To say that I enjoy visiting small Hungarian villages looking for that one lonely Jew would be a lie. Demanding, exhausting and nerve-racking would be the honest way to describe it. Even If I did find that one Jew living alone in some old eastern european house,in a village filled with the aroma of goulash and grantetush. I don’t speak Hungarian nor do they speak Hebrew, Yiddish or English, so communication consisted of me asking are you Jewish in Broken Hungarian, showing them Tefilin and getting back on the road for another two hour drive.
A day of Merkos Shlichus in Hungary
To say that I enjoy visiting small Hungarian villages looking for that one lonely Jew would be a lie. Demanding, exhausting and nerve-racking would be the honest way to describe it. Even If I did find that one Jew living alone in some old eastern european house,in a village filled with the aroma of goulash and grantetush. I don’t speak Hungarian nor do they speak Hebrew, Yiddish or English, so communication consisted of me asking are you Jewish in Broken Hungarian, showing them Tefilin and getting back on the road for another two hour drive.
Thursday, Shalom and I were planning to go to a city called Szekszárd. But by mistake, we were given wrong directions and ended in a city called Szekesfehervar, just a short three hours in the other direction. Shalom felt it was divine providence and I felt it was divine punishment. Whatever it was, we were in city without any names or addresses of the local Jews, a great plus to not speaking the language.
We found the city’s synagogue monument built on the ground where the synagogue stood before the war. Right next across the street from the monument was a Jewelry store; sitting behind the counter was an old man that looked Jewish. I asked him if he was Jewish, (I later found out he thought I was asking him if he practices Judaism) he replied “nem” no. So we started to leave the store and he came running after us, pointing to himself saying” mama papa Auschwitz capoot. We returned into his store and just sat with him for an hour listening and tearing as he repeated the words “mama papa Auschwitz capoot”.
It felt like we were communicating in a way far deeper than words, soul to soul, essence with essence. Almost like it was to my advantage we didn’t speak the same language. I learned the beauty of pure communications without the perversion of words. He spoke to me without talking. He taught me without verbally teaching. But perhaps the greatest thing I “heard” “learned” was the profundity of Judaism. To him, his parents dying in Auschwitz was Judaism.
Afterwards, He introduced us to a few more of the cities Jews; one even spoke Hebrew and translated for us. We visited the Jewish cemetery, said some Tehilim and left for the next town
Mendy
Jake, You are a true inspiration, BTW what is grantetush?!
wow
beautiful. may you carry this experience with you always.
Y. Gottlieb
Your article brought tears to my eyes. My father olov hasholom was in the Hungarian holocaust and from his immediate family, his mother and little brother perished in Aushwitz. I was just recently in Hungary for one and a half days for the first time. The purpose of my trip was to visit the kever of my great grandmother, located about a four hour drive from Budapest. Many of the holocaust books that I have read describe Hungary as a beautiful country, Budapest, as a most awesome city. All I saw was the Holocaust…the missing Jews…the RED Danube…the ghetto…the destruction. Boruch Hashem for the presence of Chabad…and Yosher Koach to the devoted Bochurim who are on Merkaz Shlichus. Their mesirus nefesh is to be lauded.
budapest alum.
Bezelek Mojoro… hodg vodg …. yobro boro… dere-ide….. hain uro von….
servus…… vis lat….
nebach
Sounds like a really tough merkos shlichus, not speaking the language at all. Hungarian is supposed to be really hard.
proud of you
amazing,simply amazing. You guys are fantastic and may I add, your writing skills are so pleasantly enjoyable to read plus, 2 brownie pts. for your" hartzige honesty"
may the Abishte’ bentch you so, for making His brios so happy. you ignited their pintele yid. lucky you. what a way to start off your elul.
yaasher koach
C.B. Rosner{Weiss)
the correct word is "rantothoushe" which means fried chicken or schnitzel.
When I was in Budapest a few weeks ago it was wonderful to rest for a few minutes in the lovely Chabad House.
Continue your great work of enlightening the pintele yid in those lone holocaust survivors who remained in the vast area of Hungary.