Each year, on the 21st of Kislev, Harav Zvi Dov Slanger, Rosh Yeshiva of Beis Hamedrash and Mesivta of Baltimore, celebrates a seudas hoda’ah (thanksgiving meal) with his yeshiva to commemorate the day in 1944 when he arrived in Switzerland, following his incarceration in Bergen-Belsen. This year, Harav Slanger will celebrate 70 years since that awesome day. In preparation for this remarkable event, Harav Slanger agreed to share his moving story, a story that demonstrates hashgacha pratis (Divine providence), obvious miracles, and, most of all, the fulfillment of the pasuk, “I will not have been revolted by them, nor will I have rejected them to obliterate them, to annul my Covenant with them.” (Artscroll Stone Chumash, Vayikra 26:44)
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Beginnings in Budapest
I was born in Budapest. My father, Reb Avraham Yitzchok Slanger, a descendant of Harav Shlomo Zalman Ulman, zt”l, the author of sefer Yerios Shlomo, and the Chacham Tzvi, zt”l, was the financial manager of large textile company. He was involved in the business world, while remaining very dedicated to Torah learning and meticulous in mitzvah observance. We were three brothers: My oldest brother is Harav Moshe Chaim Slanger, my younger brother is Harav Elyakim, and a fourth brother, Harav Dovid Meir, was born in Eretz Yisrael after the War.
From the start of the war until 1944, we continued to lead fairly normal lives. My brothers and I attended a Jewish school and then an after-school cheder. We were free to live Torahdik lives. However, all around, extreme difficulties arose, as all men born between 1912 and 1918 had to report for the munkatabors, the forced labor camps. Countless young Jewish men were sent to those camps, and many were sent to the Russian front. Tens of thousands died from starvation, backbreaking labor, and beatings. The Germans would also cruelly force the prisoners to walk hand-in-hand through fields which the Russian army had laid with explosive mines. The mines would explode and kill the prisoners, thus clearing the fields for the German soldiers. Luckily, my father was able to escape enlistment in the munkatabor by checking into the hospital for his frequent backaches.
Many refugees from Eastern Europe fled to the relative safety of Hungary and would sometimes tell us about the atrocities that were being committed in Poland, but we did not believe them. I remember particularly one man from Poland who was our guest on motza’ei Shabbos describing the Nazi invasion of Polish towns. We assumed that this man was emotionally unstable. How could such a thing be possible?
At times, German soldiers stole sifrei Torah from Poland, and brought them to Hungary, where they knew the Jews would redeem them for a good price. My father was approached with such a sefer Torah, and purchased it from the German soldier. After opening it, he saw that is was ripped in half – but was amazed to see that, although the rip was quite jagged, it did not go through the Name of Hashem even once. We saw this as a sign that the Nazis would not succeed.
Everything changed on March 19, 1944. The Germans entered Hungary, and now the Jews of Hungary were targeted by the Nazis. Adolf Eichman, ym”sh, arrived immediately in Budapest, with the goal of making Hungary Judenrein, free of Jews. Great restrictions were placed on the Jews. We were only allowed to leave our homes for two hours a day, and had to wear yellow stars. All Jewish businesses, bank accounts, and safe deposits were confiscated, and Jews could no longer be employed. The Jews of Budapest were forced out of their homes and told to live together in specific houses, known as zsido-haz (Jew houses), while their own homes were overtaken by non-Jews.
Due to the lack of communication and travel, however, we did not realize that the small towns in Hungary – towns that vibrated with Torah and chasidus – were being systematically destroyed. Within a couple of months, at least half of Hungarian Jewry had been gassed in Auschwitz. Thriving communities such as Satmar, Debrecin, Nitra, and Munkatch were no more.
The Kasztner Train
In June, 1944, Rudolf Kasztner negotiated a famous deal with Eichmann, ym”sh, which would allow the release of a limited number of Jews for a steep price. Many Jewish organizations and individuals were afraid to join the transport, but my father was determined to be among the passengers on what would come to be known as the “Kasztner Train,” as he understood what awaited the Jews of Hungary A strict curfew was already in place, however, my father succeeded in hiring a wagon driver to take us to the headquarters where this deal was being orchestrated, and then bribed a Nazi soldier to escort us.
When we arrived at the headquarters, my father found it in chaos and completely disorganized. A gifted mathematician and business manager, he sat down and began to organize the papers of the Kasztner transport. He was immediately granted passage on the train, together with his entire family.
When the time came to leave, there were close to 1,700 Yidden in the transport. We were to be transferred to Spain and from there to Eretz Yisrael. Among the group were many great Rabbanim, including the Satmar Rav, zt”l Harav Yonason Steif, zt”l, and the Debriciner Rav, zt”l.
We were packed into the 35 miserable cattle cars, which had only one small window near the top of each car, and no sanitation facilities. We had been traveling for some time, when the train stopped at the Austrian/Hungarian border. We were allowed to walk around a bit, and one passenger noticed in the commander’s window that the train was heading for Auschwitz. Panic spread among the passengers. Kasztner was contacted, and he in turn contacted Eichmann and demanded an explanation. Eichmann reportedly responded with a cold smile, “There must have been a mix up. Someone confused Auschwitz with Auschpitz (an Austrian resort town).”
We re-boarded the train and continued traveling, not sure of our destination. My father looked out the small window and was able to ascertain, based on his knowledge of astronomy that the train was heading west toward Spain, and not north to Auschwitz.
We soon reached the city of Linz, in Austria. At this point, we were ordered off the trains in groups, first the women and then the men, and told that we were going to “take showers.” Some of the passengers realized what this meant, and became hysterical that we were really being taken to the gas chambers.
As it was erev Shabbos, my father told us to take our Shabbos clothes. When we reached the gas chambers, we were told to hang our clothes on individual hooks and remember the hook number before entering “the showers.” There were about 800 men; we all stood waiting inside the gas chambers. Many people were saying vidui (confession). Many hours passed, and finally the doors were opened, and we were taken to regular showers to be “disinfected.” As we walked out of the showers, we discovered that our clothes had been all mixed up; there was a pile of 800 shirts, another pile of 800 pants, and a pile of shoes. Clearly, the Nazis had been anticipating our demise. We never found out what had transpired, but I surmise that there was a confusion in headquarters as to whether or not our group was to be killed or sent to Bergen-Belsen. While we were waiting in the gas chambers, orders came from Berlin that we were not to be murdered.
Bergen-Belsen
We finally arrived in Bergen-Belsen on the fast of the 17th of Tammuz (which fell on Sunday, the 18th of Tammuz that year) and were assigned to barracks. Even though we did not receive the same inhumane treatment as most of the inmates and did not have to work, it was a terrible time. At night, we slept on three-tiered beds with no mattresses, with 120 people packed into one room. There was only one toilet for 120 people inside the barracks, with no water, and we were forbidden to go outside during the night.
As children, we feared going to sleep. When we fell asleep, we often dreamed that there was a bowl of soup in front of us, and just as we were about to put the spoon in our mouth, we woke up. The disappointment was excruciating. Amazingly, my father was one of four people in our group who displayed tremendous gevura (strength) and abstained from eating any cooked food during the entire time in Bergen-Belsen.
One of the worst parts was the apel, or roll call. We were forced to stand for hours at strict attention, regardless of the weather, while the Nazis counted us again and again, just to torture us. There was one guard who always seemed to be more tolerant. Whenever he arrived to do the roll call, we were relieved, as we knew it would go quickly.
As Rosh Hashanah approached, a young girl, Dorie, who had torn shoes, approached this guard, and asked him to help her get shoes – and a shofar. We were amazed when the guard returned later with the requested items. It was like a nes (miracle) that he was able to bring us a shofar.
Years later, I was at a chasana in Petach Tikva, where I met Dorie’s son (now named Bennett), who told me an amazing story. After the war, Dorie had been able to contact this guard, who was living on the West Coast of the United States, and thanked him for helping her. He responded that he was Jewish, and survived the war by enlisting in the SS. I was astounded at the hashgachas Hashem (Divine providence) that sent us a Jewish guard to make our lives just a bit easier.
After five months in Bergen-Belsen, we began to hear rumors that we would soon be released. On December 3, 1944, we were lined up and marched to a train station in Celle. This march was extremely difficult, as we were all very weak. Furthermore, my shoes did not have soles, and the frozen ground was very cold. However, my younger brother, Elyakim was much weaker than I, so I carried him on my back for as long as I could. I did not think he would survive the ordeal. He saw that I could barely walk, and told me to put him down, stating that it was better for only one of us to die, but I persisted for as long as I could. Baruch Hashem, we both reached the train station in Celle, from where we were to be taken to Switzerland, and from there to Eretz Yisrael.
The train from Celle had seats but no heat, and we were freezing. We finally reached the German border, where we waited a while until the “deal” was finalized. Finally, on December 7, 21st of Kislev, 5705, we arrived in Switzerland. We were free!
Switzerland, Then Palestine
Once in Switzerland, we were taken by train to St. Gallen. This time, we thought we were dreaming, as the train was heated and had comfortable seats. Every time the conductor entered the train, however, we all fearfully jumped to attention – we were so conditioned to fear men in uniform! The conductor did not know what to make of this behavior.
Later, we were taken to hotels in Monterey, where the Swiss nursed us back to health until we finally traveled to Palestine in September, 1945.
In Palestine, my brother and I went to live in a boarding school run by the Mizrachi Women of America, while my parents were settling in and adjusting to the new society. After three years, the menahel, Mr. Yehoshua Bachrach, sent me and a friend to a Yeshiva. The Rosh Yeshiva there, Harav Moshe Tzvi Neria, zt”l, sent me and some of my friends to learn in the yeshiva in Zichron Yaakov (presently located in Kfar Chassidim), under Harav Noach Shimanowitz, zt”l, who was a talmid muvhak (close student) of Harav Boruch Ber Leibowitz, zt”l.
While I was learning in Zichron Yaakov, Harav Elya Lopian, zt”l, was scheduled to visit the yeshiva, to be the Mashgiach. At the appointed time, we anxiously awaited his arrival, but he did not come. Finally, the time came to daven Maariv. As we began, Harav Elya walked in. Seeing that we were already davening, he quietly took a seat on the back bench – which was right next to where I was sitting. We began to say Krias Shema, and I heard Harav Elya recite Shema with great concentration and love for the Ribono Shel Olam (G-d). This moment made an incredible impact on me, as I was greatly moved by Harav Elya’s kavana and dveikus to Hashem. Harav Elya became the Mashgiach in Zichron Yaakov and had a tremendous influence on me and on the entire yeshiva.
One year after Harav Elya came to Zichron Yaakov, in Elul 5713 (1953), I transferred to the Slabodka yeshiva in Bnei Brak. While learning in Slabodka, I also attended the lail Shabbos shmoozen of Harav Eliyahu Dessler, zt”l, who was then the Mashgiach in the Ponevez Yeshiva, and merited to develop a special relationship with him. In 5715 (1955), I attended the Ponevez Yeshiva, where I established a lifelong, treasured connection to Maran Harav Shach, zt”l. He treated me like a son; I was always welcome in his home, and gained much from his sage advice.
In 5719 (1959), I married Chana Mandelbaum, daughter of Harav Baruch Mandelbaum, z”l, who lived in the famed Mandelbaum Gate in Yerushalayim. Harav Mandelbaum was a great talmid chacham, who learned the entire day bechavrusa (as partner) with Harav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, zt”l, for six years. We settled in Bnei Brak, where I learned in Kollel Chazon Ish and Kollel Slobodka.
Connection to Gedolim
While in Eretz Yisrael, I was zocheh to have a close connection with several Gedolim, zt”l, including the Chazon Ish, the Brisker Rav, the Steipler Gaon, and Harav Yechezkel Abramsky, and learned much from their greatness in Torah, wise counsel, incisive insight, clear vision, and awe-inspiring leadership. Below are just a few stories of my interactions with great Gedolim that had a major impact on my life.
Shortly after I arrived in Eretz Yisrael, all the students in my school went to visit the Ponevezer Rav, zt”l, who had recently purchased land to build the Ponevez Yeshiva. We met the Rav on a barren hillside, on which sat a large water tower and a trailer that housed a small group of bachurim who comprised the fledgling yeshiva. The Ponevezer Rav greeted us warmly and kissed each one of us lovingly. He then spread out his plans for a huge yeshiva building and said emphatically, “Here we will build Torah.” We could not believe him; we thought he must not be thinking coherently.
I recall my first interaction with Harav Shach, at the beginning of my time in Ponevez. On the first day, I saw Harav Shach enter the beis medrash and begin to put away the sefarim that were lying about. After seeing this for three days, I finally approached the Rosh Yeshiva and offered to put away the sefarim for him. He replied, “Leave me alone. The yeshiva pays me a salary; I have to do something here.”
I met the Chazon Ish several times. When one entered the home of the Chazon Ish, one felt a strong, intangible sense of kedusha (holiness) that permeated his surroundings. On one occasion, I visited the Chazon Ish, asking for advice for success in learning. He began to ask me many questions about my tefilin and tzitzis – including who made them and if they adhered to the details of the halacha. When I answered all the questions to his satisfaction, he simply stated, “You will have hatzlacha (success).” (I attributed this to the pasuk, “U’zechartem es kol mitzvosay...” that we are told to wear tzitzis to remember the mitzvos.)
The Move to Baltimore
In 1965, we moved to the United States. After assuming various positions in chinuch, I was contacted by the administration of Yeshivas Ner Yisroel in Baltimore to assume a position as magid shiur and Mashgiach in the Mechina (high school). I taught in Ner Yisroel for 26 years.
These were wonderful years, years of growth of the yeshiva, and years when I established many hundreds of talmidim. I also developed a wonderful relationship with Harav Yaakov Yitzchok Ruderman, zt”l, Rosh Yeshiva of Ner Yisroel. He was a tremendous gaon (genius), (with amazing breadth of his knowledge, tzidkus (righteousness), and gadlus (greatness).
Throughout the years, I aspired to start a yeshiva in the derech (way) that I experienced in Eretz Yisrael. In 5748 (1988), Harav Shach wrote me two letters that the time has come to open my own yeshiva. However, eight years went by before everything was in place and I was ready to open the yeshiva, with the full agreement and cooperation of Harav Yaakov Weinberg, zt”l, Rosh Yeshiva of Ner Yisroel.
Before opening the yeshiva, I visited with Harav Shach for over an hour, while he gave me exact instructions on how to run the yeshiva. We discussed derech halimud, the mesivta’s secular studies department, how to relate to other yeshivos, and many things that I did not think to ask. It was amazing to see Harav Shach’s understanding of the world.
Baruch Hashem, Beis Hamedrash and Mesivta of Baltimore opened in Elul 5757 (1997). The yeshiva has been very successful, with siyata d’Shamaya (Heavenly help), and we have close to 140 bachurim in the current zman, including talmidim from cities across the country and around the world, including Baltimore, Chicago, Detroit, Dallas, Lakewood, Canada, Australia, Brazil, and many more.
It gives me boundless nachas to see the growth of the yeshiva, and the bachurim learning behasmada rabba (with great diligence). I saw the Churban. I lived through the destruction of Torah in Europe. I know that my entire life is a nes (miracle). And it is clear to me that we must rebuild the tremendous loss. The yeshiva is a true nechama (comfort) and the true fulfillment of the promise of the Yeshaya Hanavi, “[The Torah] will never move from your mouths, and from the mouths of your children forever,” (Yeshaya 59: 21)
This article was originally published in Hamodia, and is adapted with permission. Watch for part two of Rav Slanger’s story in the next issue, which will expand on his years in Baltimore.
