Two months ago today was the funeral of my uncle Peter, Z”L. He passed away due to cancer at 60 years old. He was probably the most stubborn and strong minded person I’ve ever met, which is a funny contrast to his parents. Both of his parents were survivors of WWII. Their names were Rudee and Lillian Antell.
Lillian was born in Hounslow in 1934. In 1939, she was evacuated to a convent in the countryside as part of Operation Pied Piper, where nuns hid and protected her from bombing raids. Her brother Tony died in the war at just 10 years old. After the war, her family emigrated to Sydney.
Rudee grew up in Berlin. As things became more dangerous, he stepped up and got papers for his mother and sister to escape to England. He himself fled to Brussels in 1939, but was caught during a police raid at a soup kitchen and sent back to Germany. Because he was considered stateless, he was given just two weeks to leave again. This time, he made it to England, where he rebuilt his life and changed his name from Rudee to Ronald to protect his identity.
Rudee was cousins with Max Ehrlich, whose life took a very different and tragic path. Max was a talented Jewish actor, screenwriter and entertainer in Germany who became well known for performing in theater and cabaret. He had papers and invitations to Hollywood, but chose to stay at home with his family and community. Even as conditions worsened, he continued to use his talent to bring humor and distraction to others.
During the Holocaust, Max was deported to Auschwitz, where he was forced to perform for prisoners and Nazi officers. Despite the inhumane conditions, he kept performing, trying to lift people’s spirits and bring joy. He was murdered in 1944.
After the war, Rudee and Lillian were incredibly kind and happy people, despite having lost family and living through tragedy. Rudee was a kind and patient man. He was incredibly smart, good with numbers and worked as an accountant. Lillian was full of life, energy, funny and a kind loving mother. When my mum was 18 and in university, she was alone and didn’t have a place to spend Shabbat dinner. Rudee would always invite my mother over, even before my aunt was married into the family. Rudee was an incredibly smart and particular man. Because of the war, he would perfectly calculate how much food each person would need, in order not to waste any.
In honour of his memory, I want to help teach you and put numbers in perspective. I’m sure you all remember leaving for Kibbutz Keturah, under the impression that we would stay there for four days. Now I want to ask you if you can recall every single second since the moment we left, until this very moment. Just think for a minute, of all the things we’ve done. Purim, Sde Boker, Dead Sea, school, Yom Ha-zikaron, Yom Haatzmaut, just to name a few. Now can you remember every single second that’s happened since then? Probably not. A second is something we don’t even consider, a tiny moment we don’t notice. But during the Holocaust, a second meant everything.
A last goodbye.
A final look.
A last prayer.
To put things into perspective, It’s been 5.5 million seconds since we’ve left for Keturah. If you thought about each person for one second ever since we left, you wouldn’t even be close to the number of Jews who were murdered. 6 million isn’t just a number, it’s six million lives and stories that were taken away.
We have 300,000 seconds of our Poland trip left, 90,000 seconds of Shabbat. And 2.3 million seconds more of TRY. That’s time we can choose how to spend meaningfully . Take time to think about all the lives lost here. Take time to think about the families who could never celebrate a Shabbat as a whole again. And when we return to Israel B”H, take time to be grateful for the land that the Jews during the Holocaust could only dream of living in.
When I light the Shabbat candles tonight, I’ll be thinking of Max, who brought light to the Jewish people in the darkest place.
I’ll be thinking of Rudee and Lillian, who held onto their Judaism even when the Nazis tried to take it away, and made it something strong in my family.
I’ll be thinking of the woman whose gravestone was being used as a piece of the road of Majdanek, whose headstone pictured Shabbat candles.
I’ll be thinking of the 800 children buried in the forest who can no longer hear the blessing from their parents on Friday night.
Take the next few seconds to reflect on how far you’ve gone on this trip. How much you’ve learnt, how you’ve felt. Take a moment to reflect on the victims who came before us, and make this Shabbat as meaningful as possible.
By Saphire Hobbs
