At the ripe age of 70, Mrs. Eckstein invited her son Yisrael to join her on a vacation. To where? A visit to her hometown of Auschwitz! All her memories had remained with her for the past 55 years, and she hoped to unload the burden by going there.
At the young age of 15, she — and only she — was the sole survivor from her family. They had all perished while she managed to escape. When she fled, she went running back to her house, in the hope that she’d find some peace, but as soon as she arrived her neighbors threatened to report her to the officials if she’d stayed around there. Though it was her house, the officials were on the lookout for any Yidden, and if they would report her, that would be her end. She had to flee. No fun.
Now, she was homeless. She fled to distant relatives, sure that they would welcome her, but after a short while, they sent her off. They wouldn’t cater to someone who was still keeping the mitzvos. In the barracks, she had been very meticulous not to place a morsel of non-kosher food in her mouth. Over Pesach, even though her only means of surviving was the bread they served, she didn’t bend. That dedication irked them, and so they sent her off, all alone.
She had no choice other than to flee to Manchester. She was told that there was the only place for her to find stability. There, she would be able to live as a Yid without anti-Semitism and harassment. She made the arduous journey and was able to settle and build a family of her own, raising her children the way a Yid should.
55 years later, she wanted to return to Auschwitz to build a kever for her parents and siblings. Landing there, she vividly remembered all that transpired to her. When she got to where her family was murdered, she took out candles and lit them. That was the “matzeivah” she was establishing. There was no way for her to find out where they were buried — if they even had been buried. This was the least and most she could do for them.
After lighting the candles, she turned to her son and said that they now had to recite Kaddish.
“Kaddish?” he questioned, surprised at her demand.
“Yes. Upon putting up a matzeivah, one must say Kaddish.”
“We are in Auschwitz, Mommy. What Kaddish?! There are no Yidden around. And even if we find any, they definitely won’t want to partake. Other than self-hating Jews, there is no one here who would answer to my Kaddish. Not a chance.”
To their shock, even before finishing his sentence, nine men appeared out of nowhere. Yisrael was then able to say Kaddish, but reciting it took a bit longer than usual. Midway, he got choked up with hot tears. As they finished, a loud thump was heard. It was Mrs. Eckstein calling for everyone’s attention.
“This is my victory over Hitler,” she told everyone. “Hitler, look where you stand. What’s left of you? I, B”H, have a standing family all loyal to Hashem and His mitzvos. I even have a son like Yisrael; he is the greatest victory. The fight is over. You lost,” she announced with mixed emotion.
The nine men who’d shown up knew that this was an emotional moment for her, but they weren’t sure in what way her son Yisrael was the supreme invasion. He seemed like a fine Yid — a very fine one — but nothing struck them as being outstanding in any way. How was he the triumpher?
She then explained what had just happened with her son. He had hired a manager to assist in the building of his business. This manager was Jewish but not observant. From the very beginning, Yisrael stipulated that no transactions could take place on Shabbos. None. No two ways about it. He warned his new employee that any breach would be the end of his job.
One day, when Yisrael was reviewing some paperwork, he saw that one of the documents was signed off on Shabbos. The manager had broken the agreement. What should Yisrael do? To fire him wasn’t so easy. He was a dedicated worker, and to find such a replacement was no easy task. The first thing he did was consult da’as Torah, which would be able to guide him well and tell him how to proceed. He was instructed to tell the manager — clearly — that this was his final warning, and that another violation would be his immediate termination.
Yisrael invited his manager to eat out, and after ordering him a lavish meal and having a nice time together, he handed him an envelope. The manager opened it and almost fainted. Inside was a simple piece of paper with the word: FIRED.
“Fired?” the manager asked Yisrael. “Is this a joke? Why am I fired?”
Yisrael told him about the documents he saw that were signed on Shabbos, which breached their contract. The manager was embarrassed but caught. After some negotiations, he asked the manager how much of his salary he was willing to lose to keep his job. After thinking for a moment, he responded, “half.” His job was so good that even half his salary was worth it.
“Well,” Yisrael said, “I have news for you. I will not deduct a dime. Not one. But you must commit that no work — not even the smallest amount — be done on Shabbos. Not in front of my back, and not behind. And if you do, then you will be fired for real and will not get any commission.”
His manager agreed to the arrangement and was happy to keep his job.
Several months later, when Yisrael got the invoice for that investment, he called the manager into his office. He took out a bottle of schnapps and began to pour.
The manager was bewildered. What was his boss doing? Was this shot for a final layoff? Maybe it was just a coverup like this last time. But Yisrael confirmed that it was not.
“I’m not firing you. I’m just calling you to share the good news. The invoice from your Shabbos investment shows that we lost some ten thousand pounds. We didn’t gain any money earned over Shabbos, and I’m glad about that. I’d much rather lose than gain from Shabbos. I want you to join along in my simchah, so I’m inviting you for a l’chaim. Mazal tov!”
Mrs. Eckstein concluded that this was their revenge over Hitler. “Hitler, you thought that you would win over the Yidden. Today, I’m showing you the victory that my son had. That is my victory.
“I myself had many victories over you: I had to flee from my hometown because I was a Yid. I was expelled from my cousins because I was observant. And I stood strong. Now, I am here to tell you that the next generation is also victorious over you.
“But let me tell you,” she concluded, “that after witnessing that episode, the manager told the owner that from then on, he would keep to the mitzvos. When he saw the reaction that my son had to the sour investment, and the joy spread over his face, he saw that there was no way he could deliberately desecrate the sanctity of Shabbos. Some way or another, he would have to come up with the courage to observe Shabbos. That is the next victory. That’s why I am here. I am here to tell you that you lost. You thought you’d overpower us. But you’re wrong. We succeeded, and you did not. We will stand strong and proud — forever.”
