Staying Jewish After the Holocaust

I’m not sure how the prisoners knew, but Yom Kippur in 1944 arrived on Sept. 27 at sunset. Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, is the holiest day on the Jewish calendar. It’s the day we ask God to forgive us for all of our sins. So on Sept. 28, when the prisoners in my brother Shuli’s barracks were called to line up in front of their building, someone whispered, “It’s Yom Kippur. Let’s sing. Whoever can sing, go ahead.” Shuli, who always had a beautiful voice, took up the offer. The Nazis did not appreciate either his voice or his bravery. They considered the spectacle of Jews praying in a death camp to be too provocative, and so they attacked the poor prisoners, beating and kicking them furiously. In the ensuing chaos and panic, Shuli escaped to one of the other barracks in the camp and hid under somebody’s bunk. The bunk was so small that Shuli was barely able to squeeze himself underneath it. He spent two days there, hiding until he felt it might be safe to come out and return to his own barracks. By then, his place had been taken by another prisoner, so he had to find a new bunk for himself. Once again, my brother barely cheated death.