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

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

What a Load of Kreplach!

Kreplach are small dumplings made with minced meat, chopped vegetables, and often a layer of cabbage leaf… and no one likes them! So why do we eat these little dumplings each Sukkot? Where did the tradition come from? And is it really important enough to ruin our chicken soup for?

Mia Amran | 21.09.23

Jewish Culture Jewish Food Jewish Holidays Sukkot

Kreplach in chicken soup, DMCA, Pxfuel

I remember standing in the kitchen as the smell of boiled cabbage made me gag into the chullent pot, watching my mother roll minced meat in her hands and chop vegetables until she cried. She said it was the onions, but I think it was the long hours of ordering around her 8 children, trying in vain to organize us into teams to either peel potatoes, or help our father build the sukkah.

Since the raising of our stubborn wooden sukkah would come with copious swear words and much cursing, and I was the youngest of the children, my job was always safely tucked away from the violence of the tent poles and into the relatively safe home of the sharp knives and boiling pots of the kitchen. This is why I have such strong memories of the kreplach-making process. While Passover was welcomed with smells of cinnamon from the sweet charoset, and Purim was filled with poppy-seeded hamantaschen biscuits, the ceremonial food of Sukkot was always the kreplach dumplings.

In case your ancestors don’t hail from the shtetls of Eastern Europe, I will enlighten you: kreplach are small dumplings made with minced meat, chopped vegetables, and often a layer of cabbage leaf. Each Jewish mother swears that her way is the only real way to make kreplach – less meat, more meat, cabbage on the inside, cabbage on the outside – but the truth is, even prepared according to meticulous tradition, they never taste all that great. Many people will cook them in the chicken soup broth, whereby they inevitably fall apart and make the soup lumpy and strange. But tradition is tradition!

Woman serving kreplach on Sukkot, 1904, Karte aus dem Tomor – Kalender der Sana-Gesellschaft, Josef and Margit Hoffman Judaica Postcard Collection, the Folklore Research Center, the Mendel Institute of Jewish Studies, the Hebrew University, the National Library of Israel

So why is this a Sukkot tradition? Sukkot is the Jewish festival which arrives less than a week after the High Holy Days, and celebrates the Jews’ faith in G-d. For the week-long festival, Jews build walled huts with roofs made from natural materials, and dwell in these temporary living places. Most practicing Jews eat all of their meals in this hut, and many sleep inside them too. During Sukkot, it is also customary to buy a citron, a palm frond, some myrtle, and willow branches and shake them together in a prescribed manner. The tent symbolizes how Jews are willing to leave their comfortable homes and place their faith in the sustenance of G-d alone, while the shaken salad represents the bringing together of all different types of peoples. Each custom of this holiday is dripping with meaning, and Sukkot comes with many mystical practices and traditions which are carried out with care and joy.

But why the kreplach?! As with most things in Judaism, the answer depends on who you ask.

One reason is a particularly kabbalistic reason. In Kabbalah, it is often believed that the food we eat has a direct impact on our mindset. Instead of the idiom “you are what you eat,” Kabbalah subscribes to the more prophetic “you will be what you eat”. As such, we must eat food which manifests our desired outcomes at appropriate points in the year. On Hoshana Raba, the final day of Sukkot, our fate for the next year is said to be sealed and closed by G-d. Sukkot is part of a triad of festivals known by the terror-evoking name “the Days of Judgement”, and kreplach represent the type of judgement that we would like to receive: full of meat and onions.

In all seriousness, according to Jewish mystical tradition, meat is a food which is said to evoke G-d’s might and power. As a food source, it gives life by energizing us, but it also takes away life (namely the life of poor Curly the Cow), thus meat represents this strong and powerful hand of G-d. Bread, on the other hand, is the most innocent of foods, so long as you don’t have a particular affinity with the plight of wheat. Bread sustains life even in the most desperate of situations, and was a lifeline for the biblical Jews in the desert, hence it represents G-d’s kind and forgiving nature.

The first known instance of “creplech” in an American recipe book, 1901 (p. 70/108), *The Settlement Cook Book*, compiled by Mrs. Simon Kander, assisted by Mrs. Nathan Hamburger, Mrs. Henry Schoenfeld, Mrs. I. D. Adler, Settlement Cook Book Company, Milwaukee, the National Library of Israel

Taking these ideas together, we eat kreplach on Sukkot to symbolize that G-d’s harsh judgements of us (the meat) should be shrouded in His kindness (the dough). We wish for G-d’s mercy to cover His might and therefore judge us favorably. Moreover, we eat the kreplach in the hope that when we go before G-d’s judgement, He overlooks our most human trait of containing both good and bad like the meat, and sees only our purity and goodness, as characterized by the bread. In fact, a special prayer is even added on Sukkot to ask that G-d’s mercy should overcome His wrath and that He should see our purity, not our tainted personalities.

Children eating kreplach with chicken soup, 1990, Photographer: Danny Lev, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

There is, however, another deep idea about kreplach, because even dumplings have meaning in Judaism. Kreplach look like little buns, and it’s only when they are bitten into by an unsuspecting bread-seeker that the hidden meat is revealed. Kreplach are secretive little foods, which makes them apt to eat on what is sometimes called the “hidden holiday” of Hoshana Rabbah, the final day of Sukkot.

Jewish children at camp eating in the *sukkah*, 1969, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

The last day of Sukkot, Hoshana Rabbah, is a bit of a mystery. The day’s meaning is not stated in the Torah, and its practices which range from the slightly abnormal (the congregation paving seven circles around the synagogue while chanting and singing) to the outright bizarre (headless shadows and the bashing of willow branches against the ground until the synagogue looks more like a jungle than a place of prayer) are not explained at all in the Torah. If Hoshana Rabbah isn’t a big enough enigma already, it is certainly made more so by the fact that it’s official culinary sponsor is kreplach.

Triangular kreplach, Slovenčina: Gazdovské pirohy, Peter Zelizňák, Wikimedia Commons

Some attribute kreplach’s significance at Sukkot to their shape. Kreplach are usually formed into three-sided parcels, which are said to represent the three pilgrimage festivals of Sukkot, Pesach and Shavuot. I can already hear you asking “but then why do we only eat them on only one of these pilgrimage festivals if they’re meant to represent all three?” The reason is mainly a practical one. On Passover, when any leavened bread will get you hastily kicked out of the kosher kitchen, it is not the time for a dough-based appetizer. And Shavuot, the other of the three pilgrimage festivals, is a holiday that marks the very start of the wheat harvest. Back in the day, it was fairly difficult to prepare kreplach when your main ingredient was still in the ground! So, of all the three festivals, Sukkot, which marks the end of the wheat harvest, was the only one on which it was both practical and appropriate to make wheat-based foods. After all, wheat is now in abundance! Thus, Jews make the food of the three pilgrimage festivals on this date.

All that being said, many dispute that we eat kreplach due to any of these mystical or traditional reasons. Of course, these meanings add significance to the practice, but they simply may not lend the food it’s true origin story. So, if it’s not due to the holiness of the dumpling, why do we spend so many hours folding the parcels and ruining our chicken soup?

Kreplach marketed by Osem as meat-filled ravioli, Otto Wallish, Eri Wallish Collection, the National Library of Israel

Well, one reason is that in the Middle Ages, dumplings were an especially popular food all over Eastern Europe. In Polish they’re called pierogi, in Ukrainian they’re called Varenyky, and in Russian they’re called Pelmeni. In many Eastern European cultures, these dumplings were eaten as a festive food on holidays such as Christmas. In fact the very word pierogi, used in much of medieval Europe, comes from the word “pir” which is proto-Slavic for “festivity”.

Because it was common practice to eat dumplings on holy days, the local Jews did it too! The Ashkenazim simply called them kreplach, from the Yiddish words krepp (rounded dough) and lach (little). It was not due to some esoteric teaching that the Jews ate these dumplings, but simply because common practice at the time was to eat dumplings at festivities.

In a time when meat was a rarity and much more prized than today, families would have to make meat stretch to many hungry mouths during big festive meals. And portioning it out into dough parcels was a great way of doing that! Never was this truer than at Sukkot! After a full season of High Holidays, the Jews of old, much like the Jews of today, looked at their wallets with despair. In lieu of buying new ingredients, they had to use what was left over from the previous Tishrei festive meals. Namely, challah dough and scraps of meat. And what can you make with challah dough and scraps of meat? Yes, that’s right! Kreplach!

Men eating kreplach in the *sukkah*, Photographer: Lev Utevzkiy in the court yard of the Leningrad synagogue, 1988, the Leonid Nevzlin Center for Russian and East European Jewry, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Institute of Jewish Studies St. Petersburg, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Even the custom of boiling them in the chicken soup rather than cooking them in oil was a novel way to save money on cooking supplies. So the tradition caught on – Jews would take wheat, which was abundant at this point in the agricultural year, and grind up the last of their leftover meat, and stick it in their bubbling pots.

This is not to say that kreplach have no meaning. Firstly, the great Rabbis teach that “minhag Yisrael Torah hi” – which means that tradition and custom are no less the word of Torah than biblical laws are. Further, significance is brought to traditional Jewish foods from the fact that our culture has been making kreplach for centuries – this in and of itself is a lineage to pass down. As with most things in life, it’s the thought that counts. If you eat the kreplach with the ideas of compassionate judgement in your mind, or commemorate the hidden nature of the festival through this food, who can tell you that you’re wrong? Meaning is man-made, after all!

The first known written mention of “creplich” outside of Eastern Europe, London, 1892, *Children of the Ghetto A Study of a Peculiar People*, Israel Zangwill p. 116/61, Detroit, Wayne State University Press, the National Library of Israel

Now I’m all grown up and no longer living with my mother, or her huge cooking pots. In fact, with my own daughter on the way, I must decide which Jewish traditions I wish to pass down to her like my mother before me. I had always thought that maybe I would spare her the cabbage-rich stench of the kreplach tradition, but after all this contemplation, I don’t think I will!

Singing to Napoleon’s Tune on Yom Kippur

As Yom Kippur draws to a close, a nostalgic tune is sung in Ashkenazi synagogues around the world. While many Jews recognize this tune, most do not know that it was actually composed for Napoleon Bonaparte himself. So how did a Napoleonic marching tune make its way into our neilah prayer service?

Mia Amran | 20.09.23

Napoleon aiding the Jewish people, William L.Gross, 1806, the National Library of Israel

You’re standing there with your mahzor close to your chest, constantly checking your watch – time doesn’t seem to be moving forwards. Your stomach is continuously grumbling and your mouth is dry. The room feels cold and you look around at the somber faces in the rows of seats surrounding you. Your fingers count the pages of the mahzor in your hands, and you try to figure out how many prayers you still need to get through. Then, the cantor opens his mouth and a tune fills your ears that shakes you to your very core. This is a tune that you’ve been hearing since you were a little child, hanging onto the strings of your father’s tallit. It evokes memories of your childhood synagogue, that particular smell of the final hours of Yom Kippur, the bitter-sweet prayers so filled with longing and tears. And suddenly time starts passing again, perhaps even too fast, as you immerse yourself in the emotional neilah service.

Neilah prayer service, 1987, the National Library of Israel

Yom Kippur Mahzor containing neilah, 1350, Italy, Ktiv Project, the National Library of Israel

Neilah is the last prayer service of Yom Kippur, the holiest day in the Jewish year. The word neilah means “locking” in Hebrew. Coming in at hour 23 of the 25 hour-long fast day, this set of prayers is the last time to repent, ask for forgiveness for your sins from the previous year, and make requests for the upcoming year. Known also as the Day of Atonement, Yom Kippur is traditionally seen as a serious day, full of rituals and prayer, on which we are judged by G-d, but in fact it is more than that: it is a chance to start afresh and a day on which, in Jewish belief, one can be incredibly close to G-d. It is also a day full of rules: no eating, drinking, wearing leather or gold, bathing, or touching the opposite sex. For many, it is a day in which the majority of the time is spent in synagogue, and some even take an oath of silence to honor the holiness of the day.

By the time neilah comes around, most people are hungry, thirsty, and emotional. There’s a mixed feeling in the room of wanting the day to be over so that everyone can return to normal tasks, but also of hanging onto the coattails of this holy time and desperately using each moment to atone before the heavenly book of judgement is sealed for the year. This is why it is such an evocative service for so many people, and why the tunes are filled with a significance reserved only for this service.

One of these tunes is well-known by most Ashkenazim, especially those whose ancestors hail from the Soviet Union. It is the tune that is heard in the Youtube video at the start of this article. In Chabad synagogues, the tune is not accompanied by words, and instead is chanted as a stand-alone melody at the end of the service. In other Ashkenazi synagogues, the melody is usually attached to one of the many piyutim of the service. It’s an iconic, upbeat, tune which really stands alone amongst the generally mournful melodies of the festival. This is because it was never written for the Yom Kippur service, it wasn’t written by a rabbi or scholar, indeed it wasn’t intended for prayer at all!

*Yom Kippur* by Jacob Weinles, Publisher: Levanon, Warsaw, the Folklore Research Center, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, the National Library of Israel Digital Collection

Napoleon Bonaparte had dreams of world domination and would stop at nothing to fulfil this quest. He was an astute and brilliant military commander who did succeed in colonializing many countries, expanding the French empire by magnitudes. He was known for his ability to motivate his troops by filling them with high spirits and confidence before going into war. One way that he raised group morale was by singing. He believed that if the troops sang upbeat and patriotic marching tunes as they rode into their next conquest, they would be more impassioned to fight for their country.

So it was, in 1812, that Napoleon was leading his army on horseback towards Russia. This would be one of his most ambitious campaigns, and little did Napoleon know that it would also be one of his worst defeats. We can assume that his soldiers were at least a little apprehensive, and Napoleon decided to use his tried and tested method for calming their nerves: singing. The tune he chose was an unknown battle march, written specifically for Napoleon and his conquests, and within a short time, his army was belting out this unnamed song with vigor.

At the same time, the Jewish people were playing out their own story across Europe. Mainly living in small villages and shtetls, Jewish life in the early 1800s could be incredibly difficult. Discriminatory laws and overt antisemitism plagued many of their communities, and common legislation entrenched prejudice against them. However, Napoleon was generally seen as a friend to the Jews. As he conquered different territories, local Jews were placed under the French Declaration of the Rights of Man, which were a liberating set of laws that amongst other things, promoted religious freedom. As well as endorsing the right to practice Judaism openly, these laws would also allow Jews to work in many various fields rather than the few that they had previously been limited to – they would be able to trade, open legal firms and even become doctors under this new set of regulations! In addition, crippling taxes which were typically levied on Jewish people were abolished, greatly improving their economic status. Finally, Napoleon sought to outlaw Jewish ghettos and allow Jews to live in freedom amongst their fellow countrymen. In effect, Napoleon was promoting equal rights for Jews, and generally providing them a better life.

Napoleon aiding the Jewish people, William L.Gross, 1806, the National Library of Israel

Because of this, the Jews would often aid Napoleon in his conquests, housing and feeding troops, acting as messengers or guides for his incoming armies, and helping out where they could. But the Alter Rebbe had other plans. Rabbi Scheur Zalman of Liadi, more commonly known as the Alter Rebbe, was the founder of the Chabad movement and wrote some of the most significant Jewish books of his time, including the Tanya and an updated version of the Shulchan Aruch. He was widely praised as one of the most important and respected rabbis of his era, and was often known as simply “The Rav” or “Rebbe” due to his preeminence. To put it in a nutshell, he was a man that people listened to.

On this occasion, he was also a man who sought to impact the political tide of Europe. The Alter Rebbe claimed that on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, as he was praying the Musaf prayers in the morning, G-d came to him to let him know that Napoleon wasn’t going to win this war against Russia. Whether or not this divine intervention actually took place, it is possible that the Rebbe was simply politically attuned and understood that the Russian army and terrain were a formidable match for Napoleon’s troops. Either way, he knew that the fate of the Jews was hanging in the balance, and if they ended up supporting the winning side, their lives would be far easier in the future.

The Alter Rebbe, ca. 1880-1910, Avraham Schwadron Portrait Collection, the National Library of Israel

The Alter Rebbe predicted that Alexander I, the Czar of Russia, would win this war, and if the Jewish community backed him up and helped hasten his victory, the Czar would remember their loyalty and treat them kindly in the future. He thought that as thanks, the Czar might lift some of the taxes imposed on the Jews, and rescind some of the rules entrenching the antisemitism of the region.

Thus, he instructed his large group of followers to support the Czar and be, as it were, on the right side of history, even as many other Jews continued to support Napoleon.

Against this backdrop, Napoleon’s army crossed the Prussian border, and the Alter Rebbe watched on as the troops marched confidently forward. They were still singing their morale-boosting song, and this uplifting tune stuck in the Rebbe’s head, becoming a core memory that he associated with the ensuing battle.

Jewish prayer written by Yisrael Gedaliah ben Moses Kazis for the military success of Napoleon and his armies, 1797, Valmadonna Trust, the National Library of Israel

Sorry to ruin the ending, but the Alter Rebbe was largely correct in his predictions. The Czar won the war, with Napoleon’s forces suffering irreplaceable losses at the Battle of Borodino, just two days before Yom Kippur. In thanks, the Czar made the Rebbe an Honorary Citizen for all Generations – a very high award – and when the Rebbe passed away, his son (who took over as the next Rebbe) was given some land by the Czar in Cherson to build new Jewish villages.

In the year of Napoleon’s great Russian defeat, Yom Kippur was a celebratory festival for the Altar Rebbe and his followers. As the Rebbe stepped up to recite the neilah service, he wanted to mark this victory, and manifest its continued blessings for the year ahead. He quickly called upon one of his disciples and asked the student to remind him of Napoleon’s marching tune, which had become, in his head, the tune associated with the victorious battle. As he once again heard the rousing melody, he began to sing it loud and clear before his congregation.

Handwritten document by a Bonapartist to ascertain the allegiance of the Jews in Paris, 1815, the National Library of Israel

Soon, all of his students and followers were joyously singing along, jumping up and down to the victory march, completely rejuvenating the somber service of Yom Kippur, and forgetting all about breaking their fast. It was a moment to behold, and took root in the hearts and minds of all the people in attendance. The next year, the tune was incorporated into even more neilah services across the country, and in the years that followed, communities all across Eastern Europe began rejoicing in Napoleon’s marching tune during the closing moments of their neilah services.

Today, this well-known tune is ultimately thought of as a victory song, marking the belief that G-d looks over the Jewish people and will protect us both in times of war and peace. We sing this melody in the hope that our prayers have been heard and accepted, and that G-d is writing our names in the book of good life – we have been victorious.

Cantor leading neilah prayers, 2014, photographer: Dancho Arnon, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Once again, let me bring you back to the smell of polished wood and old books as we stand in the synagogue finishing up the neilah service. It has been a long day and you’re emotionally and physically tired. But as you turn the next page, your ears perk up as the congregation collectively breaks out into this joyous victory song and within seconds you know that your atonement has surely been accepted, that G-d is with you, and that all will be okay. The shofar is blown and a cheer breaks out as everyone lets out a sigh that they’ve been holding in for 25 hours. You take a moment to rejoice in the song “Next Year in Jerusalem” and you bask in the beauty of this long and historic religion.

Flogging as Atonement? An Often-Overlooked Yom Kippur Custom

How a little-known Yom Kippur ritual became a weapon in the hands of antisemites

Chen Malul | 19.09.23

Antisemitism Jewish Culture Yom Kippur סודות כתבי היד העבריים

“Malkot” – Flogging on the eve of Yom Kippur. Rosh Hashanah postcard published by the “Yehudiyah” publishing house in Warsaw, 1912-1918

It’s a ritual that catches a lot of people by surprise.

Many of those we told of the custom of flogging synagogue congregants on Yom Kippur, to the extent they’d even heard of it, immediately connected the practice to the Muslim day of Ashura. Ashura is marked every year on the tenth day of the Muslim month of Muharram, marking the day in 680 CE when Hussein Ibn Ali fell at the battle of Karbala in Iraq, fighting to gain control of the Muslim Caliphate. This was the turning point of the new religion established by Hussein’s grandfather, the prophet Mohammad, which subsequently split into Sunni and Shi’ite factions. In our modern era, Ashura is marked by millions of Shi’ite Muslims around the world, and one of the day’s most prominent customs is self-flagellation.

One could easily err in thinking that the custom of flogging on Yom Kippur originated with Eastern or Mizrachi Jews, and that this custom was influenced by Shi’ite Muslims. And indeed, many of the leather whips used for this purpose, which can be seen today in Israeli museums, originate in the East.

Whip from Afghanistan – Center for Jewish Art, the Hebrew University

But as we already hinted, this would be a mistake. One of the first mentions of the custom of flogging on the eve of Yom Kippur is found in Medieval Ashkenaz or Europe – beginning with the prayer book or siddur of Rashi, and later on in the collected religious rulings of the Rosh (Rabbenu Asher Ben Yechiel) on the Babylonian Tractate of Yoma (14^th century). This important Rabbi and religious jurist wrote of the Yom Kippur customs in Ashkenaz: “And it was customary in Ashkenaz that after the [afternoon] Minchah prayer [before Yom Kippur], [congregants] are flogged in the synagogue” (ch. 8, siman 25).

So how does it work?

On the face of it, this would seem a purely Jewish custom, a remnant of a biblical form of punishment. It went like this: On the eve of Yom Kippur, the synagogue shamash (beadle) or one of the community rabbis would flog congregants 39 times on their back with a leather whip.

Yom Kippur flogging ceremony at a synagogue in Bukhara, Uzbekistan. Photo: Ze Redwan, 2000. Center for Jewish Art, Hebrew University

Deuteronomy 25:2 states that “then it shall be, if the wicked man deserve to be beaten, that the judge shall cause him to lie down, and to be beaten before his face, according to the measure of his wickedness, by number.” And the number of floggings? 39. Precisely the number that is still in use today, among those who partake.

Some of the communities which observed this custom followed the description which appears in the Mishnah (Makkot 3.12-13), some continue to observe it to this day:

How do they flog him? He ties the two hands of the person being flogged on this side and that side of a post, and the attendant of the congregation takes hold of his garments to remove them. If they were ripped in the process, they were ripped, and if they were unraveled, they were unraveled, and he continues until he bares his chest. And the stone upon which the attendant stands when flogging is situated behind the person being flogged. The attendant of the congregation stands on it with a strap in his hand. It is a strap of calf hide, and is doubled, one into two, and two into four, and two straps of donkey hide go up and down the doubled strap of calf hide.

…

And the attendant flogs him with one-third of the lashes from the front of him, on his chest, and two one-third portions from behind him, on his back. And he does not flog him when the one receiving lashes is standing, nor when he is sitting; rather, he flogs him when he is hunched, as it is stated: “that the judge shall cause him to lie down and to be beaten” (Deuteronomy 25:2), which indicates that the one receiving lashes must be in a position that approximates lying down. And the attendant flogging the one receiving lashes flogs [makeh] him with one hand with all his strength.

“But despite the similarity to the Mishnah,” writes Professor Shalom Tzabar in his article on illustrated Jewish rituals in the Diaspora from the early 20^th century, “this is not a custom from the time of the Bible or the Talmud, and the description in the Mishnah is unrelated to Yom Kippur, as it refers to the physical punishment imposed on one who intentionally violates a Torah prohibition.”

So it seems that in the diaspora, in an era when there were no longer Jewish courts or Batei Din with the authority to impose flogging, this biblical punishment for violating negative commandments was transformed into a symbolic (though still somewhat painful) custom in which the congregant atones for his actions. So why have most of us never heard of it?

The custom of flogging, unlike another Yom Kippur custom – Kapparot (the swinging of a chicken or money above the head as an act of atonement) – did not take root in every community. Today, the custom is primarily observed in some Hasidic sects and among some Mizrahi Jews. We can only speculate why this is, but the answer may lie in how the custom was portrayed outside the Jewish community in the diaspora.

There are hardly any illustrations of the custom of flogging on Yom Kippur in Jewish manuscripts. But they are common in another genre: books describing Jewish customs written by Jewish apostates, religious converts to Christianity, which were intended for Christian audiences.

Second edition of Paul Christian Kirchner’s *Jüdisches Ceremoniel* (“Jewish Customs”, German). This edition includes engravings by artist Johann Georg Puschner

We don’t know much about the life of Paul Christian Kirchner. His Jewish name was Mordechai Gumprecht ben Shlomo, and he was originally from the city of Frankfurt. He was an enthusiastic supporter of Shabbtai Zvi, and after the Muslim conversion of this false messiah, the Rabbi from Frankfurt abandoned his Judaism for good, converting to Christianity on November 6, 1713. After becoming a Christian, he barely eked out a living teaching Hebrew, until he was offered to publicize the story of his conversion so that other Jews would follow. The idea appealed to Kirchner, and in 1717, he published his book Jüdisches Ceremoniel, or “Jewish Ceremonies,” in the city of Erfurt.

Throughout his book, Kirchner the apostate Rabbi provides his Christian readers with a great deal of material, an extended peek into all the central Jewish rituals and holidays. Although most of the information in the book is accurate, Kirchner often exaggerated his description of Jewish customs in a way that would flatter his Christian readers and mock the prejudices and superstitions of his former brethren.

Yom Kippur, for instance, is correctly presented as a central holiday in Judaism, focused on repentance and atonement for the sins of the past year. But what Kirchner chooses to emphasize is the ritual of physical atonement. He presents the ceremony literally: in order to atone for his sins, the Jew must lie on his belly like an animal and receive a series of purifying blows. Thus, a custom which is primarily symbolic becomes (in the hands of an auto-antisemite and apostate) a perfect example of how the Jews refuse to accept the Christian gospel in order to preserve their degrading and absurd customs.

Yom Kippur customs, including flogging on the eve of Yom Kippur

Kirchner was not the only or even the first apostate Jew to use the custom of flogging on Yom Kippur to mock Jews. He was preceded by Friederich Albert Christiani (born Baruch), who in 1700 published his book Der Juden Glaube und Aberglaube or “Jewish Beliefs and Superstitions,” which included an illustration of the flogging custom. It’s interesting that it also includes a description of Kapparot – a custom which a number of important Rabbis also opposed.

*Kapparot* (top) and flogging (bottom) rituals on the eve of Yom Kippur. Bronze engraving in F. A. Christiani, Der Juden Glaube und Aberglaube, Leipzig, 1705, pl. VII. Source: JTS Library, New York

More than a century before these two apostates, the book Der Gantze Jüdisch Glaub or “The Whole Jewish Faith” was published in 1530. The book was the work of Antonius Margarita, an apostate born into a well-known rabbinical family – his father was Shmuel Margaliyot, the Rabbi of Regensburg. In his book, Margarita claimed to reveal the lie on which the Jewish religion was based, while warning innocent Christians from maintaining any contact with their Jewish neighbors. He also used the flogging custom on Yom Kippur as a way of bashing the people he abandoned. The illustration added to his book manages to mock the flogging custom even further – this time, the faithful are whipped on their exposed behinds.

*Der Ganz Jüdisch Glaub* by Antonius Margaritha, 1530. Bill Gross Collection, Center for Jewish Art, Hebrew University

We obviously can’t stop here, ending with these exaggerated and grotesque images. In the aforementioned article by Professor Tzabar, we found a number of Jewish visual images of the flogging custom. These are postcards which came out during the golden age of illustrated postcards – the early twentieth century – produced in Poland by Jews and for Jews. And indeed, they more authentically represent this unique ritual as it was marked at the time.

“*Malkot*” – Flogging on the eve of Yom Kippur. Rosh Hashanah postcard published by Yehudiyah in Warsaw, 1912-1918

Let us end with a thorough description of the ritual in Eastern Europe, quoted by Tzabar in his article. The quote is taken from the writings of Zionist leader Shmaryahu Levin (1867-1935), born in the town of Svislach, Belarus, who recalled experiences from his childhood:

After the Minchah prayer that day [the eve of Yom Kippur] […] I saw with my own eyes, how elderly Jews prostrated themselves on the floor of the Beit Midrash and Elazar the Psalms-sayer or, as he was called publicly for his craft, Elazar the bathhouse attendant, stood over them with a strap and whipped them without mercy. Of course I knew, that this whipping was the flogging, but memories of the cheder [a religious school for children] unconsciously arose in my heart. And the whippings came in perfect order: one below, on the section of the body that was prepared for the worst, and which was the common target of the rabbi and his strap in the cheder, and two above, on the back. And so he would repeat and count: one, one and one, one and two – sometimes fifteen times. And my confusion grew sevenfold, in seeing how the whipped person would get up and throw a few bronze coins into the bowl, which Elazar the bathhouse attendant would serve. It is indeed a wonder and will be a wonder: They are whipped and pay the fee for whipping!

Further Reading

שלום צבר, בין פולין לגרמניה: טקסים יהודיים בגלויות מאוירות מראשית המאה העשרים, מחקרי ירושלים בפולקלור יהודי (כרך כז), הוצאת מאגנס, 2011