The Story of a Nation That Redeems Its Captives

From Abraham who saved his nephew from captivity, to IDF helicopters carrying Israeli hostages back from Gaza - for thousands of years, Jews have fought, paid any sum necessary, and even endangered their lives to redeem and save their brethren from captivity and imprisonment

"The Commandment of Redeeming Captives"

One of them was the father of the Jewish nation. The other was his nephew, who joined the biblical Patriarch in leaving their place of birth on an almost mad journey to a new land. It took some time, as well as a brief adventure in Egypt, before they finally settled in Canaan. But then, the nephew fell captive – he and all who were with him. It happened because of a war they had absolutely nothing to do with, between different groups of petty monarchs with outrageous names like Kedarlaomer and Amraphel.

When Abraham heard his nephew Lot had fallen captive, he did not hesitate, even for a moment. He got his family and entourage together – a mere 318 people, all told – and set out to pursue the four captor kings and their armies, who had just won a decisive victory in the Valley of Siddim (near the Dead Sea) against five other kings. The pursuit began nearby in Sodom and reached all the way to Damascus, but Abraham was finally able to save Lot: “And also Lot … he returned and also the women and also the people” (Genesis, 14:16).

Abraham meets with Melkitzedek. 15^th century. St. Peter’s Cathedral in Leuven, Belgium

With the captives now freed, the King of Sodom and the King of Salem (Shalem, Jerusalem of today) received Abraham and his people with flowers and gifts (well, bread and wine, anyway). Abraham handed them the loot he was able to take in battle. He went to war not to get rich, but to save Lot and the others taken captive with him.

This is probably the first incident of captives being freed in the recorded history of the Jewish nation.

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Judaism considers human captivity to be a grievous sin. One of the Ten Commandments is “Thou Shall Not Steal” – and this commandment in fact refers to kidnapping – stealing people, not inanimate property. The punishment for this is death – “And he who steals a man and sells him, and he is found in his hands, will be put to death” (Exodus, 21:16).

Consequently, and possibly also due to our past, as a nation redeemed from captivity and slavery in Egypt, freeing captives from their captors has become a supreme moral value in Judaism. Something that must be done.

Maimonides says this of the imperative to free captives:

“And you have no greater commandment than the redemption of captives, for the captive is to be classified among those who hunger as well as those who thirst, those who are naked and those who stand on the brink of death.”

(Hilchot Matnot Aniyim, 8:10-11)

“Jew! Have you fulfilled your duty to save prisoners […] Raise up your donation quickly to redeem the hostages”, a pashkevil poster from the National Library’s Pashkevil Collection

According to Jewish law, redemption of captives comes prior to many other things, including even taking care of the non-captive poor. It is even permissible to sell a Torah scroll to redeem a captive with the proceeds.

When a man marries a woman, he makes ten commitments to her, one of which is an obligation to redeem her if she is taken captive.

We are told of how King David himself fulfilled such an obligation. While David was busy with a certain Philistine mess in another part of the country, two of his wives – Achinoam and Avigail – were staying in the city of Tziklag. The Amalekites living in the area exploited the absence of King David and his army to attack the city, burn it to the ground, and take all the women and children captive.

When King David returned to a burned and empty city, he made the decision to pursue the Amalekites, even though he could only take some 400 men with him for the purpose, of whom 200 soon deserted. Fortunately, they caught an Egyptian youth along the way, the slave of one of the captors. He directed them to the Amalekite camp, where David and his men found their enemies “drinking and reveling because of the great amount of plunder they had taken” (the women, we can reasonably assume, were considered part of this “plunder” – 1 Samuel 30:16).

David and his men had the advantage of surprise, and they slaughtered many looters and drove the rest to flight, leaving the property almost entirely intact and many women shaken, but still alive.

Slave market in Constantinople, 19^th century. William Allen

But superhero style rescue missions, even if told of our fathers and kings, have not been the main method the Jewish people have used to redeem their captives over the centuries.

During the long years of exile from the Land of Israel, all the leaders of Jewish communities could do was collect money – ransom – to free captives from bondage, or convince other, richer communities to help them out.

The Cairo Genizah, for instance, contains correspondence between Maimonides and various Jewish communities dealing with the redemption of captives – how many and where, and how much it would cost to free them. Among the letters is a receipt signed by Maimonides’ hand, relating to a sum donated for the redemption of captives. The text of the receipt explains that the donation came from the donor’s sale of his property.

Receipt signed by Maimonides. Cambridge University, TSNS309.12

The captives redeemed by the communities in Egypt weren’t friends or relatives of the donors, they were Jews who usually came from distant lands such as Mesopotamia and Southern Europe. They were typically were taken captive by pirates or highway robbers and were brought to cities in North Africa to be sold into slavery.

The concept of being taken captive and the difficult experiences entailed were not foreign to the members of Jewish communities, no matter where they were based. Even if they didn’t experience it personally, these people had been raised on stories of exile – in Egypt, Babylon, and later the exiles of the Second Temple period and the horror stories of the captives taken to Rome.

The Jewish captives were their brothers, and it was a great mitzvah to redeem them, even at great expense. Even if they didn’t know them from Adam.

There were cases where the effort to redeem captives failed – where they died due to sickness or abuse. There were also times when freeing captives helped to create new communities or strengthen existing ones.

“Redemption of Captives” – Generations raised on the importance of the commandment to redeem captives have resulted in extensive literature on the topic

Such was the case with the legendary “Four Captives.” According to the story, these were four sages who left Babylon, or the city of Bari in Italy, depending on who you ask. Their ship was ambushed by pirates on the Mediterranean, and they were taken captive. In that time, the late 10^th century, about 150 years before Maimonides was born, Babylon was the spiritual center of the Jewish People. Jews in communities in North Africa, Italy, and Spain were almost entirely religiously dependent on the sages in Babylon and their religious rulings, which could only reach them after months of travel, in the best-case scenarios.

The pirates did not offload all the captives at once, instead offering their human cargo at the various ports they visited on their voyage. Thus were the four sages spread out across a very broad geographic expanse – from Egypt in the east through Morocco to Spain in the west. At each of the locations where one of the sages was redeemed, that sage eventually helped to establish a new independent spiritual Jewish center.

Rabbi Moses Ben Hanoch and his son, also called Hanoch, reached Spain. They were redeemed with a princely sum by the community of Cordoba, which was then a small, developing community. No-one in the community knew the ragged individuals they saved, yet they did not hesitate to pay more than the community could afford to rescue them. Their adherence to the commandment of redeeming captives paid off in spades: They eventually understood who Rabbi Moses was, and he was appointed as head of the city’s Jewish school. Over time, Cordoba became an important and significant Torah center, and its flourishing alongside other communities helped form the basis of Spanish Jewry’s Golden Age.

Letter from the Rabbis of Sefrou to the Rabbis of Meknes (both cities in Morocco) regarding the redemption of Jewish captives in the hands of Berber tribes

But things weren’t always so simple. Jewish efforts to free their captives at any price created a problem, and it was clear to the sages that this might actually encourage the kidnapping of Jews specifically. This is why the sages of the Mishna enacted the following regulation:

“We do not redeem the captives for more than their worth, because of Tikkun Olam (repair of the world).”

This regulation, which decrees that captives should not be redeemed for more than their market value, required people to put their feelings aside, and prefer the rational strategy that considered the long term good of the nation over the desire to ease the pain of a suffering mother or daughter.

But this regulation was not always strictly adhered to. The Gemara tells of Rabbi Yehoshua Ben Hananiah, who redeemed a child from the Romans (the Gemara does not tell us if the child was captured alone or with his family). When the effort to redeem the child ran into trouble, he said “I will not move from here until I have ransomed this boy for whatever money may be asked.” And indeed, the Gemara says that he paid a very large sum of money for the child, much more than he was worth. Was it because of mortal danger that he ignored the regulation, or because he knew this child could become a great leader? It is not clear. In any event, per the story, the freed child grew to become the famous Rabbi Ishmael.

One leader who did demand that the regulation be applied – to himself – was Meir of Rothenburg, “The Maharam”, who was born Meir Ben Baruch in 1220 CE in the city of Worms, Germany. Worms is a beautiful town with a rich Jewish history. A number of great Torah sages emerged from Worms whose teachings formed a solid foundation for Ashkenazic Jewry for generations, but the city was also the sight of a terrible massacre of Jews, and the Jewish quarter itself was destroyed a century after the Maharam’s death.

In his youth, the Maharam studied with the great sages of France. Upon returning to Germany, he very quickly became the main Rabbinic authority of Ashkenazic Jewry. Towards the end of his life, the Jews of Germany were increasingly persecuted and he, who believed every Jew must do everything they can to reach the Land of Israel – set out on the difficult journey. But the law of that time forbade the Jews from leaving Germany’s borders. He was caught in Italy and handed over to the German authorities.

The Maharam of Rothenburg was imprisoned in a fortress in the city of Ensisheim, to the dismay of his students and family. The community obviously wanted to redeem him – he was their undisputed leader – and apparently, they even began to collect the necessary funds. But the German ruler demanded an exorbitant sum, and the Maharam – perhaps with the hope of being freed for a more reasonable sum later on – commanded them not to pay the ransom. He died a few years later in prison, leaving behind the commentaries he wrote in his cell, after being provided, reluctantly, with a parchment and quill to write with.

Even after his death, the German authorities would not release his body to be buried. It was only 14 years later that a rich Jew named Alexander Ziskind Wimpen came forward and paid a fortune for the body’s release. He himself was buried alongside the Maharam in the Worms cemetery, where the adjacent graves of the two can still be found, with the gravestones telling part of this story.

Gravesites of the Maharam of Rothenburg and Alexander Ziskin Wimpen at the Worms cemetery

The story of the Maharam of Rothenburg is but one of many. In Christian Europe, Jews were perhaps not sold into slavery or used as props in cruel gladiator fights, but they continued to be taken captive and imprisoned in terrifying fortresses and prisons, oftentimes without a fair trial or even a trial at all.

Jewish community pinkasim (ledgers) from all over Europe are filled with side notes on diplomatic efforts to redeem captives, documentation of prayers to free prisoners, or lines in the accounts mentioning sums allocated for such purposes. Success in this field, so it seems, was hard to come by.

Many years later, during the era of the British Mandate in the Land of Israel, redemption of captives took a sharp turn. No longer a question of paying ransom (or bribes to Ottoman officials), the prisoners in British jails now often had a military background – these were members of the underground forces seeking to liberate the country. Alongside (largely failed) diplomatic efforts, the members of the Jewish community or Yishuv and the underground fighters returned to the ways of their forefathers from the Bible – the way of armed struggle.

On May 4, 1947, the Irgun (Etzel) raided Acre Prison to free the underground prisoners held there. This was a complex operation which included coordination among a number of teams, including the prisoners themselves. The Irgun members disguised themselves as members of a British engineering unit and maintenance crew, and a firefight broke out with a British paratrooper force guarding the jail.

The Jewish Yishuv was in tumult. Forty-one Jewish prisoners managed to escape, six of whom were killed and another eight recaptured. Three members of the attacking force were also killed and another three were captured and later executed. In addition, more than 180 Arab prisoners also broke out of jail that day. Most of them were caught, but some – including dangerous criminals with significant potential for killing Jews later on – managed to stay on the outside.

Was this a heroic action redeeming captives, or a needless suicide mission that endangered the Yishuv? In a speech that Menachem Begin, the head of the Irgun, gave on the radio three days later, he said the following:

“Once again, our blood has been spilled and has saturated the hills of Galilee. But it is not the blood of the butchered, but rather the blood of fighters and heroes, giving birth to new heroes, cultivating a new heroism, bringing freedom to the homeland and a life of honor to the people.”

In his eyes, at least, this was a glorious return to the days when the Jewish People could defend itself, even at the cost of blood.

Since the State of Israel was established and to this day, we have been dealing with different and complex aspects of redeeming captives – from soldiers taken in battle to citizens taken as hostages by murderous terrorist organizations.

May it be that all those who have not yet returned from captivity merit us the chance to fulfill the commandment of redemption of captives, and may they return home, all of them.

Embracing the Light of Hanukkah

Jewish pride is exemplified annually in the tradition of lighting the hanukkiah candles, but the Hanukkah story itself is actually full of themes of concealment and hiddenness. So why is Hanukkah celebrated with this self-confident display of our Judaism and why is this practice so very important, especially in dark times like these, when Hanukkah will be celebrated amidst a backdrop of Jewish suffering and war.

Mia Amran | 07.12.23

The Shohat Family celebrating Hanukkah, 1977, Dan Hadani, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Donuts, dreidels, golden coins and gifts. Memories of Hanukkah are set on a backdrop of cozy winter nights, permeated by the smells of oily foods, laughter from silly games and lots of time spent with family. As presents are exchanged and songs are sung, Hanukkah holds a special warmth and innocence in many of our minds. But, when asked to sum up Hanukkah in just one image, almost all of us would recall the hanukkiah lights, set in front of foggy windows, as the bright candles burn for all to see.

Young girls lighting the hanukkiah after immigrating to Israel, 1948, Rudi Weissenstein, the Photohouse Collection, the National Library of Israel

A source of pride in Jewish culture is the concept of showing off our light in the midst of nightfall’s darkness. But while the theme of Hanukkah is usually perceived to be this pride and openness, when it comes to the Hanukkah story itself, it is hard to deny that concealment and hiddenness are also very apparent themes. There is a fascinating tension here between these two contrasting ideas. In this article we will explore how we have come to equate Hanukkah with a Jewish sense of pride and why is it such an important message to share, especially during times like these, in which it seems that many Jews will be celebrating Hanukkah amidst a backdrop of distress and war.

The Shohat Family celebrating Hanukkah, 1977, Dan Hadani, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

The story of Hanukkah begins around 168 BCE, when the Seleucid ruler Antiochus IV Epiphanes began persecuting the Jews in his kingdom, which included the territory of Judea, and forced them to either renounce their Judaism or face certain death. Due to his horrific threats, this point in history marked the start of an era of hiddenness which descended upon the Jewish people. Many Jews living during this time made the difficult decision to outwardly adopt Greek religious practices and culture in public to avoid punishment, but continued to practice their Judaism in private – praying, studying, and practicing the Jewish laws as best they could.

Lighting the hanukkiah at Rambam Hospital, 1981, IPPA Staff Photographer, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

This history is symbolized by a story that is often told about the origins of the dreidel – a spinning top traditionally played with on Hanukkah. During Antiochus’ reign, Jewish children were of course banned from learning any Torah. Not wanting the legacy of Jewish learning to die out, the tale recounts that their parents would hide the children away and teach them Torah in secret. As a backup measure, they set out dreidels in the hiding spots, too. If a Greek official were to walk past and happen to spy them, the children would immediately begin to play with their innocent spinning tops! Though the story is not based on historical fact, and originates in a much later tradition, today, Jewish children continue to play dreidel each Hanukkah to commemorate this dark period in history, when living openly as a Jew was not a possibility.

Lighting the hanukkiah, Central Archives for the History of the Jewish People, the National Library of Israel

At the same time, an even bigger concealment was taking place. The story of Hanukkah concludes with a great war between the Greek army and the Jewish army, led by members of the Hasmonean family, who later came to be known as the Maccabees. When we think of the Maccabees, we picture brave strong fighters, and this is not incorrect. However, before the final days of battle commenced in earnest, the Maccabees were in fact best described as a hidden group of insurgent guerilla fighters.

Lighting the hanukkiah for wounded IDF soldiers at Tel Hashomer Hospital, 1969, IPPA Staff Photographer, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Setting up their bases in the caves and hideouts of the Judean countryside under the leadership of Judah Maccabee in 166 BCE, the story is told of how these Jewish soldiers formed clandestine groups of fighters and dissidents who would set out on underground missions while their forces grew in size and skill. For much of the war, the Maccabees would wait just beyond eyesight, hiding in the wilderness and using the element of surprise to attack effectively. It was only with the conclusion of the Hanukkah story, as the great large-scale battles of the Greek-Jewish war broke out, that the Maccabees rose up to fight in the open.

Young boy lights a hanukkiah at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 1949, Benno Rothenberg, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Hanukkah is also a festival of hidden miracles. The famous story of that one last jug of oil which lit the ritual menorah in the ruins of the Jewish temple was found after being hidden amongst the rubble, not presented in plain sight. Similarly, a hidden miracle occurred after it seemed that the Maccabees might not survive the war. Only one Maccabee named Simon survived past the Hanukkah story. Yet it was Simon who would go on to officially found the great Hasmonaean dynasty, the first instance of full Jewish sovereignty since the fall of the Kingdom of Judah more than 400 years earlier. This was something that few could have dreamed of at the time, which allowed the Jewish people to once again rise up in strength.

Blessings for lighting the hanukkiah, Amsterdam, 1750, the National Library of Israel

Hence, one might think that moving forward from the story of Hanukkah, this annual holiday would be celebrated with references to hiddenness, the way that we commemorate the hidden miracles of Purim or Shemini Atzeret. But this is not the moral of the Hanukkah story. The story of Hanukkah ends with a menorah, lit bright for all to see, standing unscathed amongst the wreckage of Jerusalem. This image conveys a clear message that despite being repeatedly knocked down, the Jewish people are not afraid of their identity. In fact, it reminds us that we will never again allow ourselves to be hidden away with shame. We are here. We are bright. We continue to burn. That is the message of Hanukkah.

Young boy lights a hanukkiah at the Western Wall, 1969, IPPA Staff Photographer, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

And over the years, this is what we have seen from the Jewish people time and time again.

Hanukkah in Fuerstenfeldbruck DP Camp, Germany, 1945, Yad Vashem Archive 1486/582

One of the most famous images associated with the Holocaust is of course the image of a hanukkiah, one of the most enduring symbols of Judaism, standing proud in the window of a house while across the street we see a Nazi flag draped on a building. This image is so famous because it shows exactly how far the Jewish people will go in order to protect their identity, and stand firm in the face of oppression.

Rachel and Rabbi Akiva Posner’s hanukkiah in Kiel, Germany, (still lit each year by their grandchildren), photo by Rachel Posner, Hanukkah 1931, Yad Vashem

But this is not the only hanukkiah that remains from the Holocaust. A hanukkiah was found, wrapped in newspapers dating back to 1941, hidden under the flooring of the synagogue building in Alphen aan den Rijn, Holland, which was used each year during Hanukkah until the deportation of the family to whom it belonged. Similarly, the French Moroccan Cohen family, fleeing persecution with not much more than a suitcase, chose to take their hanukkiah with them when they were forcibly evicted from Casablanca, so that they could continue to light the Hanukkah candles wherever they might end up. Another tale from within the ghetto walls of Lodz, Poland, recounts that the chairman of the Judenrat, Mordechai Chaim Rumkowski, was known for proudly lighting the hanukkiah each year despite the dangers of doing so, right up until the liquidation of the ghetto. Many Jewish families keep such Holocaust-era hanukkiot as heirlooms and stories continue to abound of Jews refusing to hide their light, despite their tormentors attempting to stamp it out.

A Hanukkah candle lighting ceremony in the Westerbork transit camp, Netherlands, 1943, photo: Yad Vashem

The origin of the word “Hanukkah” is debated, but it is clear that it contains the Hebrew root חנכ which means “to dedicate”. As the Jews dedicated themselves to their identity through the story of Hanukkah, so too do we see that continued dedication right up until today. Israel is beautiful at Hanukkah time. Traditionally, many Israeli Jews light their hanukkiah in a box outside of their house, not on their windowsill, and walking the streets of Israel seeing families gathering to light their candles is a truly special experience. It is also continuous. Despite the many wars that have ravaged Israel since its conception, each year, whether during war or peace, these special candelabras can be seen glowing bright.

IDF unit lights hanukkiah made out of exploded rockets, 1970, IPPA Staff Photographer, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

During times of global conflict, Jews typically come under even more frequent attack when proudly expressing their identity. When Ukrainian Jews, recently caught in conflict, lacked light to see, fuel to cook, and lived under constant curfew, hanukkiot were still seen shining proudly from homes and town squares throughout the country. When the public lighting of the hanukkiah in London was cancelled just a few days ago, British Jews banded together and pledged to hold their own candle lighting ceremony, unafraid of expressing who they are. And the examples can go on and on and on.

Ruling from the Chief Rabbinate of the IDF allowing soldiers to light candles with any available oil including gun oil, say the blessings over flashlights, and light candles in a private place, *Ma’ariv*, December 26, 1978, the National Library of Israel Historical Jewish Press Collection

In times of war, this sense of collective identity is even more important than ever, and perhaps that is why, despite the challenges that face Israel during moments of conflict such as these, each year the hanukkiot continue to shine bright from Jewish homes across the country.

IDF soldiers lighting the hanukkiah in the Negev Desert, 1949, Benno Rothenberg, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Many wonder what will happen this year. While some of our brave soldiers will be allowed home to celebrate the holiday with their families and friends, many others will have to commemorate Hanukkah in the Gaza Strip, or on army bases around the country. But fear not, the light cannot be dimmed, no matter how burdened or tormented our people become. Many individuals have already began collecting donations to deliver candles and Hanukkah treats to our IDF soldiers, and there are organizations who have pledged to deliver Hanukkiot to each and every army base, so that no Jew will be left out, and all the soldiers will get to light their candles and help put an end to our darkness.

Chabad delivering donuts to IDF soldiers, 1985, Yossi Aloni, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

As Jewish history continues through the good times and the bad, this year once again we will witness the heart-wrenching sight of hanukkiot shining bright from the battlefields of Israel. While this image is not an easy one to process, it’s a reminder that our nation and our pride can never be wiped out. The haftarah reading which is recited on the Shabbat of Hanukkah comes from Zechariah 4:6 and proclaims that the Jews will succeed “not by might, not by power, but by spirit”. No matter where we are spending Hanukkah this year, remember that ultimately it is our spirit which will keep us strong, and our Hanukkah lights will remind us never to dim our shine for anyone.

The Art of a Child’s Hope

Amidst the horrors of war, it is common for children to find some solace through artistic endeavors. But in an astounding discovery, we’ve also now seen that there is a clear connection between the art made by children during the Holocaust and the art created by the children witnessing the current war in Israel and Gaza. Why is this the case, and what can it teach us about the experiences of children witnessing the slaughter of their people, 80 years apart?

Mia Amran | 14.11.23

Europe Israel's Wars Jewish Art Jewish Communities The Holocaust Zionism

Since the horrific events of October 7, and the subsequent weeks of terror, loss, and mourning, many are asking themselves how on earth the people of Israel will ever be able to find the strength to rebuild. With so much sadness, so much pain and grief, it sometimes seems impossible that there could be any hope left.

2023 – Jewish Middle School of Nashville, 3rd grade, USA, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1929 – Jiri Metzl, Jewish Museum of Prague, from *We Are Children Just the Same*, Marie Rut Krizkova, Kurt Jiri Kotouc, and Zdenek Ornest, 1995, the Jewish Publication Society, the National Library of Israel

As Israel keeps fighting, however, there exists a chorus of small but persistent voices pervading the darkness: voices that belong to little children, asking in their innocent tones for us to please keep going. For them.

2023 – Renascenca school, 5th grade, Brazil, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel (includes a wish for peace in Portuguese) 1942 – *Sketch of a Child’s Hand*, Frantisek Brozan, aged 10, from *I Never Saw Another Butterfly*, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

There are few people born in Israel who did not have a childhood punctuated by one of the country’s many wars or intifadas, so the now-grownup adults know that despite all the many challenges facing us right now, we need to stay strong for our children. Many of them will grow up with memories of this war, and it is our job to make sure that those memories are of a strong nation, one who can rise through the ashes, not only to succeed on the battlefield but also, ever so slowly, to rebuild as a people and find a way to rekindle the hope.

2023 – Eden Fitoussi, Henri Schilli, 2nd grade, France, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1944 – Josef Novak, aged 13, from *Children’s Drawings From the Concentration Camp of Terezin*, 1978, State Jewish Museum in Prague, the National Library of Israel

Amidst the horrors of war, it is common for children to find some solace and a means of expressing their feelings through artistic endeavors. For little brains with big thoughts, their emotions can’t always be expressed adequately in words, but their creativity can serve as a form of therapy, providing a safe haven whereby they can process complex emotions, understand the strange and ever-changing world around them, and, as a byproduct, leave behind a poignant testimony to their resilience which even adults can draw strength from.

2023 – Yael Benarrouch, Yabne Schili, 1st grade, France, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1942 – *Dancing Children*, Helena Schanzerova, aged 9, from *I Never Saw Another Butterfly*, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

We know that children have a remarkable capacity to adapt to their surroundings, even in the most horrific of circumstances. In times of war and fear, one way of doing this is by using art as a tool to cope with their emotions, escape from the harsh realities around them, and channel their inner thoughts into something more tangible. The emotional catharsis of expressing their fear, anger, and sadness in a non-verbal manner often aids in gaining a sense of control over their feelings.

2023 – Alma Primary School N20, 3rd-6th grade, UK, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1928 – *To The Station*, Petr Ginz, the Jewish Museum of Prague, from *We Are Children Just the Same*, Marie Rut Krizkova, Kurt Jiri Kotouc, and Zdenek Ornest, 1995, the Jewish Publication Society, the National Library of Israel

One of the most poignant examples of children using art to cope with the destruction that lay around them was the art created by Jewish children during the Holocaust. Despite the unimaginable horrors that they endured, many of these children found solace through artistic expression. To this day, we are still finding pictures drawn by children from within the walls of the concentration camps and ghettos, and continue to document these images as vital Holocaust records. The children’s art continues to serve as a testament to the young human spirit’s ability to endure and transcend suffering, or at least make sense of their anguish, in ways that adults are often unable to do.

2023 – Zac Green, Yavneh College, 8th grade, UK, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1940s – *Smiling Man In Camp Uniform*, located in bunker cell 12, block 11 of Auschwitz, from *Last Traces – the Lost Art of Auschwitz*, 1989, Joseph P. Czarnecki, Atheneum, National Library of Israel

In Auschwitz and Warsaw, Treblinka and Vilna, in fact all across Eastern Europe, Jewish children in the 1930s and 40s turned to art as a means of survival. Drawing and painting memoirs of happier times, or their dreams for the future, offered them a glimmer of hope and a way to maintain their humanity in the face of the most dehumanizing conditions.

2023 – Gabs, Yavneh College, 9th grade, UK, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1943 – *Nazi Threatening a Jew*, Jiri Beutler, aged 11, from *I Never Saw Another Butterfly*, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

Through their art, some of these children also depicted the atrocities that they witnessed. They drew scenes of deportations, crowded barracks, and Nazi brutality – innocent young people simply copying the scenes that they saw all around them and thus making sense of what was happening, and in doing so, leaving behind witness to the injustices that they faced.

2023 – Aaron Meimoun, Yabne Schili, 1st grade, France Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1931 – Liliana Franklova, the Jewish Museum of Prague, from *We Are Children Just the Same*, Marie Rut Krizkova, Kurt Jiri Kotouc, and Zdenek Ornest, 1995, the Jewish Publication Society, the National Library of Israel

But interestingly, so much of the art created by Jewish children during the Holocaust also provides glimpses into their innocence, as they portrayed scenes of camaraderie, smiles from the people around them, their favorite animals and flowers, and simple moments of daily life. As much as the darker artistic material shows us how traumatizing this experience was for the children, it is often their scenes of naivety which strike us harder. What hurts so much is seeing the way that these children remembered and documented the world as it used to be for them and probably how they hoped it still could be, combined with the hindsight that these children had no idea of what lay in wait for them.

2023 – Naor Berros, Yabne Schili, 1st grade, France, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1944 – Margit Koretzova, aged 11, from *Children’s Drawings From the Concentration Camp of Terezin*, 1978, State Jewish Museum in Prague, the National Library of Israel

Today, children have more access to information and knowledge of current affairs than ever before. As more young people have their own digital devices and social media accounts, it’s hard to shield our youth from what is happening around them. A never-ending stream of information, video footage and propaganda is being released from nearly every media source straight into our devices, and as a result, the youngsters of Israel and Jewish children around the world are more aware of the atrocities occurring than ever before.

2023 – Ambar Jones, Comunidad Judia de Nordelta, 8th grade, Argentina, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1944 – *Queue for Food*, Liana Franklova, aged 13, from *I Never Saw Another Butterfly*, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

But creative activities offer children a temporary escape from the traumatic events that they may be experiencing or witnessing. Art allows them to focus on something encouraging and constructive, if only for a brief moment. And more importantly, art empowers these children to take control of their own narratives. In this time of chaos, it allows them to create a world that they are in charge of, making decisions about what exists on their page and in exactly what form, and thus shaping their own imaginative realities. A sense of control when otherwise they would have none.

2023 – leah, Alma Primary School N20, 3rd-6th grade, UK, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1931 – Vera Lowyova, the Jewish Museum of Prague, from *We Are Children Just the Same*, Marie Rut Krizkova, Kurt Jiri Kotouc, and Zdenek Ornest, 1995, the Jewish Publication Society, the National Library of Israel

With this in mind, shortly after the war broke out last month, the National Library of Israel launched a special initiative for students worldwide. We reached out to educators with the message that “We are inviting your students to share letters and drawings to Israeli soldiers and families that our team will print and send out.”

2023 – Yael Rendelstein, Alonim School, Modi’in, Israel, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1943 – *Figures of Little Girls*, Jana Hellerova, aged 5, from *I Never Saw Another Butterfly*, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

It is a meaningful way to show support and raise people’s spirits in these difficult times. These, like the many letters and pictures made by children in previous wars, will also be preserved in the NLI collections.

2023 – Benyamin Ouahba, Yabne Schili, 2nd grade France, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1942 – *Leaves of a Tree*, Milan Biennenfeld, aged 12, from *I Never Saw Another Butterfly*, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

The results of this new project have been astounding to see, as we continue to receive hundreds of images which provide glimpses into the minds of the young Jewish children who are just trying to cope with the realities of this war, the way we all are.

2023 – Natalia Intiwasi, Spanish Immersion School, Kindergarten, USA, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1931 – Kitty Brunnerova, the Jewish Museum of Prague, from *We Are Children Just the Same*, Marie Rut Krizkova, Kurt Jiri Kotouc, and Zdenek Ornest, 1995, the Jewish Publication Society, the National Library of Israel

They’ve also shown us that as the world progresses at break-neck speed, the minds of children will forever be young. In looking at these images we can see clear connections between the art made by children during the Holocaust and the art created by the children witnessing the current war in Israel and Gaza.

2023 – Alona, Colegio Columbo Hebreo Primary School, Columbia, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1943 – *Ghetto Guard,* Alfred Weisskopf, aged 11, from *I Never Saw Another Butterfly*, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

This is perhaps to be somewhat expected: children often employ universally understood symbolism in their art to represent certain figures, ideologies, and the impact of war on their lives. Through these symbols and drawings, they are able to explore and interpret the radical events occurring around them. Thus, it may be only natural for the images of the children who have borne witness to the slaughtering of their people to be similar, despite being created decades apart.

Most of the children whose pictures are included in this article did not survive the Holocaust, but their art did. It now serves as a poignant historical record, offering exceptional insights into the minds of children during that time, and leaving behind invaluable artistic testimonies of the Holocaust for future generations.

2023 – Mika Friedman, Farmland Elementary School, 1st grade, USA, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1943 – *Passover Seder*, Doris Weiser, aged 11, from *I Never Saw Another Butterfly*, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

As the National Library of Israel continues to collect the art of the Jewish children experiencing the current war in Israel, we simultaneously create a new set of records, soon to be historic, which will always serve as a reminder of what young Jewish children lived through in the year 2023.

2023 – Evelina Matvienco, Kishinev ORT Hertzl Technology Lyceum, Moldova, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1944 – Karel Sattler, aged 12, from *Children’s Drawings From the Concentration Camp of Terezin*, 1978, State Jewish Museum in Prague, the National Library of Israel

We hope and pray that Israel will return to peace soon, but we know that for a long time even after this war ends, the question will remain of how to rebuild a country which has lost so much. As our children turn to us for answers on how to keep going, we may also find ourselves turning to them. As we look towards their small but hopeful faces and see the power of their yearning for peace, maybe these images will enable us to put one foot in front of another, one foot in front of another, until it becomes natural to do so once again.

2023 – Gustave Leven, Ecole Alliance, 1st grade, France Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel 1941 – *Guard With a Stick*, Sona Spitzova, aged 10, from *I Never Saw Another Butterfly*, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

If you know a child who would like to share a piece of art or a letter with the NLI and our brave IDF soldiers, please follow the link: https://educationnli.involve.me/words-make-difference

The Mysterious Case of Joseph G. Weiss’s Hasidic Library

Prof. Joseph G. Weiss was one of the 20th century's leading scholars of Hasidism. Following Weiss's tragic death in 1969, his mentor Gershom Scholem selected 250 books from his former student's personal collection to be brought to the National Library in Jerusalem. Yet something happened along the way. To this day it's not clear what became of many of these books...

Dr. Zvi Leshem | 05.11.23

Gershom Scholem Judaism Rare Books Rare Jewish Books

Joseph G. Weiss, photo from the Joseph George Weiss Archive at the National Library of Israel

Prof. Joseph G. Weiss (1918-1969), was one of the foremost students of Prof. Gershom Scholem. He would go on to direct the Institute of Jewish Studies at University College London and edit its “Journal of Jewish Studies”. Weiss left behind a scholarly oeuvre which, although sometimes debated and criticized, is without a doubt the forerunner of modern Hasidic studies. He was ahead of his time, and that perhaps explains the current reawakening of fascination with his work.

Weiss’s untimely and tragic death and the publication of his correspondence with Gershom Scholem a decade ago have also contributed to the great interest both in Weiss the scholar, and in Weiss the man.

I would like to offer some brief observations regarding the Hasidic books that were held in Weiss’s personal library, and their mysterious fate. After Weiss’s death in 1969, his widow Erna decided to sell his Judaica collection through the agencies of Weiss’s friend and colleague at University College London, Prof. Chimen Abramsky, who also worked as a book dealer. Prof. Jacob Taubes of the Judaica Institute of the Berlin Free University, Scholem’s student (and later nemesis), and an early friend of Weiss, purchased the collection for his institute. However, when the books arrived in Berlin, he noticed that many of the most important volumes were missing. It seems that Weiss, in his will, had given permission to his mentor Scholem to have first choice of the books that he wanted for the collection of the Jewish National and University Library in Jerusalem, and needless to say, Scholem had selected the best. Taubes in response angrily cancelled the agreement and returned the remainder of the collection to London, where they were subsequently auctioned.

Extensive correspondence exists in the archives of the National Library of Israel regarding the transfer of “250 books” (“mostly on Hasidism”) from Weiss’s library, that arrived in Jerusalem in February 1970. Some of the correspondence is in the Joseph Weiss archives, and some in non-catalogued folders of donor information. Some of the letters, mostly between Erna Weiss and Dr. I. Adler, who was then the Library’s Director, mention a list of the 250 books, which I have sadly not been able to locate.

“Two hundred and fifty volumes pertaining to…Chassidut”

Here we see correspondence between Erna Weiss and the Dr. Adler, then Director of the JNUL, regarding the shipping of 250 books (mostly on Hasidism) from Weiss’s estate to the Library. In Erna’s response she refers to a list of the books which was needed for legal purposes. This is the list that I am still searching for.

“I have had to draw up a list of the books”

“The valuable library of your late husband…has arrived safely”

Shortly after their arrival, the reception of the volumes was noted in the Library’s inventory, which specifically lists Noam Elimelech and Ohr HaMeir, apparently as the only two which the Library did not previously hold. I am still searching for these two volumes.

*Noam Elimelech* and *Ohr HaMair* in the Library inventory

Approximately one hundred of the volumes were in Hebrew and some 150 in other languages. Some of them contained marginalia in Weiss’s handwriting. By February 1970, the Library reported to Erna Weiss that the volumes had all arrived and in May wrote explicitly that the three special volumes that she had handpicked for Scholem’s personal collection had all been located. The three are Sipurei Maasiot, Yosher Divrei Emet and Ketonet Pasim. In Sipurei Maasiot, the most heavily annotated of the three, Weiss had the book rebound with a blank page for notes next to each page of text, a method that he probably learned from Scholem.

The other two volumes that Erna Weiss had sent for Scholem himself, were two upon which Weiss had published articles, Yosher Divrei Emet and Ketonet Pasim.

Strangely, these books are not located in the Scholem Collection, but rather in the Rare Book Division. All were copied onto one microfilm and later scanned, and are available here.

In total there are currently some eight Hasidic books with Weiss’s annotations in the Rare Book Division, and others in the Scholem Collection.

Some, such as Ketonet Passim, and Haim V’Hesed of R. Haim of Amdor, Weiss had previously published articles on. The other volumes with (less extensive) notes that have been located are, Noam Elimelech,

Meor V’Shamesh,

Lekutei Maharil,

Ahavat Dudim,

and Hayim V’Hesed by R. Haim of Amdor.

A handwritten English note dated 21.12.75 and preserved at the National Library, describes a visit by “Mrs. Erna Weiss, accompanied by Prof Y. [Isaiah] Tishby…and her son [the poet Amos Weisz], came in to inquire what had become of her husband’s collection – mainly ‘Hassidut’ – sent 1970 via London…. apparently, the collection was to be kept intact… (Prof. G. Scholem also took an active role)”. In a second note from a few days later we learn that “Prof. P. [Peretz] Tishby, Chief librarian…telephoned to inform me that most of the collection, as well as relevant correspondence and inventory of the collection is in the Dept. of Manuscripts and Archives – no need to search further”.

On the other hand, Jonatan Meir has written that, “Due to Scholem’s intervention some 250 volumes arrived in Jerusalem, yet a large portion of them mysteriously disappeared”. Sadly, this indeed seems to be the case. In retrospect, it is well known that Scholem’s desperate attempts to preserve the life of his beloved student, ultimately failed. More surprising is that the preservation of Weiss’s library also fell short of Scholem’s usual efficiency. For the world of Hasidic research, this is a double tragedy.

This article is dedicated to the memory of Weiss’s student, Prof. Ada Rapoport-Albert, z”l, who first encouraged me to look into the fate of Weiss’s books at the National Library of Israel.

For Further Reading:

Works of Weiss

Joseph Weiss, unpublished Hebrew dissertation on Dialectical Torah and Faith in R. Nahman of Breslov, can be viewed here

Joseph Weiss, Circles of Discussion: A Collection of Discourses and Customs of R. Nahman of Breslov, Tel-Aviv 1947.

Joseph Weiss, Studies in Braslav Hassidism (Hebrew, Mendel Piekarz, ed.), Jerusalem 1974.

Joseph Weiss, Studies in Eastern European Jewish Mysticism and Hasidism, London and Portland (David Goldstein, ed.), 1985, 1997.

Joseph Weiss, Likutim, (Hebrew, Avinoam Stillman and Yosef Sweig, eds.), Jerusalem 2019.

Works on Weiss

Daniel Abrams, “The Becoming of the Hasidic Book”: An Unpublished Article by Joseph Weiss, Study, Edition and English Translation, in Kabbalah: Journal for the Study of Jewish Mystical Texts vol. 28 (2012), pp. 7-34.

Joseph Dan, Joseph Weiss Today, in Studies in Eastern European Jewish Mysticism and Hasidism, pp. ix-xx.

Jacob Katz, Joseph G. Weiss: A Personal Appraisal, in (Ada Rapoport-Albert, ed.), Hasidism Reappraised, London and Portland 1996, pp. 3-9.

Esther Liebes, On Joseph Weiss [Hebrew], in (David Assaf and Esther Liebes, ed.), The Latest Phase: Essays on Hasidism by Gershom Scholem, Jerusalem 2008, pp. 313-315.

Shaul Magid, The Correspondence of Gershom Scholem and Joseph Weiss, Between Zionism and Friendship, in The Jewish Quarterly Review (summer 2017) 423-440.

Jonatan Meir, Tiqqun ha-Paradox: Josegh G. Weiss, Gershom Scholem, and the Lost Dissertation on R. Nahman of Bratslav [Hebrew], in Mahshevet Yisrael 4 (2023), pp. 151-206.

Jerry Z. Muller, Professor of Apocalypse: The Many Lives of Jacob Taubes, Princeton and London, 2022, pp. 322-323.

Muki Tzur, Introduction, in (Muki Tzur, ed.), Joseph Weiss: Love Letters to Channa Senesh [Hebrew], Tel-Aviv 1996, pp. 5-19.

Sara Ora Heller Wilensky, A Portrait of Friendship: The Correspondence of Gershom Scholem and Joseph Weiss 1949-1957 [Hebrew], in Proceedings of the Tenth World Congress of Jewish Studies, 3:2 (Jewish Thought and Literature), Jerusalem 1990, pp. 57-64.

Sara Ora Heller Wilensky, Joseph Weiss: Letters to Ora, in (Ada Rapoport-Albert, ed.), Hasidism Reappraised, London and Portland 1996, pp 10-41,

Noam Zadoff, On Joseph Weiss and Gershom Scholem: Introductory Words, in (Noam Zadoff, ed.), Gershom Scholem and Joseph Weiss: Correspondence 1948-1964, Jerusalem 2012, [Hebrew], pp. 10-32.