The Orthoprax Jew on Yom Hashoah

Over recent weeks, many blogs have been talking about the recent Ami article about a practicing Jew who keeps Torah and Mitzvot, yet doesn’t believe in HaShem.

It is impossible to know details about the story, to understand exactly what this person does or does not believe, and how it effects his performance of Mitzvot; however I found the story inspiring – that Torah and Mitzvot have meaning and purpose, even without belief.

But I wanted to share a different story about a different Jew who possibly could be defined as Orthoprax.

Three years ago I was privileged to visit Budapest with my father who was born there in 1934, and lived there until the age 13 in 1948.

We were walking back from shacharit down a wide street not far from the shul. The street was busy with street cars and traffic and had a large supermarket with large signs in the window advertising various kosher products. At the end of the street was a sign saying that this had once been the edge of the Jewish Ghetto; in 1945 the ghetto housed the remaining Jews of Budapest, including my father who shared a tiny room with his younger brother and grandfather – his parents had both been taken away

When we passed a small doorway my father stopped and told me that in 1945 he was walking down this street with his grandfather, when suddenly a plane appeared overhead, strafing the street with machine gun fire. My father and his grandfather managed to duck into the doorway and weren’t physically hurt but were very shaken.

In that small doorway, my great-grandfather looked at my father and said one phrase: “There is no G-d”. I’m not sure whether this caused my Great-grandfather to abandon belief, possibly he had already given up belief years earlier, or possibly he still believed in spite of everything.

In any case, it didn’t matter – the following morning my great grandfather woke up in the tiny room that he shared with his two grandsons, and did the same thing that he had done every morning since his Bar Mitzvah, he put on his Tfillin and prayed to the G-d in whose very existence he had questioned.

Education - ושננתם לבניך

We Stayed in an apartment that we rented on Veres Pálné utca. The street was named after the woman who established the first woman's Gimnázium (Academic High School) in Budapest. Her statue adorns the end of the street, a few doors from where we stayed.

The school established by Mrs Veres changed the life of my Grandmother who was among the first Hungarian women to attend high school. Her older sister Ella never went to a Gimnázium, but by the time her younger sister Mårta was high-school age, secondary school education for women was very common.

After settling into the apartment where we were staying, we walked around the area. Dad showed us the Presbyterian school that he attended for 2 years (he switched to the Jewish school when his younger brother Janos was denied entry to the school as they had a quota for non-Presbyterian students).

My father attended this school as it was very close to their home, and it was the school that his grandfather had attended.

We also saw the house where my father's grandparents lived. After the war the house was divided (due to the housing shortage) and my aunt Mårta lived in the other hlaf with her husband Ivan. They stayed there until their death in the 1990s. We also saw the apartment my father lived in before the war (including the window he fell out of as a toddler, he still has the scar on his neck from that almost fatal accident).

Renting a regular apartment in that part of town gave me us a small appreciation of what life may have been like - the style of building apartments with very high ceilings built around a common courtyard (with a tap, which at one time may have been the only working tap in the building).

After walking around that part of Pest for a few hours, we headed to the Jewish Quarter for dinner - but that will have to be my next post.

Budapest - טיול שורשים

Well, I just got back from an amazing three day tiyul with my father and siblings in Budapest - the city my father was born, went to school (until age 15), survived the Holocaust, and most importantly the city where our family's roots are firmly buried.

It was a real insight into the world where my father grew up and helped me to understand where our family comes from.

There is so much to write about it's hard to know where to start, but over the next few days I'll try to write down thoughts and memories, and hopefully will be able to make a coherent retelling of a truly amazing three days.