The Chassid Yitzchak Pinchas Wishedski of Vitebsk, may his memory be a blessing, my father’s grandfather, was in the synagogue with many other Jews of the city on Yom Kippur of 5702, 1941. I am certain that he was fasting and praying when the Nazis locked the synagogue doors and set it on fire with its occupants inside.
I am reminded of this today because I need strength before this Yom Kippur of the year 5784, the Yom Kippur following October 7th.
Whenever I face a challenge or great difficulty, I look inward and seem to draw strength from a hidden treasure that my ancestors and their ancestors stored up for me.
We are all immigrants or children of immigrants. Almost every Jew I know has either themselves or their parents immigrated from one country to another. They came from Russia, Poland, Georgia, Morocco, Iraq, Iran, and Syria—almost all of them arriving with nothing, no material possessions, no assets, and many with few relatives. But they brought with them a powerful spiritual treasure chest, full of strength, full of hope, full of faith, full of passion and a desire to continue, and this treasure they bequeathed to us.
I imagine in those times that I have within me a hidden inner treasure chest that I can open and draw from the strength of my Boby Chayke, who lost her child while fleeing from the Germans, but continued on a long, arduous journey, and was eventually blessed to see her descendants—me, my brother, and my cousins. I imagine drawing from the strength of my Zaidy Moshe, who, upon hearing that his brothers and sisters, as well as his parents and uncles, were all murdered by the Nazis in Vitebsk, continued onward, holding my father, then a baby, in his hands. He began reciting Kaddish every Yom Kippur for his father who was martyred, but never projected misery to his son, and was ultimately blessed to see a flourishing family.
Neither the grandmother nor the grandfather mentioned left us material inheritance; they had nothing. They immigrated with nothing and built everything anew. But they most certainly passed on to us the powerful Jewish strength of the Pride of Jacob, a lifted head, a revival from the ashes—an inheritance that they, too, had received from their ancestors.
So when I approach this Yom Kippur after October 7th, I remember my great-grandfather, whom I never had the privilege of knowing. I am sure that, there, wearing his kittel and fasting, even as the flames rose, he stood with his head held high, confident that ‘it would be okay,’ believing that Am Yisrael Chai.
And I, too, believe that Am Yisrael Chai.
My dear brothers and sisters,
Gmar Chatima Tova and Am Yisrael Chai.
Rabbi Zalman Wishedski