Sent: 28 September 2008 23:17
When Tzadikim Whisper to Each Other
Uncle Jo is always busy with nostalgic musings, whatever subject ou touch he will always come up with a story. It's not the contents that piques you, it will usually be the surrounding little vignettes, with which he adorns his tales with, that add a special flavour to his narration.
We were sitting around the table savouring a milstone in my son's life: his upsherin when he became three years of age. As usual, uncle Jo started reminiscing about the olden days that rae no more and as an aside he remembered Rebbe Merzel. They made a peculiar pair these tow; the father, a greying beard adorning his face and the son - the Rebbe- who with his dimunitive figure resembled older than his father, who survived the ravages of war and somehow made it through always keeping at each other's side. Rebbe Merzel was doted over by his elderly father who was literally his gabbai, shames and carer.
When uncle Jo first met him he was on a visit to the holy land and attended the Tish (with a capital 'T') of the late Rebbe of Belz OB"M. The Belzer Rebbe who was known for his supernatural vision, requested that Rebbe Merzel sing Menucha VeSimcha, which he duly did - although the chasidim around the table couldn't see any special skill or beauty in his singing, still if the Rebbe did honour him with a Zemer, it means that he somehow deserves to be taken seriously. As uncle Jo was going on about describing this Rebbe merzel, my father who happens to be uncle Jo's brother started humming the Menucha VeSimacha. Uncle Jo jumped up in astonishment and turning to my father he exclaimed: "after fifty years you still remember the song?!" at which my father just smiled and commented: "it was such a special moment; the Ruv was mechabed Rebe Merzel and his son was so plain and simple that I recall it as if I heard it now".
The next time uncle Jo encountered rebbe Merzel was in Vienna. But before going further an explanation is called for: In Israel of the fifties, many boys of military age were seeking ways to evade being drafted in the notoriously anti-Haredi establishment called Tzahal. Then came the Hungarian uprising, when hundreds and thousands of frum Yidden poured across the border into Austria, looking for refuge from the oppressive communist regime. The UN generously allowed the refugees to emigrate and to facilitate the smooth processing of the travellers special passports were issued, attesting to the fact that the bearer is a refugee. This opened a window of opportunity for youngsters to get round the problem of conscription; all they had to do was to hop on a plane to Vienna get in line for a passport and retun to Israel as a newcomer with a non-Israeli passport. This solution worked well for those who were born in Hungary and made Aliya after the founding of the state. Their Hungarian mother tongue was still fresh and there was ni problem for them to pass as a Hungarian refugee. However the Bochurim who were born in Poland or Western Europe found it hard to merge into the Magiar speaking populace, as merely opening their mouth gave them away as charlatans!
So, there he was, uncle Jo, his brothers and many other non-Hungarians who were trying to somehow obtain the coveted U.N. travel documents. Their friends who spoke the lingo made it safely back into Yeshiva - some of them managing to catch the return plane on the same day that they arrived in Vienna! Others decided to look for greener pastures, like the Sporn boy who made New York his home and became a succesfull businessman in Manhattan but died at a relatively early age. Incidentially on of his sons went the opposite direction, both geographically and religiously; he moved to London and is now part of what ignorant people would call 'the high society' but in reality is a very low form of human survival of a constant pleasure-seeking, turbulent race against ones unsettled conscience.
Soon the High Holidays were approaching and money was very scarce, being that they had no source of income. As it happens, there was a Shul that needed a Chazzan for the Yomim Noroim and they offered uncle Jo the position. As he was still a Bochur and unmarried men are not qualified for this position he was in a quandary whether to accept it or not. After much pressure he acceded to their request, in fact they even offered him more than he bargained for. He was used to visit Rebbe Merzel and during one of his visits Rebbe Merzel turns to him and says: "one has to learn at least the maning of the words for the prayers that are said during the High Holidays". Uncle Jo was a bit taken aback; here he just accepted theposition of Chazzan and suddenly Rebbe Merzel is telling him to learn "Perush Hamillos" - so they sat down for some time and Rebbe Merzel taught him the prayers - as if someone has whspered in his ear that the young man in front of him is going to lead a congregation through the prayers of Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur.
It was not until about fifty years later that uncle Jo was told another part of the story. He was attending a wedding of his Shul's Rav's daughter to a boy whose mother happens to be a granddaughter of the Gabbai in the Vienese Shul. The grandfather of the Chosson (the son of the Gabbai) told the story to the Chosson's father who then filled him in with the missing details. Reb Itzikel of Pshevorsk, who settled in ANtwerp after the war was visiting Bad Gastein, a kuhr ort in Austria and the Gabbai who was also there presented his dilemma that the only option he has is to take this boy whose name and famly he mentioned to Reb Itzikel. The Rebbe told him not to worry; let the Bochur stand before the Amud, he - Reb Itzikel will be their Shliach Tzibbur.
The rest, as the saying goes ishistory: uncle Jo has 'stood before the Amud' many many times, with his sweet voice wafting through the Shul. He still remebers the holy Belzer Ruv Zichrono Livrocho, who respected each and every Jew, he looks back at the times he spent in the quaint kiving quarters of Rebbe Merzel, who since moved to Williamsburgh and he cherishes the times he shared with Reb Itzikel Parizer - as he was called before moving to Antwerp.
