BLOG 18 - REB NOIACH

18. Blog: 17^th Dec. 09

Reb Noiach – A Tapestry of History

-          Laibl Wolf, Dean, Spiritgrow - The Josef Kryss Wholistic Centre, Australia

May I share with you? My holocaust survivor parents emigrated from Poland to Australia after the Shoah. I was two years of age. The new émigrés concentrated in Melbourne in an area that in some ways mimicked the Lower East side of NY, albeit on a much more modest scale.  They immediately began work on make-shift cheders, shules, bakeries – all the accoutrements of a transplant from the Old Country. And their children were their life.

I often play back in my mind those early days –the late forties and early fifties. The characters stand out vividly in my memory banks. These colorful, soulful, and oft strange personalities occupy centre stage when I allow myself these reveries. Their quest for survival in their newly chosen country of Australia also revealed eccentricities - the obvious scars of a cruel war, a legacy of tortured spirits. One arena in which these stage characters played their life roles was a small shule that my father took me in those early days – the Shtibel.

The Shtibel was a small house off a back lane leading off a wider Carlton street. The lane was unpaved and entry to the house was from its rear. The first structure that greeted the visitor was an external latrine - the welcome door to the property. But just to have a shule was of itself a miracle. Did it also have to be landscaped and architecturally planned?  Just to breathe Melbourne’s air rather than the Zyklon B of gas chambers was a miracle.

Once inside the Shtibel, this youngster was to find himself in a strange incomprehensible world of unrecognized heros, each of whom could have been the star character of a Broadway stage play based on their destroyed lives.

A Polish dominated shtibel consisting of Chassidim, albeit lapsed Chassidim on the whole, clean shaven, modern (though shabbily) dressed, had its own differentiated character.  Informality of prayer meant conversational interludes not found in the Siddur (Prayer book), and argued debates (to the point of near physical altercation) on the propriety and authenticity of differing customs of prayer order.

Between the ages of three and ten, I sat with my father at one of the tables (no pews in this discordant and motley setting) at the northern end of a large room that housed the shule.  At our table was the gentle giant, Mr. Goldhirsch obm, who always took the trouble to warmly greet this inconspicuous youngster, leaving a warm memory that continues to touch my heart. Then there was Reb Schmiel whose large buck teeth complemented a raucous sense of humour that sent waves of laughter while the ba’al teffillo fought valiantly but futilely to establish his vocal dominance over the room.  The Althaus and Kluwgant boys mischievously tied together talles (prayer shawl) fringes of unsuspecting separate wearers (somewhat safer than co-joining their shoelaces).  And the very correct and dark suited gabbeh (warden), Mr. Gedaliah Segal, did his very best to arbitrate the competing calls on aliyos (honorifics for Torah readings) honors, and seating disputes.

The survivors were nothing if not colourful.  Only later, upon greater maturity, was I to tag the adjective, ‘tortured souls’, to the naively conceived ‘colourful’. But among the many dozens in that shtibel community there was one individual who sat on the opposite side of the room from my father and myself, facing us. He looked younger than the rest. He was short, very thin, with sharp angular features.  He sat symmetrically, always composed, and his talles over his head, lined at the front with the silver embroidery common to the Hassidic movements. His relative youthfulness and poise left a deep impression on me.  I never spoke with him.  But I often watched him, observing carefully, in the way that a small boy sometimes does.  He had such composure, and also a beautifully sweet singing voice.  He also knew nusach (the traditional melodies and intonations) very well and was often called upon to lead the congregation (if that is not an inflated description of this amazing collection of rag tag survivors of the churben – the European destruction). Oh, I forgot to mention.  His name was Reb Noach (Noah). Surname: Herbst.

Many years later, fifty five to be exact, his granddaughter married my son. I find this nothing short of amazing. Why?  Not sure why. Just is. That a youngster of four or five would be curious about a young man who sat on the other side of a prayer room, and many decades later, Divine planning would bring these two families together. Life is wondrous, mysterious, and complex.

Reb Noiach passed away last week. But his memory thereby crystallized into stronger relief in my mind – in inverse proportion to the world’s loss through his passing.

I am still looking at people’s faces.  I still wonder how future unfolds. I remain in awe of the pattern that G-d weaves through the tapestry of history.      

   Laibl’s web site: www.laiblwolf.com       - Laibl’s blog site: www.laiblwolf.com/blog/      – Spiritgrow – The Josef Kryss Wholistic Center, Australia site  (soon up after extensive ‘renovation’)   www.SpiritgrowJosefKryssCenter.org