Following is the story of how the famous tune for "Ani Ma’amin... Bevias HaMashiach..." was composed on the death train taking thousands of Jews to the death camp in Treblinka. This story was heard from the legendary Modzhitzer composer, Reb Bentzion Shenker, who read it in a poignant letter written by an eyewitness, the only survivor of that death train, to the Imrei Shaul of Modzhitz:
The plaza was empty. But the echoes of the screams, the cries and the sighs were still hanging in the air. On the floor, various items of clothing, shoes and other bits and pieces were scattered about. There was also a puddle of blood. All bore silent testimony to the horrors that had taken place there – people had lost count how many times– just a few minutes earlier...
A few Polish gentiles stood around the plaza, gazing with barely concealed glee at the thick trail of smoke left by the cargo train as it chugged off in the distance. Another train filled with Jews was leaving the Umschlagplatz – the plaza on the northern border of the Warsaw Ghetto, from which the ghetto’s Jews, Hy"d, were sent to the Treblinka death camp.
Behind the heavy doors of the train cars, there was only fear and dread. Masses of Jews, men, women and children, were crammed inside, without air or water. They knew that this moment was likely to come, but at the same time, it took them by surprise. Now they were panicked, helpless and struggling to digest the fact that they were being led like sheep to the slaughter.
The journey continued. The sun baked down from above, and the crowding was dreadful and unbearable. Even those who fainted remained upright, jammed as they were between those standing next to them. People did what they could to ease the suffering of others.
The Yidden were well aware of where they were being taken. They had seen and suffered so indescribably until then; now, they wailed and sobbed in desperation. But there were also those who prepared themselves to die a holy death, in the mabul of fire and brimstone that showered the Jewish people at that time and took the lives of six million Yidden.
Rav Ezriel Dovid Fastag, Hy"d, a well-known Modzhitzer chassid, a tremendous talmid chacham, and a gifted singer and composer, was in one of the cars with his family. He was just fifty-two years old. Reb Ezriel Dovid was known for his heartfelt tefillos. People would flock to Warsaw each year to hear him daven on the Yamim Noraim. A large hall was rented in the city to accommodate the crowds, and almost every year, the Jewish newspapers in Warsaw covered the story.
Reb Ezriel Dovid knew that he had only a few hours left. His soul was on fire, percolating with emunah. Suddenly, he began to sing songs of emunah, and a moving tune expressing his intense faith in the arrival of Mashiach seemed to burst forth from the depths of his neshamah.
Reb Ezriel Dovid was in a sublime world during those moments. Life in this world was worth nothing to him; today, more than ever, he felt with all his heart that everlasting life belonged to the Jewish people, and no one could take that away from them. His heart yearned to see the revelation of the Malchus Hashem with the arrival of Mashiach, as the Nevi’im promised.
Ani Ma’amim...! Ani Ma-a-m-i-n! B’emunah sheleimah! Bevias haMashiach ani ma’amin! Slowly, the words blended with the special tune. And when Reb Ezriel finished working out the tune, he sang it in a whisper once, and then again, a second time and a third.
Slowly, the song spread and people began singing it in that crowded trail car; it penetrated the thin wooden walls and spread to the second car, and then the third, and all the holy neshamos that were imprisoned in bodies that were crammed into the death train heading for Treblinka sang in unison. "V’af al pi sheyismameia, im kol zeh achakeh lo bechol yom sheyavo! Ani ma’amin!" It appeared that the whole world, all the trees and the stones, joined the fiery singing. And although the furnaces were so close, and the Geulah seemed so far, still, that emunah remained firmer, stronger than ever.
When he finished, Reb Ezriel Dovid stood up and in a trembling voice, turned to those in the car with a plea: My dear brothers! Please, if one of you merits to survive this inferno, I plead with you, please convey this holy niggun to my Rebbe, the Modzhitzer Rebbe who lives in New York."
One of the passengers on the train did survive. He was a young Jewish man who jumped from a window of the train, and after a series of travails, he was able to smuggle across the border to Switzerland. He remembered Reb Ezriel Dovid’s final request, and made sure that the notes of the song were put onto paper. He then wrote down the story of how it was composed and sent the letter to the Imrei Shaul in New York.
The letter arrived to the Rebbe in Nissan 5705. The Rebbe heard the story for the first time and was deeply moved. "When Reb Ezriel Dovid sang Ani Ma’amin on his final journey, the Upper Worlds were surely trembling," the Rebbe said, before retreating into silence.
On that day, the bris milah was being held for one of the Rebbe’s grandchildren. During the seudah, the Rebbe took out the letter and showed it to those in attendance. Then he turned to the Modzhitzer composer, Reb Bentzion Shenker, who was also at the bris, and gave him the notes and asked him to sing the song. The guests at the bris were enveloped with emotion as they heard the song, and joined in the singing. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room.
The niggun and its story slowly became more public, until in time, it became the symbol of Yiddishe emunah, emunah that never waned and never will, and will continue to support broken hearts until the arrival of the Geulah, may it be speedily in our day.
