This story is unlike many of the stories below. It does not
have a long tradition of being passed from Rebbe to student,
father to son, generation to generation. This is something I
wrote myself before Shavuot, 5759 <1998> after watching the
film Schindlers List. I do not know that this particular event
happened, but I have heard stories that similar events took
place. This is how envision it happening.
On the Eve of Shavuot
The people were lined up along the tracks hundreds deep. The
box-cars groaned under the weight as the people shuffled aboard,
women and children here, as the men waited for the next train.
The grey and black clad guards hurriedly kept the lines moving,
as they had so many nights before. The scene all too familiar
to them by now. The sounds are all the same. The only difference
being the faces. But these became blurs to them in the monotany
of it all.
However this evening, something was different. A new sound
found the ears of the guards as they forced more and more people
onto the rail. Among the familiar sounds of anguish and sorrow
came a different sound: singing, praying. For this evening
Shavuot was coming and the chassidim were celebrating. For they
knew that Torah WAS given. And nothing, not even the horror of
what lay at the end of the rail, could deny that. And on they
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