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http://www.aish.com/chanukahstories/chanukahstoriesdefault/Hope_in_Hell_.asp

Hope in Hell_ by S. B. Unsdorfer

Excerpted from The Yellow Star by S. B. Unsdorfer

We had been helped by God, even in this forsaken little camp at

Nieder-Orschel. After having survived the horrors of Auschwitz,

Simche Unsdorfer was transported to Nieder-Orschel and put to work

making aeroplane wings for the German Luftwaffe. It is in this camp

that the following story took place.

When writing the little diary in which I entered the Hebrew dates and

Festivals, I discovered with great delight that Chanukah, the

Festival of Lights, the festival on which we commemorate the

recapture of the Temple from the mighty Greeks by a handful of

faithful Jews, was only a few days ahead.

I decided that we should light a little Chanukah lamp even in

Nieder-Orschel, and that this would go a long way towards restoring

our morale.Benzi was immediately consulted because he had become the

most reliable and trusted person in the block. Even those at the

other two tables came to Benzi to settle their quarrels, which were

mostly about the distribution of their rations. Benzi would stand no

arguments at his own table. He cut every loaf into eight portions and

shared it out indiscriminately. He who complained, received the

smallest portion. "If you are dissatisfied," Benzi would shout

angrily, "go and join another table, where they have scales and

judges." Nobody ever left our table.Benzi was enthusiastic about my

idea. "Yes, we should get a Chanukah light burning," he said. "It

will boost our morale and lighten the atmosphere. Work on a plan, but

be careful."

Two problems had to be overcome: oil had to be "organised" and a

place had to be found where the lighted wick would not be seen. The

was no lack of oil in the factory, but how could we smuggle even a

few drops into our barrack in time for Monday evening, December 11,

the first night of Chanukah? We knew, of course, that Jewish law did

not compel us to risk our lives for the sake of fulfilling a

commandment. But there was an urge in many of us to reveal the spirit

of sacrifice implanted in our ancestors throughout the ages. We who

were in such great spiritual as well as physical distress felt that a

little Chanukah light would warm our starving souls and inspire us

with hope, faith and courage to keep us going through this long, grim

and icy winter.Benzi, Grunwald, Stern, Fischof and I were in the plot.

We decided to draw lots. The first name drawn would have to steal the

oil; the third would be responsible for it and hide it until Monday

evening; the fifth would have to light it under his bunk. I was drawn

fifth.Grunwald, who was to "organise" the oil, did his part

magnificently. He persuaded the hated Meister Meyer that his machine

would work better if oiled regularly every morning, and that his

could best be arranged if a small can of fine machine oil was

allotted to us to be kept in our toolbox. Meister Meyer agreed, so

there was no longer the problem of having to hide it. On Monday

evening after Appell, everyone else sat down to his much awaited

portion of tasteless but hot soup, while I busied myself under the

bunk to prepare my Menorah. I put the oil in the empty half of a

shoe-polish tin, took a few threads from my thin blanket and made

them into a wick. When everything was ready I hastily joined the

table to eat my dinner before I invited all our friends to the

Chanukah Light Kindling ceremony. Suddenly, as I was eating my soup,

I remembered we had forgotten about matches. I whispered to Benzi.

"Everyone must leave a little soup," Benzi ordered his hungry table

guests, and told them why. Within five minutes, five portions of soup

were exchanged in the next room for a cigarette. The cigarette was

"presented" to the chef, Joseph, for lending us a box of matches

without questions.

And so, as soon as dinner was over I made the three traditional

blessings, and a little Chanukah light flickered away slowly under my

bunk. Not only my friends were there with us, but also many others

from the room joined us in humming the traditional Chanukah songs.

These songs carried us into the past.

As if on a panoramic screen, we saw our homes, with our parents,

brothers, sisters, wives, and children gathered round the beautiful

silver candelabras, singing happily the Maoz Tzur.

That tiny little light under my bunk set our hearts ablaze. Tears

poured down our haggard cheeks.

By now, every single inmate in the room sat silently on his bunk, or

near mine, deeply meditating.

For a moment, nothing else mattered. We were celebrating the first

night of Chanukah as we had done in all the years previous to our

imprisonment and torture. We were a group of Jewish people fulfilling

our religious duties, and dreaming of home and of bygone years.

But alas! Our dream ended much too soon.

A roar of "Achtung" brought our minds back to reality, and our legs to

stiff attention. "The Dog" - that skinny little Unterschaarfuehrer -

stood silently at the door, as he so often did on his surprise

visits, looking anxiously for some excuse, even the slightest, to

wield his dog-whip.

Suddenly he sniffed as loudly as his Alsatian and yelled "Hier stinkts

ja von Oehl!" ("It stinks of oil in here!").My heart missed a few

beats as I stared down at the little Chanukah light flickering away,

while "The Dog" and his Alsatian began to parade along the bunks in

search of the burning oil. The Unterschaarfuehrer silently began his

search. I did not dare bend down or stamp out the light with my shoes

for fearthe Alsatian would notice my movements and leap at me.

I gave a quick glance at the death-pale faces round me, and so indeed did "The Dog".

Within a minute or two he would reach our row of bunks. Nothing could

save us...but suddenly...Suddenly a roar of sirens, sounding an air

raid, brought "The Dog" to a stop and within seconds all lights in

the entire camp were switched off from outside.

"Fliegeralarm! Fliegeralarm!" echoed throughout the camp!

Like lightning I snuffed out the light with my shoes and following a

strict camp rule, we all ran to the open ground, brushing "The Dog"

contemptuously aside.

"There will be an investigation...There will be an investigation," he

screamed above the clatter of rushing prisoners who fled out into the

Appell ground.

But I did not worry. In delight I grabbed my little Menorah and ran out with it.

This was the sign, the miracle of Chanukah, the recognition of our

struggle against the temptations of our affliction.

We had been helped by God, even in this forsaken little camp at

Nieder-Orschel.Outside, in the ice-cold, star-studded night, with the

heavy drone of Allied bombers over our heads, I kept on muttering the

traditional blessing to the God who wrought miracles for His people

in past days and in our own time.

The bombers seemed to be spreading these words over the host of heaven.

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http://www.aish.com/chanukahstories/chanukahstoriesdefault/Hope_in_Hell_.asp

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