permissible to steal wool from the German plunder and use it for the making of the “fringes.” Now it is doubtful that this question was ever asked in a general sense, i.e., was it permissible to steal from the SS stores. “Organizing” was one of the means of survival both in the ghettos and in the camps. The question was asked in the specific context of the wool being used for the fulfillment of a divine commandment. A halakhic principle rejects a mitzvah haBa’ah beAvera, that is, it is forbidden to commit a sin in order to be able to perform a mitzvah. The end does not justify the means. In the entire dark history of the ghettos and concentration camps only a Jewish conscience could have asked such a question. The answer went something like this: We know that the contents of the German stores are, on the whole, stolen goods. Of course, one must not steal from a thief or a robber. But undoubtedly, in this case the original owners have given up all hope of recovery of their property. In accordance, therefore, with normal halakhic principles, the ruling results that wool “organized” from the German plunder may be used for the making of the “fringes.” The Germans had the halakhic determination of a rodef, one who pursues another person in order to kill him. The law is that one may kill the rodef in order to save the pursued.7T.B. Sanhedrin 72b. But not only may the life of the rodef be taken; his property, too, is forfeit.8Oshry, I, chapter 12.
In the life-and-death struggle of the ghettos and the camps, most halakhic questions were decided in context of the commandment to preserve life, which takes precedence in almost all cases. For example, in view of the fact that all women who become pregnant were automatically condemned to death, birth control was permitted in the ghetto. There are, of course, precedents for this in certain cases in the Talmud.9T.B. Yevamot 12b. Similarly, abortion was permitted on the basis of the established halakhic principle of “the mother’s life comes before that of the embryo.”10See, for example, Mishnah Ohalot, 7. However, while the principle “and thou shalt live by them” is normally paramount, there were numerous situations where its adequate application was extremely problematic and was often even overruled by still higher considerations. For instance, is one permitted to offer oneself to be killed in order to save another person? There is, indeed, the principle that one shall live by the commandments of the Torah, but is not this, too, living by them, giving life to another person?
This question was presented to Rabbi Z.H. Meisels in Auschwitz where a group of young boys had been “selected” and separated in one of the barracks to be taken to the crematoria. Among them were some baḥurim (students) from Rabbi Meisels’ former yeshivah. All kinds of deals could usually be made with the Kapos who guarded such “selected” groups and it was even possible to have a person released from the group, if someone else was willing to take his place. The Germans were only interested that the numbers of those destined for the crematoria be exact. In this case, another former student of Rabbi Meisels came to him, offering himself to be exchanged for one of those “selected.” His argument was that the other baḥur was an outstanding student. If allowed to live, he would become a great Talmid Ḥakham, a great scholar and spiritual leader, and thus of enormous value for the future of Judaism. He considered himself, on the other hand, to be a rather mediocre person, without any distinguishing gifts or abilities. Nothing that he might yet achieve in life could surpass the deed of saving the other student from death. But he was forbidden by the rabbi to do it. In cases of this nature the principle, “your life comes first” must apply.11Meisels, introduction.
There were, however, also situations of a much vaster dimension and of a different quality, where “your life comes first” was unequivocally condemned. These situations often involved the very questionable, though memorable, part that the Judenrat, the Jewish councils established by the Germans in the ghettos, played in the tragedy.
On the 15th of September, 1941, in the ghetto of Kovno, the Aeltestenrat was given 5000 “white cards” to be distributed among tradesmen who were to be employed in the various German workshops. Only they and their families were to remain within the ghetto. At that time there were about thirty thousand people in the ghetto, among them ten thousand workingmen and their families. There was panic among the people. Some even stormed the offices of the Aeltestenrat to grab the white cards. In this situation a two-fold question was put to the local rabbi: 1) Was it permissible for the Aeltestenrat to accept the cards and to distribute them? 2) Was it right for people to take cards by force and thus save themselves? There was a precedent of a similar nature which had been dealt with in the Talmud and accepted as binding halakhah. A group of people of whom gentiles demand the surrender of one of them “ ‘that we may kill him, and if not we shall kill you all,’ let them all die rather than that they should surrender a single Jew.”12See Tosefta Terumot 7:23; T.J. Terumot 8:1; Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Hilkot Yesodei haTorah, 5:5; Shulḥan Arukh, Yoreh De’ah, 157:1. The only exception is in the case where the gentiles actually name the individual to be surrendered. Even then, basing himself on a similar opinion in the Talmud, Maimonides rules that person might only be handed over if he were guilty of a crime for which he had incurred the death penalty. Therefore, whether the Aeltestenrat accepted the white cards or whether individuals took them by force, the result — the surrendering of the rest of the ghetto population into the hands of the murderers — seemed to be clearly prohibited. But the rabbi argued that the case at hand was not to be compared to the case presented in the Talmud. He maintained that since the plan of the Germans was to execute them all sooner or later, they were — as it were — in any case already as if dead. By accepting the cards one did not really cause the death of anyone else, one only saved the cardholders.13Kuntres meEmek haBakha. Obviously, the rabbi’s intention was to find a halakhic basis, even in that situation of extreme challenge to the Jewish conscience, for saving as many Jews as possible.
In a similar situation, however, another rabbi ruled differently. The head of the Judenrat in the ghetto of Lodz, Chaim Mordechai Rumkowski, conveyed a demand of the Germans in great secrecy to the local rabbinical council. If the Judenrat would transfer forty thousand Jews into their hands, the Germans would transform the remainder of the ghetto into a “labor camp”; if not, they would transport the entire ghetto population to places of extermination. The question: what was one to do, to submit or not to submit? Rabbi Nehemiah Alter, the brother of the “Gerer Rebbe,” gave his halakhic decision that it was forbidden to accede to the German demand. Quoting from the Talmud, he declared: “What makes you think that your blood is redder than that of your fellowmen!”14T.B. Pesaḥim 25b; Prager, II, p. 74. His meaning was clear. By selecting forty thousand people to be delivered to the Germans, one was declaring them less worthy to be saved than others. Halakhically that is not admissible. Pragmatically this might indeed be possible. One could imagine the setting up of certain standards for selection, according to which the most “valuable” people were to be spared. But apart from the rather complicated problem of who is to establish those standards and on what basis, the pragmatic approach itself is rejected by the halakhah because it is ethically not acceptable. First of all, facing the ultimate threat to life all are equal. The qualitative consideration, too, is morally untenable. Not even one single life is to be surrendered, even in order to save an entire community. If one person volunteers and offers himself in order to save the community — and there were such cases during the Holocaust — that is a different matter. But to select even one person from among many and to say to him: “You! You are the one to go!” is a morally unbearable proposition.
The case in Lodz was, of course, not quite like the one in Kovno where they were not asked to hand over Jews to the Germans, but to accept cards, which meant a lease on life for some. In the ghetto of Lodz, the Judenrat was ordered to round up forty thousand Jews and to surrender them. It is, however, rather significant that Rabbi Alter did not refer to the same talmudic precedent quoted by the rabbi in Kovno. It would seem to be the exact parallel to the situation in Lodz. “If gentiles demand of a group of people that they surrender one among them to be killed…let them all die rather than surrender a single Jew.” How much more if forty thousand are demanded! Indeed, the case in Talmud which Rabbi Alter actually quoted would seem to be rather different from the problem in his ghetto. There the story is told of a person who came to Rabba and told him that the lord of his city had ordered him to kill someone, and if he did not obey, he himself would be put to death. The man wanted to know what the law of the Torah was in his case. Rabba’s answer was: “Let him kill you, but you must not kill the other man. What makes you think that your blood is redder than his?” In other words, no one has the right to assume that his life is more precious than that of another person, and therefore, that he may sacrifice another human being in order to save himself. The first obvious difference is that in the story of Rabba the man was actually ordered to kill someone with his own hands, whereas in the ghetto of Lodz they were only ordered to hand them over. But this can easily be dismissed by saying that in those circumstances, to surrender Jews to the Germans was not really any different from actually murdering them with one’s own hands. The second difference, however, seems to be more striking. In the case of Rabba’s decision, it was one life against another, whereas in the ghetto the entire remaining population, probably a much higher number than the forty thousand to be surrendered, was to survive (always assuming that one could trust the word of the Germans). True, this kind of quantitative consideration was already rejected by the other talmudic precedent: not even one, even at the risk of losing all. But the more pragmatically-oriented Judenrat might have been inclined to argue — as indeed they did — that the case of a threat to one single group of Jews was not to be compared to the situation in the ghetto, which was only part of the German plot to exterminate the entire Jewish people. In such a situation should one not attempt to save as many as possible? Should not this be the right Jewish ruling? It is exactly to this problem that Rabbi Alter addressed himself, as if to say: “Correct! Our situation is, indeed, different from the one in the Talmud. But how are you going to make the selection of the condemned? You! You! But why? Is not his blood ‘as red’ as that of his neighbor?” It was the ethical impossibility of making the selection that Rabbi Alter asserted. It was a radical rejection of the possibility of all pragmatic decisions in such a situation.
One can hardly imagine a trial more severe, or testing more tragically the love of a father for his only son, than the one concerning which Rabbi Z.H. Meisels was asked to give a halakhic ruling in Auschwitz. On the eve of Rosh haShanah in 1944 some fourteen hundred children were taken into an isolated and heavily guarded barracks. The next day, rumors spread in the camp that towards evening the children would be taken to the gas chambers. All day long, parents crazed with anxiety were running around the closed block, looking for some unexpected opportunity to save their children. In the midst of that upheaval a yehudi pashut, a plain Jew, came up to Rabbi Meisels and said: “Rabbi, my only son is there among the boys…and I am able to get him released. However, since I know that if they release my son, they will take another boy in his place, I have come to ask you for a decision in accordance with the halakhah, so that I may act upon it. I desire a ruling according to the law of the Torah. Am I allowed to redeem my son? As you will rule, so will I do.” Trembling and fear overcame the rabbi at the thought of having to give a decision in such a matter of life and death. He did not want to shoulder the responsibility, recalling the fact that at the time of the Temple in Jerusalem, every matter concerning life and death had to be brought before the “Great Sanhedrin of seventy-one.” How could he by himself give a ruling in Auschwitz, where there were neither source books for researching the problem, nor colleagues with whom to take counsel? Nor did the deprivations and suffering of the camp allow him a sufficiently alert mind to deal adequately with such weighty problems. But the man would not let him off, pleading for a ruling. When he saw that the rabbi was adamant in his refusal, he said: “Rabbi, I have done my duty as the Torah obligates me to do. I have asked a rabbi, and there is no other rabbi here. Since you are not able to state to me that I may get my son released, that proves to me that in your own mind it is not clear that such an act may be done in keeping with the halakhah. For if you knew beyond any doubt that it was permissible, you would — of course — have said so. For me that means that I am not permitted to redeem my son. I accept this with love and joy. I refrain.”15Meisels, introduction. The Torah was speaking to this father from the mysterious depths of his own Jewish conscience.
Only a little less heartbreaking were the attempts of some other parents to save their children. They were thinking (and some were actually doing it) of entrusting their children into the hands of Christian friends who would hide them until the end of the war, which — of course — meant the fall of Germany. Again the question was asked: was this permissible according to the halakhah? The problem arose from the likelihood that the parents would not survive, in which case the children would remain in the Christian homes and would most probably grow up as Christians.16Kuntres meEmek haBakha. While Judaism does not teach that Christianity is idolatry for a gentile, for a Jew to believe in divine mediators between himself and God or to associate any other person with God, is tantamount to idolatry. Of course, it was not certain that a child entrusted to Christians would be lost to Judaism. There was always the possibility that the parents might survive and reclaim the child. It was also conceivable that even if none of the parents survived, the Christian family might return the child to some of his relatives or hand him over into the care of some Jewish institution. In other words, it was not a certainty that the entrusting of a Jewish child into the care of some friendly Christian was leading him to idolatry. On the other hand, if the child remained with his parents he would certainly perish. This was then a case of possible idolatry as against certainty of death. The halakhah determines that the saving of life overrules any objections on grounds of possible idolatry.17T.B. Ketubot 15a, Tosafot s.v. veSafek Nefashot leHakel; also T.B. Shabbat 128. Therefore it was ruled that it was permissible to save one’s child in this manner.
Yet, there were many who would follow an entirely different road. Rabbi Ephraim Oshry, a survivor of the Kovno ghetto from whose works many of the examples of halakhic decisions quoted in this book have been selected, tells the following story. In May 1942, the Germans, infinitely more cruel than Pharaoh of old, forbade the Jews to beget any more children. However, in spite of the danger and the many problems involved in defying the edict, the Jews of Kovno paid little attention to it. Needless to say, when boys were born circumcisions had to take place in great secrecy. Rabbi Oshry was present at such a Brit Milah, the renewed forging of the covenant between God and Israel by the fulfillment of the commandment of circumcision, as had been practiced ever since the day Abraham circumcised his two sons. The baby’s parents had been married for five years, but had been childless. Now, just after the German decree against further Jewish births they were — as they saw it — blessed by God with the birth of a son. They had reason to believe that the place where they lived offered adequate protection against being discovered by the Germans during the ceremony. However, just as the mohel was about to begin to circumcise the child, the grinding of auto wheels coming to a halt was heard, and men of the Gestapo were getting out in front of the house. Terror struck all those present. The hands of the mohel were shaking. What was there to be done? How could the mother and child be saved? They were helpless and trembling with fear. However, it was the mother who showed the most courage among them. She turned to the mohel and ordered him: “Hurry up! Circumcise the child. Don’t you see? They have come to kill us. At least let my child die as a Jew.”18Eliav, p. 87. The story is reminiscent of a Midrash which relates that in spite of the edict of Pharaoh that all male children be drowned in the Nile, the children of Israel continued to circumcise them. When the Egyptians learned of this, they asked: “Why do you do this? What is the purpose of this circumcision? Soon they will be thrown into the river!” The answer of the Israelites was: “We do what is up to us. We circumcise our children. What do we have to do with you…!”19Tanna deVei Eliyahu, 23. It is unlikely that the mother at the secret circumcision in the Kovno ghetto ever saw or heard this little-known Midrash; yet, instinctively, she acted with the Jewish faithfulness of all the ages.
Another trying problem brought before the rabbis was the question of whether or not it was halakhically permissible to save oneself by acquiring identity papers that showed that the bearer was not a Jew.20Oshry, I, chapter 15; see also Kuntres meEmek haBakha. Some Jews did, in fact, succeed by these means to leave the ghetto and to survive. While, in general, halakhic decisions in the ghettos and concentration camps were motivated by the paramount biblical mitzvah of protecting and preserving life, it was understood beyond any doubt that the case of denying one’s Jewish identity belonged to the category of the three exceptional commandments which require martyrdom. Not to have the courage to affirm one’s Jewishness and actively and explicitly to cause gentiles to believe that one was also a gentile was judged to be identical with idolatry, the first among the three commandments concerning which the law says that a Jew should accept even death rather than transgress.21T.B. Sanhedrin 74a. This idea is usually quoted in the formulation of Maimonides: “The entire house of Israel is commanded to sanctify His great name, as it is written: ‘And I shall be sanctified in the midst of the Children of Israel,’ ” which is interpreted to include even the denial of one’s Jewishness in one’s contacts with gentiles.22Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Yesodei haTorah, 5:1; Sefer haMitzvot, Asei 9; see also Shulḥan Arukh, Yoreh De’ah, 157:2.
Maimonides’ phrase, “the entire House of Israel,” was understood to apply even to children. As we saw earlier, in the case of handing over children to Christian friends it was ruled that it was permissible on the grounds that there was no certainty that by such arrangements they would be lost to Judaism. The problem was rather different, however, when parents questioned whether they were permitted to acquire “Aryan” birth certificates for their child who would then be placed at the door of a Christian orphanage and be saved since the authorities would believe that it was a Christian child. Under normal circumstances, of course, children are exempted from fulfilling the mitzvot. But what about in this exceptional case of Kiddush haShem, the “Sanctification of the Name”? There was now no doubt that children thus abandoned would be brought up as Christians. Was it permissible to deliver one’s child into the hands of Christians in order to save its life? Here, Maimonides’ wording of the mitzvah was decisive: “The entire House of Israel is commanded…;” the entire house without any exceptions.23Kuntres meEmek haBakha. Once again we know of at least one Jewish mother, Devorah Tuchnuntz-Halberstadt, who knew the halakhah in this case “instinctively” and had to ask no rabbi for a decision. Shortly before the war, she had come with her husband and child to visit her parents in Siedlce. Overtaken by events, they went into the ghetto and when that had been “liquidated” they went into hiding. Soon afterwards her time came to give birth, an unforgivable crime in those proud days of German domination. It became impossible for her to remain in her hiding place and endanger the life of others. She left and took refuge in the fields among some trees and bushes. When some gentiles heard her moanings in labor, they assumed from her still quite healthy physical condition that she was one of them, a homeless Christian woman and they took her to the city hospital in Mariansk. Several days after she gave birth, a priest arrived to perform the baptismal ceremony over the child. As he was about to begin his prayers, the mother jumped up and said to him: “Please, don’t do it. I am a Jewish woman and my child is a Jewish child. Let us be what we are!” The priest departed without a word. Soon afterwards police arrived and took away both mother and child to be “liquidated.”24Unger, pp. 88-89.
Even in the face of death itself, there was one halakhic question which had to be answered. What kind of a berakhah…what sort of blessing was to be said…? After all, before a Jew performs any mitzvah he says a blessing, praising and thanking God. “Blessed art Thou, Eternal, our God, who hast sanctified us through His commandments and commanded us…” But how should this blessing be concluded? In most cases the exact working of the various berakhot is known to all pious Jews from frequency of practice. To surrender one’s life for the “sanctification of the Name” is the highest mitzvah of all, but the Jews in the ghettos and concentration camps had no previous experience in fulfilling this particular commandment. Thus the question arose: what was the correct formula for the blessing prior to the fulfillment of the mitzvah of Kiddush haShem? Of course, the question was not altogether a matter of ignorance. On the contrary, it was prompted by a discussion in the Talmud, dealing not specifically with Kiddush haShem but generally with all categories of divine commandments.25T.B. Pesaḥim 7b; Oshry, II, chapter 2.
How is one to bless and to thank God before one dies in fulfillment of the commandment of sanctifying His great Name? Uncomprehendingly we stand before our people, the Jews. Overwhelmed by awe, we stand before these human beings, flesh like our own flesh, bones like our bones, who in the midst of the miseries of the ghetto and the sufferings of the death camps, were preoccupied with the question of what was the correct formula for blessing and thanking God when their ultimate hour would arrive! Even in Auschwitz, Maidanek, Birkenau, and Buchenwald…“Blessed art Thou, Eternal, our God, who hast sanctified us through His commandments and commanded us to sanctify His name in public.”