A beautiful memory of Shabbos in the camps shared by Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis. The light and kedusha of Shabbos can be felt anywhere, even in the otherwise darkest of times.
Each day in Bergen- Belsen, when we were given our ration of stale bread, my father would hide a small piece with great sacrifice. My mother would collect these dry morsels and as Shabbos would approach, my father would gather us gently. “Close your eyes, my precious little ones, close your eyes and make believe that you are home. Mama has just baked fresh challahs. The table is covered with a snowy white cloth. The candlesticks are glistening. There are angels all around us, the angels of Shabbos.” Then, slowly, my father would hum the sweet melody of Shalom Aleichem, welcome you angels of Shabbos. One Friday night, my little brother tugged at my father’s sleeve. “Tatte,” he cried, “Where are the angels. I do not see the angels?” Tears rolled down my father’s cheeks as he replied, ‘You, my precious children are the angels of Shabbos.” My feet were covered with sores, my head with lice, I was faint with hunger and freezing cold. But as my father spoke, we stood more erect, our heads held higher. God had bequeathed us a precious gift which enabled us to soar upward. We became the angels of Shabbos.
From Rebbetzin Esther Jungereis
Submitted by Debbie Stone