18 Mar THE UNCRUSHABLE MATZA

Purim is behind us. What’s left of the
shalach manos goodies are packed away.
The costumes are in storage bins, and now
we are getting ready to make Pesach.
“Shloshim yom lifnei ha’chag, thirty days
before the yom tov of Pesach…” Shulchan
Aruch teaches that a month before Pesach,
we should be studying and reviewing the
intricate laws and customs of Pesach.
Purim falls on the 14th day of Adar, Pesach
exactly a month later on the 14th of Nisan.
Pesach is special. With no other yom tov is
this preparatory period mandated by chazal.
Pesach is in the air. It’s our time to get
ready. Thirty days of preparation. To get
the house ready, to do all our yom tov
shopping, to make plans for the seder.
In our family, one of the first preparations
is my husband going to bake matza. Year
after year, he has the same time slot, a few
weeks before Pesach. The same time slot
that has been in his family for generations.
It was his grandfather’s, going back almost
100 years, his father’s, and now his. As a

young boy, he stood alongside his father
and baked. The years passed, and then it
was our children’s time to accompany him.
Today, Boruch HaShem, it is our
grandchildren who go along. At times, I
join also and have nachas watching the
little ones opening their eyes in wonder, as
they watch the process. From kneading the
flour, to rolling the dough, and then into the
fiery coal-burning brick oven. They ooh
and ahh each time they see the flames shoot
up.
The strength of our people. Time-honored
and loved traditions from generation to
generation. We are a people who cherish
the children. A nation that realizes that our
children are our future. So much about
Pesach includes the children. What a
privilege it is for them to be part of it.
Bergen-Belsen, a few weeks before Pesach.
The Bluzhever Rebbe, Rabbi Yisroel Spira
zt”l (1889-1989), courageously approached
the Nazi camp commander. His heart filled
with emuna and bitachon, he daringly
asked if there was a way he could possibly
bake matza. A request only the Rebbe could

be so bold to make.
A miracle. A dream come true.
The commander gave his okay.
With one caveat. Whoever
wanted to participate in the
matza baking would have to
submit their name on a piece of
paper. To many, it seemed like
signing a death sentence. Only
the Rebbe and a small handful
fearlessly volunteered their
names.
Could it be… was it actually
going to happen. Matza in
Bergen-Belsen?
They received a very small sack of flour
and were able to put together a makeshift
oven. The Rebbe and the small group got to
work. They succeeded in baking a few
pieces of crude matza. What a feeling of
inner happiness permeated every fiber of
their being. Even in the darkest of the dark
in Bergen-Belsen, there would be Pesach.
But their joy was short-lived. The
commander had his own plan. He was not
so kind after all. The commander stormed
in, turned over the oven, threw the matzos
onto the ground, and with his shiny black
boots and evil laugh, he stomped on them
turning the matzos into a pile of crumbs.
The chassidim would not be deterred.
They lovingly gathered whatever few
broken pieces survived the commander’s
sadistic actions and gave them to the
Rebbe to be kept for seder night. After all,
who, if not the Rebbe, would be worthy of
eating matza on Pesach.
Seder night. The Rebbe knew the
Haggadah by heart. He led his followers
in conducting the seder. The power of the
Jewish nation. Even in Bergen-Belsen,
under the threat of death, they gathered
together and sang the age-old, beloved
songs of the Haggadah. The Nazis
couldn’t destroy their faith.
I can only imagine the tears shed at that
seder. The words of the Haggadah came
alive in Bergen-Belsen. “Ha lachma anya,
This is the poor man’s bread….” Their
tears turned into tears of hope. “Hashata
avdei, Now we are slaves, l’shana
ha’ba’ah bnei chorin, next year, we will
be free men.” (From the Pesach
Hagaddah)
Words of faith. “V’hi she’amda
la’avoseinu v’lonu, This is what stood by
our fathers and us….sheh’b’chol dor
vodor omdim oleinu l’chaloseinu, in
every generation and generation, there are

those who rise against us, to destroy us,
v’HaKodosh Boruch Hu matzileinu
miyadam, but HaShem saves us from their
hand.”
And then it was time to taste the matza. The
little pieces salvaged after the commander’s
despicable actions.
A young widow witnessed it all. With tears
in her eyes, she approached the Rebbe. “I
have a young son. Rebbe, I think the matza
should go to him.” All eyes turned to her,
waiting for an explanation. “Rebbe, we are
a nation that believes in a better tomorrow.
That our children are the future, that they
will carry on the traditions of the fathers.
Do we not say on seder night, ’v’heegadeta
l’vincha, and you shall tell it to your
children? I want my child to know that
even in the abyss of Bergen-Belsen, he ate
matza.”
The Rebbe directed that the little pieces of
broken matza be given to the young boy.
The Bluzhever Rebbe suffered much
during the war. He lost his wife, his family,
and most of his chassidim. Yet, he fought
despair and continued on. After the war, a
shidduch was suggested to the Rebbe. A
widow by the name of Branya. Branya
became the Bluzhever Rebbetzin. Years
later, the Rebbe was asked, after all the
pain he endured, how was he able to start
over again, and how did he know that
Branya would be the perfect rebbetzin.
The Rebbe shared that Branya was the
young widow who approached him,
making the heartfelt plea that her son be
given the matza. It was Branya who
believed in the future. She had the emuna
that Am Yisroel will survive and continue
on with strength. That we need our children
to “taste the mitzva”. To know what it
means to be a Jew, even in Bergen-Belsen.
B’chol dor vodor, in every generation and
generation. There will be those who rise up
against us. But we are here. Here to tell the
story, here to build a better tomorrow.