It has been said that “moments come and go but memories last forever.”

In the annals of Jewish yore, the Pesach Seder stands as the ultimate chain linking generations throughout the millennia. Among my fondest childhood memories was sitting around the table deep into the night singing with our Holocaust-surviving grandparents and reveling in the miraculous details of our ancestors of yesteryear being rescued from Egypt.

As the calendar inches toward Nissan and vast Pesach preparations loom, do we continue to cherish the journey? Or does the passing of decades dim the mystique?

I was mesmerized by a remarkable account related by Rav Yaakov Galinski, which he heard directly from a great rav of the previous generation, Rav Yitzchak Shlomo Unger of Bnai Brak, as recorded in the “Be’Lavas Aish—Heart of The Fire” Haggadah, based on the shiurim of Rav Moshe Weinberger (a version of which also appears in the Reb Meilech Biderman Haggadah).

Roughly 30 years after the end of World War II, a Hungarian Jew approached Rav Unger with a startling quandary. The man explained: “I was sent to Auschwitz in the last year of the war, and I shared a sleeping plank with another Jew, a child of tzadikim. We became very close. One day, my bunkmate, who used to keep track of the Jewish dates, said, “‘In two days it will be Pesach. We have no shortage of maror, bitterness, here in the camp, but where are we going to obtain the proper measure of matzah?’”

“I set my mind to find a way to bake two measures of matzah, one for my bunkmate and one for me. I worked mightily, risking my life, until I was finally able to bake two matzos in the proper measure. I made my way back to the barracks, hiding the matzah in my clothes. A Nazi, taking note of my strange gate, ordered me to stop and put up my hands. As I did so, the matzos fell to the ground, breaking into many pieces. Seeing this, the Nazi became furious and beat me, almost to the point of death. Then something else caught his attention, and he ran off to attend to the matter.

“Beaten and broken, I picked up whatever crumbs of matzah I could salvage and hobbled back to the barracks, collapsing as soon as I arrived. When I was able to talk, I told him the whole story and showed him the matzah I managed to save, which was only enough for one person to fulfill the mitzvah.

“My friend begged me to give him the matzah, stating that he had never missed out on the mitzvah of matzah in his life. But I refused; I was the one who had risked my life and been beaten to a pulp in order to fulfill this mitzvah. I was not going to lose out now; I planned on eating it myself on Seder night.

“My bunkmate, however, begged for the privilege to do the mitzvah, arguing that his entire family had been killed, so he should be given the opportunity. Yet my entire family had also been killed and I didn’t feel I should give in. My bunkmate went on, pointing out how he had memorized all of the Haggadah. He promised that if I would give him the matzah, he would recite the Haggadah with me.

“When I refused even this offer, my bunkmate, broken, crying, and begging, upped the ante. ‘If you give me the matzah, not only will I recite the entire Haggadah with you, but I will also forgo the reward of the mitzvah and give it to you.’ This was an offer I couldn’t refuse, so I agreed, and we each carried out our respective parts of the deal.

“The next morning, as we were working, we began to recite Hallel from memory. Overjoyed with his ability to fulfill the mitzvah of eating matzah on Pesach in Auschwitz, my bunkmate became overcome with emotion and screamed out the bracha of Hallel. As he concluded the bracha, a Nazi guard shot him in the head. He died immediately.

“I survived the war, moved to Eretz Yisrael, built a family, and now I live here in Bnei Brak. Last night my old bunkmate appeared to me in a dream; he was dressed in white, his face shining. He asked me whether I remembered him and the story with the matzah.

“‘Of course,’ I told him, ‘I remembered you and everything that happened.’ My old bunkmate said, ‘I received reward for every mitzvah I did in my life, except for that one mitzvah of matzah. Please do me a favor and give me back the reward for that mitzvah.’

“I could not believe my old friend’s audacity and I let him know it. After I had risked my life and been beaten almost to death, at the very least I should be entitled to the reward! But he persisted, and neither of us were budging.

“Finally, after several arguments back-and-forth, the dream ended.”

After concluding his story, the Jew asked Rav Unger if he was obligated to give the reward for the mitzvah of matzah back to his old friend. Rav Unger responded that this was a question for a rebbe, not a rav, and sent him to the Machnovker Rebbe.

The man told the story to the Machnovker Rebbe and asked him what to do. The Rebbe responded, “It is proper to give the reward for the mitzvah back to your friend. He can no longer perform mitzvos, while you lived on and continued doing mitzvos the past 30 years or so. And with Hashem’s help, you will continue accruing more mitzvos until 120.”

The man agreed begrudgingly. If that was what the Rebbe told him to do, he would do it. But the Machnovker would not let him get away with a halfhearted acceptance. “No, you must give him the mitzvah with joy. Right now, go to the beis midrash, put your head in the aron kodesh, ‘remind’ Hashem of every detail of the story, and then willingly give the reward back to your friend.”

The man did as the Rebbe said. Afterwards, he returned home exhausted and drained and he immediately fell asleep.
In his dream, his friend returned and thanked him for giving up the reward for the mitzvah of matzah from 30 years earlier.

The next day, the man returned to Rav Unger and told him what the Machnovker Rebbe had instructed him and about the subsequent dream. Rav Unger responded that he was not surprised, and he told the man: “This Jew, a child of tzadikim, surely performed mitzvos his entire life. When he died, he enjoyed his rewards in the highest place in the World to Come. Not only that, but regarding one who has been killed sanctifying Hashem’s Name, Chazal teach: ‘No other creature can stand in their presence above.’

“Yet, with all of that, it was worth it for him to leave the place of basking in the ultimate pleasure and delighting in Hashem’s Presence, and descend all the way into this world—just to pick up the reward for that one ‘small; mitzvah of eating matzah at the Seder.”

How fortunate we are to link our past with our future in singing Hashem’s praises and fulfilling his cherished mitzvos deep into the Seder night. Along the sacred journey, we are generating cherished memories for generations to follow.

Daniel Gibber is a longtime resident of Teaneck and is a VP of Sales at Deb El Food Products. In addition to learning as much Torah as he can, he is also privileged to speak periodically on the topic of emunah and be involved in Jewish outreach through Olami Manhattan. He can be reached at: [email protected]