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“From the Depths I Call to You”

Remember Satmar

The Memorial Book of the Jews of Satmar

By Rabbi Naftali Stern

Bnei Brak


Members of the Publication Committee:

Ephraim Abraham
Yitzchak Elefant
Julius Braun
Hanna Bash-Kelmer
Eva Bleier-Green
Dr. Rachel Rosenberg-Davidowitz
Yaakov Villinger
Yehuda Yaari (Waldman)
Yosef Laslow
Yehuda Fried
Yaakov Farkash
Naftali Stern
Sarah Spiegel-Spitzer

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Illustration by Shimon Rosenberg (of Nahariya, Israel)
The number six and the six smoking crematoria represent the 6,000,000 Martyrs.

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Train tracks leading to Auschwitz

The gate into Auschwitz with the slogan: “Arbeit Macht Frei” - Work Will Free You

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Text of El Maleh Rahamim, Kaddish Prayer

Merciful Father in Heaven, please find rest under the wings of the Shehina for the Jews of Satmar and the environs. We pray for the elevation of their souls and that they will find eternal rest in the Garden of Eden, that the merciful G-d will protect them under His wings, and that their souls will be bound up in eternal life, and that they should rest.


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We shall remember here the holy sounds of beloved husbands and wives, fathers and sons, mothers and children, brothers and sisters, bride-grooms and brides, teachers and students, holy sheep, leaders of communities and yeshivot, Hassidim and men of deeds, rabbinical sages, righteous people, Cedars of Lebanon, and Noblemen of the Torah.

The Jews of the Holy Communities of Satmar, Krali, S. Vahrol, Ardod and the surrounding areas who were murdered, slaughtered, strangled, immolated in sanctification of Hashem's name in the years of the Holocaust. May G-d remember them among the righteous and avenge their spilled blood.

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Street map of Satmar ghetto by Simon Rosenberg of Nahariya

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Out of the Depths I Call to You

Editors' Introduction

My soul is strangled, my heart full of blood, my spirit is in pain as I grasp this pen to fulfill my holy mission, to memorialize the Holy Martyrs of Satmar and its environs. My heart overflows with love for Satmar, a “Mother City in Israel.” Satmar, with its 55,000 residents, a quarter of whom were Jewish, but what Jews! When asked where they were from they would say Satmar with pride, because there was reason for that pride.

In the beginning, the city's Hungarian name was Szatmarnemeti, but after a change of government, it changed to its Rumanian name, Satu-Mare. Jewish life was vibrant. It was a city the Jews developed, and made it what it was. The Torah of Israel, world culture, business and industry, Jewish religion and tradition. The true faith and trust in the Creator earned Satmar its name as a place of Torah and greatness (e.g. wealth) in one location.

What an honor it was to marry one's child off to a young man or lady who hailed from Satmar, and of course, there was the proud young man who had a diploma from the Satmar Yeshiva. Satmar's Talmud Torahs and yeshivot were known for miles around. A Hungarian Jew who wanted his son to become a scholar did not hesitate to send him to Satmar.

The Rabbis of Satmar: The sage Rabbi Binyamin Zeev Mandelbaum z”l, the sage Rabbi Yehuda Greenwald z”l, the sage Rabbi Eliezer David Greenwald z”l, and the sage Rabbi Yoel Teitelbaum z”l, were among the first rank of yeshiva deans. Many of the Rabbis of Hungary, Rumania, Czechoslovakia and Poland, were alumni of the yeshivot of Satmar.

But let us examine the other side of the coin. Let's see how many leaders of science and culture also hailed from Satmar. A few are listed here: Shamu Kalman z”l, an attorney and member of the Hungarian Parliament, author and poet Ernst Sipp z”l (the son of the Secretary of the Kehilla, R. Shmuel Sipp z”l), pianist Ella Herman z”l, and Elish Katzar z”l (son of R. Yosef Stern z”l the glazier), who became famous for his books, Don't Fear My Son Jacob, The Conquest of Jericho, Three Stars, and The Jew of Kossuth.

I remember the many sweet children with faces of angels, smiling and laughing, the many shtreimel-wearing men, Jews in traditional Ashkenazi dress, and the less traditional women dressed in Hassidic style, factory managers, businessmen, honest tradesmen, peddlers and shopkeepers.

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A Vardomb Street the Great Synagogue from inside
The Great Orthodox Synagogue on Vardomb Street


The synagogue building, the elegant Orthodox Synagogue on Vardomb Street. The Synagogue of the “Status Quo” Community, known throughout the world for its beauty, stood at the intersection of Kossuth and Layos--it was demolished in 1965. Where are the masses of men and women who once prayed there?

The Synagogue on Hertosh Street in the Nemethy neighborhood. The Synagogue of

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Inside the Shaare HaTorah
Chevra Mishnayos Study Hall on Tompa Street


Inside the Shaare HaTorah
Mahachzikei Hadas Study Hall on Bam Street

The Jews of Satmar were prepared to help each other in every situation and at all times. I want to remember a few of them here, but the list is long and it might be regarded as offensive by the loved ones of those I fail to recall. I also want to remember the many important charitable institutions which operated in the city.

In recent years I visited Satmar many times. I visited well known places. I remembered the words of the prophet Jeremiah, “My sons who went out and aren't there.” How terrible the pain of walking down Bathory Street, now known as The Street of Holocaust Martyrs. My heart shrinks as I make my way down Vardomb Street, where on every corner, on the paved stones and on the sidewalks, I see the footsteps of my beloved.

I see the elegant Orthodox Synagogue on Vardomb Street. The Synagogue of the Status Quo Community, known throughout the world for its beauty, stood at the intersection of Kossuth and Lajos, and was demolished in 1965. Where are the masses of men and women who once prayed there?

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Sign showing “The Last Saturday Before the Ghetto”


I see the Synagogue on Hertosh Street in the Nemethi neighborhood, the Synagogue of the Histadrut HaMizrachei on Otvosh Street, the Great Study Hall Chevra Mishnayos on Tompa Street, the large study hall Mahachzikei Hadas on Bam Street, the elegant study hall Shaare Torah on Vardomb Street, and other smaller synagogues. Oy. We must never forget.

I see the Talmud Torah school on Petofi Street and Vardomb, Bathory and Veshikola. I see the high school on Otvosh Street, the elementary school in the Courtyard of the Great Synagogue on Vardomb Street, and the cheder for girls operated by a women's organization. I see the private cheders, yeshiva students, schoolboys, and schoolgirls who studied at state schools. Oy. You went out, but didn't return.

What about holidays and Shabbatot? Purim, Chanukah, Lag B'Omer, Tu Bishvat, happy and joyous days with celebrants pouring out of the synagogues? What a wonderful sight to see everyone in their holiday finery standing on the bridge over the Szamos (Shamosh) River and on the shores, reciting the Tashlich prayer on Rosh Hashanah afternoon.

I see the many Torah scholars who participated in Torah classes in the synagogues between Mincha and Maariv prayers. The Torah scribes and dayanim, the ritual slaughterers and mashgichim, the matchmakers and teachers of young children.

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My heart drips with blood, my hands shake as I dip my ink in the well of memories, as I begin to tell the story of the destruction and the bitter end.

On the calendar it was Adar, the year 1944 Tashad, followed by the months of Nisan and Iyar the months of springtime. What a spring it was. Oy. How these months were transformed from joy to agony. The months which had once been a wonderful time of year, now full of threats, bloodshed, and destruction.

The orgona flowers released their pleasant scent, the Central Square was full of singing birds and flowers in the light spring breeze. But to our sorrow, all of this wasn't for us. The Amalekim of the 20th century locked us up and isolated us. For us, the songs of springtime seemed like dirges, the swaying of the trees and the singing of the birds like the sound of a cemetery falling over the coffins in which we lay.

That which began in the month of Adar around Purim time continued through the Festival of Freedom in Nisan, and culminated in the months of Iyar and Sivan, on the days of Lag B'Omer and the Festival of the Giving of the Torah, Shavuot.

It's hard to describe the fear that gripped Hungarian Jewry on March 19, 1944, the day the German Army occupied Hungary. The next bitter date was April 4, the day we had to put on the patch of the yellow Star of David. The day the Jews of Satmar entered the ghetto, along with Jews from the surrounding towns of Krahli, Vahrol, Madish and its environs who joined us in the Satmar ghetto.

Like lightning bolts from the heavens, a division from Budapest known as the Money Beaters, a group of gangsters whose headquarters was in the home of the late R. Anschel Fleischman z”l, across the street from the Great Hassidic Bais Medrash on Bathory Street, took the wealthy and well-known in order to fleece them of their property and valuables.


The Great Hassidic Bais Medrash on Bathory Street


Inside the Great Hassidic Bais Medrash


The tortures these unfortunate people suffered can be compared to the Spanish Inquisition. Those who were weak by nature confessed (they called it spitting up), and after suffering and tortures they revealed the hiding places of their valuables. There were those who didn't reveal anything, among them Rl Aharon Ber Gross z”l the jeweler, Miklosh Beer z”l the wholesaler, and Shandor Gross z”l, who owned a soap factory.

I saw these unfortunate folk leaving the house of the money beatings. Their legs were hardly able to carry their broken bodies, their eyesight weakened. They needed to be assisted so that they could return to the hovels they called home.

The money beatings also resulted in human sacrifice. A kind and helpful man with a warm Jewish heart, Shandor Gross z”l of blessed memory, suffered inhuman tortures that reduced him to despair. He went to the privy in his ghetto apartment, Shivad House on Zrinyi Street, and took poison. His neighbors found him dead.

We were four friends, members of the Chevra Kadisha, appointed by the Jewish Council and authorized by the police. Their names were R. Yehezkel Koren z”l, R. Dovid Weiss z”l from the Orthodox Chevra Kadisha, R. Berkovits from the Status Quo Community, and this author.

To this day, I tremble when I recall the work we performed through all the hours of the day, when we looked death in the eye. Our enemies were the Germans and the Hungarian gendarmes. The ghetto existed for twenty-four days and we buried thirty people, including nine suicides.

The non-Jews want to blur the memory of what we suffered at the hands of the Nazis and their helpers, including those who watched us with clasped hands and didn't do anything to help.

In the Tisha B'Av Kinnos we say, “As big as the sea that he blessed, who will heal you.” The Rav HaGaon R.A.D. Kraus Shlita z”l, from New York, wrote about this in his Memorial Book for the Holy Martyrs of NagyBanya.

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What is the Meaning of this Dirge? Whenever there is a disaster in the world, it leaves its impression. When war occurs, it leaves destruction in its wake. The same for an earthquake or a fire, which leaves wrecked homes and ash. When a boat sinks and the tragedy is inestimable, the evidence of the disaster vanishes. The now calm sea waters hide it all as if it had never occurred. The goyim would like the sea to cover their crimes.

We will not allow ourselves to forget what our eyes witnessed and pretend that it didn't happen.

When disasters befell other nations, they discussed them endlessly, analyzing at great length. When our disaster happened, the reaction was different. Considering the scope of the tragedy, it was hardly discussed, hardly analyzed.

There is no doubt that what happened in Auschwitz, Bergen-Belsen, and the other camps upset the entire world. These things were written about and discussed extensively. But what is the value of these words compared to reality?

If the world had been more sensitive to our disaster, it would have shown more empathy to use the process of aliyah to the Land of Israel, it would not have been so fraught. The world does not look favorably at the legacy of Kiddush Hashem and self-sacrifice to maintain Jewish identity. The world would like to forget about us and our stories, and the terrible images we will never forget. We must not allow this to happen.

We must do all that is in our powers to remember, day by day and hour by hour, our past for the sake of our future. We will not forget and we will not allow the memory of our loved ones to be forgotten, hence, this book of remembrances.

I was born in the city of NagyBanya where I grew up near the famous Art Academy. I managed to learn something from those artists. I want to paint a portrait of Jewish Satmar, from which I drank my fill from the poisoned chalice.

But who is the artist that can describe the atmosphere of Satmar? I tremble to think that the memory of those familiar and beloved faces is fading.

Like a heavy stone on my heart, the thought that the Prophet witnessed what happened to us. I am a small person unable to lift the veil onto the past, but I know that this book must be written and so I fly on invisible wings to my beloved city.

I will reveal another part of the story.

In order to write the Memorial Volume we must first remember the way of life, the honesty and ethics of the Jews of Satmar, and remember well their strong faith in G-d, their love of the Jewish people, of the Holy Land, and their strong attachment to tradition. At any point in time they were willing to extend themselves for their neighbors, and the unity among them, despite differences in world view, was unparalleled. It was an example for other communities to follow.

Memory is one of the endowments of the pinnacle of creation. Nevertheless, the passage of time dims the memory.

The Almighty G-d remembers.

As we say in the Musaf prayer on Rosh Hashanah, “You remember the deeds of the world until the end of all generations.” Despite this, our memories become hazy.

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After 38 years, it is not easy to begin this important task but better late than never. I began my work with faith that Hashem will give me clarity and success to write a worthy memorial of the Jews of Satmar.

As I write, I engage in an imaginary trip from Helenka Road to the forest. On my path I pick flowers and arrange a bouquet of memories that swirl about in my head of my beloved city. I shall write of the exemplary lives and a tragic ending. I experienced this same rush of emotion five years earlier when I authored the Memorial Volume for the Jews of my hometown, NagyBanya.

Dear Readers! From history, and from diarists, you will be able to learn to take account of what happened. Were the only souls who were lost, those who went from the ghetto to the gas chambers?

The question remains. What about the past 38 years? How many Jews should have been born during that period and what would that number have been had another 20 or 50 years passed?

We read in the Haggadah of Passover.

Go and learn what Laban the Aramean wanted to do to Jacob our forefather. The evil Pharaoh issued his decree against the males but Laban wanted to uproot everything. I repeat — everything.

What would the Jewish people look like today had Laban succeeded in his plan? But G-d said to Jacob, “Do not fear my servant Jacob.” And with that, He commanded the future generations to live because G-d is our help and our protector. But what Laban couldn't do was nearly done by modern-day Labans.

The mechanics of our destruction were conducted with classic German precision, efficiency, and technical prowess which led to mass destruction and psychological warfare against the Jews of occupied Europe.

At that time the Hungarian government partnered with the Nazis, may their memory be erased, tried to figure out a plan to make the work of destruction easy. First, they recruited Jewish youth to perform forced labor outside the borders of Hungary in Nazi-occupied Ukraine. With this step, they weakened internal Jewish strength leaving elders, women and children, who would capitulate to their will.

This Satanic German plot, which eliminated any possibility of Jewish resistance, was the result of Hungarian bravery. It was their good fortune that the Jewish youth had only plows and sickles because if they even had one rifle, their hearts would have melted.

It was well known in those days that General Gustav Yanai, the Commander of the Second Hungarian Army, felt if the “HunVadim” fought like the Jews, we wouldn't have lost the battle around the Don.

In the meantime, there was bad news about the terrible situation of the forced laborers in the Ukraine. The murderous officers and their terrorist helpers set the bunk of Doroshish aflame at midnight, when the doors and windows were closed from the outside. This terrible deed led to many deaths and there were many more such acts.

Jewish Hungarian youths, our golden youth, the future of our nation, our great hope, our dear sons, brothers and sisters, grandsons, husbands, fathers, sons and sons-in-laws, fell like flies on Ukrainian soil, including many from our city. Oy. Now they have eternal rest in unmarked burial pits.

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Dear Satmar families! I ask a painful question. Was there someone among you who didn't have a relative in the labor camps?

The unfortunate Jews of the Satmar ghetto, how they strove to be first to enter the railway cars. They were told that those who arrived first could find more comfortable accommodations. Those who arrived later saw those “promised accommodations.”

According to this formulaic text, the Nazis worked through all of the cities of Hungary.

The famous Justice Karl Atbosh z”l of blessed memory, who served as the defense attorney in the Tisza-Eslar case in 1882 wrote these words in the introduction to his book, The Big Trial.

“The tragedy of the Jewish nation was that the dust on its grave is as fleeting as the place where his cradle rocked.”

Friends from Satmar, Karl Atbosh's characterization is correct because the Jew wanders, not finding his place in the big world. But what the attorney wrote a hundred years before does not resemble the tragedy of 1944.

The cradles of our Holy Martyrs and our loved ones rocked in different spots in Satmar and its environs, and after that they wandered. But where is the mound of dust containing their graves?

I turn to the great attorney of the two accused ritual slaughterers, and a synagogue beadle one hundred years later.

Dear Mr. Atbosh, I request from you a mound of dirt with the graves of the Hungarian Jews who were annihilated. Where are the 600,000 graves? You cannot show me, but I can show you.

Let's take a tour to the shores of the Vistula, passing through the loveliness of Silesia, through the endless fields of Germany, skipping from there to the Russian Steppe. There you will see the hard dirt. Look at it, the way that it's hidden under thistles and thorns. Mr. Attorney, I am not the first to invite you to take this journey. A thousand years ago, Ezekiel the Prophet made a similar trip locating a valley of dry bones and at that time someone said, “these are the bones of the House of Israel.”

Our sages taught us that there are seven days to mourn, thirty days to cry, and after that a year to recite the Kaddish.

After forty years these days feel far away.

We mourned those who we needed to mourn. The wellsprings of tears have dried up long ago. We say Kaddish only once a year. What remains?

To remember. What an elevated emotion is memory.

Let us preserve this holy feeling and not let it be soiled. Let us protect its purity in reverence to our loved ones. We continued on because they showed us the way. For us as Jews there is only one way — to return to our Father in Heaven.

In the Musaf prayer on Rosh Hashanah is divided into three sections Malchuyos, Zichronos and Shofaros.

The second section ends with “Blessed art thou Hashem who remembers the Covenant.”

Rabbi Judah HaLevy z”l wrote in his Tisha B'Av Dirge, “of the sun hiding behind the clouds, the moon hiding its face, even the stars

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concealed by dense fog.” Even they didn't want to witness the scenes of those terrible days.

Should I repeat what's already been recorded?

The terrible overcrowding in the ghetto. Men whose beards were forcibly shaved off until they were unrecognizable. Girls and women who were molested by the vicious Nazi beasts. Food and water shortages, the lack of proper sanitation.

The desperate plight of sick people without medicine. Some Jews escaped into death, taking their own lives in the ghetto.

The wealthy whom the Nazis tortured to force them to divulge the places where they'd hidden their fortunes.

The nightmare of the Gendarmes in their black hats and feathers and dark souls and the vulture-like informers.

The lengthy and difficult journey, and the suffocation that led the body and soul close to collapse.

This is the legacy of our contemporary Amalek. And so, the last minute arrived and on their lips were the words of the Shema, the Jews accepting upon themselves the yoke of Heaven.

My dear brothers and sisters!

Our covenant with G-d is eternal and not subject to cancellation. This covenant is not unilateral. We must do our part to keep the mitzvot of the Torah. We tried to become like the gentiles but they rejected us.

In this merit, Hashem will bless the Jewish people and the Holy Land with peace and happiness. Amen.

At this time I sent this Memorial Volume on its journey and as I close the introduction, I quote the words of Rabbi Meir in his liturgical poem, Akdamot recited on Shavuot,

“One cannot describe all that the evil ones did in these terrible years. Remember. Do not forget.”

Bnei Brak Shavuot 5741 (1980)

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May G-d remember the precious souls of the people who contributed, with their strength and their time, to eternalize the memory of the Holy Martyrs of our city Satmar, may Hashem avenge their blood in this Memorial Book.

Those of noble spirit who, already in the camp in Germany, organized an editorial committee laying the foundations for this Memorial Volume: Nandor Zinger z”l and his friends z”l.

May Hashem avenge their blood. And we shall remember those who continued this holy work, our dear friends: Marcel Berger z”l and Aharon HaKohen Katz z”l.In the merit of their holy work on this book. Sadly they passed away in the middle of this project.

Their sacrifice and their good will are an example for those of us who continued their holy work. Let these works be an expression of our thanks. May their memory be blessed.

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Chapter One

Why were we so delayed in writing this book?

The production of the Memorial Volume, recalling the Martyrs of Satmar, went through nearly forty years of birth pangs. Here are reasons for the delay.

I arrived at Auschwitz with the sixth and final transport. After several days I was sent to join a group of thousands of people, many of them from Satmar, who were transferred to the Wolfsburg Camp in the Waldenburg District.

It was Shabbos, June 10 when we started to work. Together with 30 other Satmarers, we were employed in putting down water pipes.

Some of the Satmarers on the sixth transport died in different locations reaching the crematorium in Gross-Rosen, or in mass graves in Darnhau, or Avanza where they found their eternal resting place.

The writer of these words buried more than 3000 bodies with his own hands, including many dear Satmarers, in a mass grave near the railroad tracks between Gleiwitz and Glantz.

There were Jewish kapos in our division. They were Zoltan Schwartz z”l the head of the Satmar Jewish Council, Layosh Winkler z”l, chief of the ghetto police and Kalman Kaufman z”l. All three of blessed memory. Only words of praise are worthy of remembering because they tried to lighten our suffering and heal our wounds.

Our task was to dig tunnels 180 cm deep, most of them in a hilly area. The work was difficult and exhausting. Our supervisor was a German citizen whom we called Mitzish, because he always wore a beret. (Mitzi is a Hungarian word for beret.) His face was indicative of his monstrous character. He beat us mercilessly, not allowing us to breathe. Every day when Mitzish appeared on the horizon Dr. Layos Sharkeny z”l made a sign “davenen” meaning it was time to move because the Nazi monster was nearby.

I must point out that as opposed to Mitzish, the German Wehrmacht soldiers did not pay attention to us or our work. They were tired of the war and weren't ashamed to admit that for Germany, all was lost.

Our days of hard labor passed. We hoped that G-d would save us. As Tisha B'Av drew close and then Rosh Chodesh Elul, we were certain that with Hashem's help, by the time the High Holidays arrived we would be free. But we were still there.

July 20th passed, the day of the unsuccessful attempt to assassinate Hitler. The news gave us hope. On the 17th of Tammuz, I parted with a short eulogy from our dear friend Dr. Izsho Katz z”l of Satmar. He was taken to the crematorium in Gross-Rosen in a garbage machine.

In the meantime, our friend Nandor Zinger, the seller of books and stationery who was part of our editorial board, kept a record of all that happened from the time the Germans entered Hungary until the day of our liberation. The editor in chief was Nandor Zinger z”l. The members of the Editorial Board were: Dr Burgida Yosef, Dr. Deszo Braun, Dr. Marton Deutsch, Kalman Kaufman, Dr. Tibor Koevary, Zoltan Klein, Dr. Gyula Lass, Dr. Marton Meir, Sigmund Paldi, Zoltan Schwartz, Almar Weissman, and Layosh Winkler.

Everyone in the committee had the job to record all that happened concerning Satmar from March 19th until liberation. The members of the editorial board had one task: to observe everything, to remember it, and record it all.

The prosperous folk among us who had a pencil or piece of brown paper hidden away, would write it down. When the day came, with G-d's help for us to return home, we would gather together in a rest home in NagyBanya or Biksad to collect and compile our memories, and publish a Memorial Volume for the Holy Martyrs of Satmar in five languages: Hungarian, Hebrew, English, French and German.

Our chief worry was the question of what title to give this book. We argued about this for many weeks, and lost sleep over it, but we couldn't find the right name. One suggestions was, “We were Slaves to Hitler in Germany,” but I immediately objected pointing out that we have been reading this for thousands of years in the Passover Haggadah. Another suggestion, “Hell in Germany,” was also rejected.

These arguments continued until Rosh Chodesh Elul, which in that year, fell out on Shabbos. It was a very hot afternoon and we were weakened from hunger and the terrible pressure of our work. We gave our life's blood doing that difficult work.

Our cries were heard from far away. We thought about the High Holidays which were fast approaching and whether we would be able to celebrate them with our families.

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We didn't yet know that our families had been annihilated and their dust scattered to the wind on the banks of the Vistula.

Dear Chief Cantor, will we be able to hear you in the synagogue in Satmar? Will you sing us Kol Nidrei? Will we dance at the hakafos of Simchat Torah? Organize a Chanukah party? Will there ever be a Purim spirit in Satmar again?

I tried to raise their spirits to give them hope. All through my period of forced labor I prayed every day with work tools in my hands. On Shabbos Rosh Chodesh I whispered the beautiful elevating melodies of the Hallel prayer during those days when I labored to break rocks.

I released a great moan from the depths of my heart which incorporated all of the pain of my Jewish brethren. I lifted the pick I used for my labors and looked up to the heavens and recited in a bitter voice, “From the depths I call to You.”

Many around me heard me.

What did you just say, dear Mr. Stern? asked the Editor-in-Chief Zinger who worked next to me. I repeated the words I had just yelled out.

Translate them into Hungarian, Zinger asked, and I did.

“That is it, the name of our book, Zinger!” I yelled out, feeling victorious. But it's too bad. Our book already had another name.

We had sketches and memories, pencil and paper and an excellent editorial board. But our Memorial Book was never published because it was never written.

Nandor Zinger z”l, Zoltan Schwartz z”l, and Zoltan Klein z”l lie in a mass grave in Avanza. Victor Reiter disappeared without a trace. Dr. Gylua Lass z”l, Zigmund Paldy z”l and Elmer Weissman z”l died in Wolfsburg. The rest of our editorial board came back and lived in Satmar afterwards.

Dr. Deszo Braun z”l died in Budapest. Dr. Tibor Koevary z”l and Dr. Marton Deutsch z”l died in Satmar. Layosh Winkler z”l and Dr. Meir Marton z”l died in Tel Aviv. Dr. Layosh Sharkany z”l died in Rome. The fate of Kalman Kaufman is unknown.

In the last few years there was a plan, here in Israel, to write a book. Twice someone started and twice he gave up as a result of tragedy. Ten years ago, our fellow sufferer Marcel Berger z”l passed away at age 74. He died at his work table and is buried in Netanya.

Afterwards our unforgettable friend Aharon (Ari) Katz z”l made an attempt but he died in the middle of the work and is buried in Holon.

So now you know the reason for the delay and why our book is called “From the Depths I Call to You.”

Bnei Brak 20th of Tamuz 1981 Naftali Stern.


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