Yom Kippur Disguise

It was during the last manhunt conducted against the Jewish fugitives who were still hiding out. In my region, in Eastern Galicia, the few Jews who had escaped deportation were getting caught. The number of survivors had dwindled, yet the murderers’ lust for blood kept growing. They searched everywhere for hidden Jews. The deathtrap was spread everywhere. High ransoms were offered for every Jew caught alive, and many local peasants joined in the hunt. If there was still a chance to hide from the Germans, it had become almost impossible to escape the insidious look of the peasants who knew everyone in their neighborhood and who did not leave a single stone unturned.

 

When I realized that I was the only Jew left in the entire region, I decided to walk right into the lion’s den. It occurred to me that the safest place to hide was at the home of the village priest, who was at the head of all the hoodlums and murderers. I disguised myself as an old peasant, a wayfarer who walked with a limp, and I hired myself out as a day laborer at the priest’s house. What helped me in lending credence to my new role was my full-grown beard, streaked with grey. From time to time the Nazi pursuers searched the entire neighborhood, but it never occurred to them to search the house of their accomplice, the priest.

 

And even the people who worked for the priest never suspected me. One time the priest’s elderly maid said with a sigh, "Ah, my old man, you are a little different from all the rest of those poor peasants, you never swear the way they do. You never curse the way they do. It’s strange…" After that, I began to force myself to swear and curse like the rest of them.

 

One time the regional head of the Gestapo came to the priest’s house. I was cleaning the priest’s room when that murderer walked in. I knew his face from the ghetto, and I began to shake. I shook for only a moment. I knew that any suspicious move might reveal my true identity, and I stood like a dummy with the broom in my hand.

 

"Father," the Nazi said to the priest as he came in, I came to enlist your help in an urgent matter. Tomorrow is the Day of Atonement for Jews. I must find myself a living Jew in honor of the occasion. Last year and the year before I had Jewish men, women, children, and even rabbis at my disposal, but this year, not even one living Jew…"

 

I listened to his words and I noted that his eyes turned toward me, either intentionally or by chance. At that moment I started laughing, loudly and stupidly – and that laughter removed all suspicion from me.

 

When I heard that the next day was Yom Kippur I made a vow to fast, come what may. I took my food ration to the stable where I had my bed, gave my food to the horses, and hummed the Kol Nidrei chant to myself. There was a great deal of work at the field in the morning. They were gathering potatoes, and I was sent out to help. Several workers sat around me and chewed their bread. Since I could not afford to arouse the smallest suspicion, I did what the angels did at the house of our patriarch Abraham: I pretended to swallow the bread, while in reality I slipped the slices into my sleeve.

 

Lunch made things even more difficult. Each worker was served a bowl of stew daily, and the last thing I would dare do was refuse it. I suddenly had an idea. Before lunch was served, I went to the other end of the field to work, and when the food distributor called my name, I pretended I did not hear him — I was too absorbed in my work. Suddenly the workers began to call out from all sides, "Hey, old man, you missed your lunch. Your food is cold!"

 

I came back and looked into the pot and I let out a bitter cry, "You expect me to eat this cold garbage? I won’t eat it! I am going to tell the father about this! You shameless people, taking a poor old man’s food away from him!" Of course I peppered my words with a few sharp expletives which I do not care to repeat.

 

I didn’t touch the stew. I returned to my work with great gusto, cursing and swearing and working till sundown. As soon as I finished my work I hurried back to the priest and presented my complaint. I finally let myself be calmed down and agreed to receive a double portion for supper. This is how I successfully completed my Yom Kippur fast, under the protection of the priest…

 

 

(Reproduced from "Sparks of Glory," and brought in the book "Yom Kippur," by Moshe Prager with permission of the copyright holders, ArtScroll/Mesorah Publications, Ltd.

http://www.artscroll.com)