By Sam Thal, NFTY in Israel Madricha, Bus 5
As we joined our voices in song in the secret synagogue of Terezín, I could almost hear the echoes of the brave people who risked everything to keep their faith alive.
On Wednesday, we visited Terezín, a concentration camp outside of Prague. Terezín stands out among other camps because it was built as a Nazi propaganda machine. The facilities were made to look nicer — Jews were filmed playing sports, hearing lectures, and leading seemingly normal lives. Behind the scenes, however, were lives of horror and oppression.
The Jewish people found ways to resist hopelessness by expressing themselves through art, poetry, theatre, and prayer. Unbeknownst to their oppressors, one of the prisoners, Arthur Berlinger, led his community to build a secret synagogue in a small room with domed ceilings attached to the side of another building. He worked long hours as a craftsman. This gave him access to paints which he used to decorate his synagogue with Jewish scripture and symbols. The secret of the synagogue was kept so well that it wasn’t discovered until 1977 when the owner of the building it was attached to was doing renovations and broke through one of its walls.
It was amazing to stand on the same floor boards, surrounded by the same walls, as the people who cared so deeply about their faith that they were willing to risk everything to build this space. We created a beautiful moment of connection as we sang a nigun and talked about the significance of the space.
Later in our visit, we had a ceremony where we remembered the victims of Terezín. We read and sang a poem written by Pavel Friedman while he was in Terezín. The poem is called The Butterfly.
The Butterfly
The last, the very last,
So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow. Perhaps if the sun’s tears would sing against a white stone…
Such, such a yellow
Is carried lightly ‘way up high.
It went away I’m sure because it wished to kiss the world goodbye.
For seven weeks I’ve lived in here, Penned up inside this ghetto
But I have found my people here. The dandelions call to me
And the white chestnut candles in the court. Only I never saw another butterfly.
That butterfly was the last one. Butterflies don’t live in here, In the ghetto.
As we walked back through the camp, I noticed a field of wildflowers full of butterflies.
