•

So I responded: "If you ask me
„J whether I believe in the existence of
miracles, then the answer is yes, since
I have experienced and was the recip-
D ient of a miracle. At the same time,
however, I do not accept the validity
of the great Hollywood-like events
like Jonah in the whale, or the part-
ing of the Red Sea. These are not
true miracles, they are nation-build-
ing myths."
•
My redefinition of the stories
which we call biblical miracles does
,__)not make me skeptical of the exis-
tence of events which we call mira-
cles. Rather, I seek to distinguish
between true miracles and myths.
Miracles are not the bombastic
• events which are depicted by
Charleton Heston. Miracles do not
• defy God's and nature's laws, such
as making the sun stand still as
Joshua is purported to have done in
\-11 Gibeon.
Rather, miracles come as quiet
responses to life-threatening condi-
tions — particularly when there is
little or no hope or rational expecta-
% tion for a positive solution to life-
threatening problems. Miracles are
part of the natural order of the uni-
verse. It is only that we at the present
stage of understanding are unable to
explain how it came about. They are
outside of our present scope of
understanding.
I am a survivor of the Holocaust.
• While this alone can be perceived as
a miracle, it is not the event that I
•
to share.
In 1944, a number of Jews from
Munkacs (Hungary) were sent from
Birekenau to the Warsaw ghetto.
After the Germans defeated the hero-
• ic ghetto uprising, they systematical-
ly dynamited all the houses in the
ghetto. They brought us to Warsaw
\- -to be a part of a project they called
C " Berlin aufbau." We were housed
in a camp built on Gensia Street,
and our job was to clean the bricks
of the destroyed Jewish homes and
ship them to Berlin to rebuild the
z city.
By the end of July 1944, the
Russians were nearing Warsaw. We
were gathered in the camp square
and were told that we would be
> taken out of Warsaw to another
camp. They informed us that because
the rails were busy, we would march
to a railroad station about 70 miles
\_ from the city to board the trains.
79 Moreover, in their concern for those
who could not march that distance,
they promised to provide trucks. All

one had to do was step out of the
line. .I tried to persuade my classmate
Friedman that you cannot trust the
Germans, but he and some others
stepped out. These people were
marched away and shortly we heard
the rat-tat-tat of machine guns. The
rest of us were sent back to the bar-
racks.
The next day about 1,500 of
us "schutheftlingen" were woken
early, given something to eat and
lined in companies to march to our
destination. It was already a hot
summer morning when we began our
journey. We soon were outside the

day before. Hastily, I took my metal
dish that we took along, bent down
and scooped some of the muddy
water, which I shared with my father
who walked next to me.
That evening, we arrived at the
shores of a river. A few of the
younger people broke ranks and ran
to the river, only to be shot for their
efforts. We were forced to stand at
the bank of the river to be counted.
Afterward, only when the comman-
dant was satisfied with the count and
deployed the SS to properly guard
us, we were allowed, a few at a time,
to enter the river and drink. We

Real].

A look at

the difference between

myth-making events and

the remarkable experiences

in our lives.

city and the sun in the Polish steppe
became hotter. Soon our bodies
became dehydrated, but no water
was available. Our legs felt like lead,
leading to constantly decreasing
speed.
The SS, who, with their sub-
machine guns (and of course with
canteens filled with water), were all
around us, making escape impossi-
ble. Using the butts of their guns on
our backs, they tried to make us go
faster, but to no avail. Some of our
people fell to the ground exhausted
and were left there, never to be seen
again. As we marched, I was in the
first group. I noticed some depres-
sions in the gravel road filled with
water, remnants of the rain of the

hardly had time to quench our thirst
before we were driven out of the
river. I cannot remember whether we
ate that night or not — all I could
think of was water.
In my mind, I was back at our
home, where all the water faucets
were open and water was gushing
everywhere. Sleep was impossible. I
instinctively knew that without any
additional water most of us would
not survive the next day's march. It
was hopeless. I thought of Moses
with his cane hitting the rock or of
the passage in the Torah which
describes how our ancestors dug
wells in the desert. Indeed, why can't
I? Why can't I dig a well? Of course I
had the tools for such an undertak-

ing. I had my spoon and metal dish.
I began to dig.
"What are you doing?" asked my
father.
"I am digging a well," I replied.
He didn't stop me. Was this a
foolish dream or a 19-year-old boy in
desperation, seeking a miracle? I kept
on digging. Soon I stripped away the
top layer of dirt to discover sand
underneath. To dig sand was much
easier. Soon the sand became darker
and moist. I could feel the water in
it. I kept on digging, and to my
amazement and joy, at the depth of
about 15 to 16 inches, water started
to seep into the cavity. I filled my tin
cup with the precious moisture and
not forgetting to recite shehakol I
gave my first cup of this precious liq-
uid to my father.
Soon, others saw what I did
and they too began to dig wells.
I heard heavy footsteps and the
sound of boots, and there was the
camp commandant. "Well, since you
found water you might as well have
it.
Of course, some people may
argue (and probably will) that find-
ing water was nothing but a series of
coincidences. After all, being at the
bank of a river with sandy soil will
increase the probability that there
may be water. But I submit to you
that in my view, this was but one of
the many miracles which occur daily
and which we take for granted.
To me, a miracle is an improbable
and unanticipated event which
maintains one's life in otherwise
hopeless and death-anticipated con-
ditions. And, indeed, this was the
condition which we faced in the
Polish steppes, and for this I am
dutifully bound to pronounce the
birchat hagomel, the prayer said after
having successfully passed through a
period of danger.

experienced
-rienced a III Ira-
Have J you ever e–,
1 ,
know
c e. Let us '41
rite to Editor P h i 'i J?-c°
8) 3

9/19
1997

91