With the approach of Passover, my thoughts inevitably turn back to an event which took place on Hol HaMoed Pesah five years ago.
Nowhere else, even in Israel itself is the holiday mood of Hol Hamoed as intensely felt as in Jerusalem. Offices and most shops close at noon. Large masses of people festively clad, drift at their leisure through the decorated streets. Shtreimlech and colorful bekeshes, typical of the old Yishuv, are conspicuous in the crowds.
Five years ago a special luster was added to Jerusalem’s Hol Hamoed mood. A procession was slowly making its way through Jaffa Road, one of the city’s main arteries. It was headed by an elderly man of slight built. Bespectacled and Beshtraimeled, his white beard flowing down his black bekeshe; his mild eyes gazing with amazement at the large crowds which had gathered on both sides of the street. On his right and his left, he was flanked by persons prominent in Israel’s political life. Immediately behind him marched a small band of people carrying a banner: “Those Who Had Been Condemned to Death.” They were former members of the Irgun Zvai Leumi and the Stern Group (Fighters for the Freedom of Israel) who had been captured by the British, tried and condemned to death, but their sentences had subsequently been commuted. They were followed by other groups: “Prisoners of the Central Prison of Jerusalem,” “Prisoners of Jaffa,” “Prisoners of the Fortress of Acre.” A group of women carried a banner: “Prisoners of Beth Lehem.” The last group in the procession formed the deportees. Suspected by the British of belonging to the underground group, they had been deported from Palestine and held in detention camps in Africa.
The several hundred people who formed the procession, all of them former freedom fighters and prisoners of the British administration, had come on Hol Hamoed Pesach from all parts of Israel to pay homage to the bearded and beshtraimeled man who passed slowly in front of them: Rabbi Aryeh Levin.
Rabbi Aryeh Levin, a Rosh Yeshiva in Jerusalem, is known throughout Israel as the “Father of the Prisoners.” At the time when the members of the two underground groups found little sympathy with the Jewish population and their actions were decried and condemned by Jewish ‘leaders,’ Rabbi Aryeh Levin traveled throughout the country and visited the imprisoned freedom fighters, bringing them solace and hope. Many of the fighters were embittered. They had sacrificed their freedom and family life to help break open the doors of Palestine to the remnants of Europe’s massacred Jewry, yet their own brothers for whom they were fighting did not understand them, not only condemned and persecuted them, but even denied assistance to their families who had remained without support after they had been arrested.
They were tough men, determined to continue the battle in spite of the great sacrifices and despite the short sightedness of official Jewish leaders. They defied British guns, judges and prisons and turned a deaf ear to the condemnations and protests of Jewish organizations.
They were reticent and reserved towards strangers for there were not many to whom they could unburden their hearts and reveal their sorrows and pain. Yet there was one man whom they let conquer their souls and whom they came to regard in their own hearts as their father and teacher. From the first day, Rabbi Aryeh Levin entered their cells, embraced and kissed them, talked with them about their personal problems and gathered them to study and pray, he became their Rabbi, and they his fervent Hassidim. Impatiently they waited for his visits, imploring him to stay with them as long as he could. They confided in him and sent through him messages to the leaders and relatives. He never failed them. He enlisted support for them, and faithfully carried out all the missions with which they entrusted him. He travelled to prisons in deserted parts of the country. Neither bad weather nor the insecurity of the roads in the rebellion torn country would deter him from visiting his wards. It was he who spent the last hours with those who had been condemned to die; and it was he whom many prisoners paid their first call after having been released.
Rabbi Levin was no prison chaplain. He was neither appointed nor paid by the British authorities or by any Jewish organization. It was his deep love for his fellow Jews which had spurred him to serve as father to those who suffered behind prison walls and it was love which opened before him the prison gates and the hearts of their inmates.
Rabbi Levin kept faith with them throughout their days of struggle and sorrow, and they continued to regard him as their teacher and master even after their struggle was crowned with victory.
There is no Simcha today among the hundreds of former prisoners to which Rabbi Levin is not invited. He is a Mechuten at their marriages and acts as a Sandik at their Brith Milahs. Very frequenetly they come to his home to confide in him their troubles and problems and to ask for advice.
Hol HaMoed Pesah 5715 they had set as the date to pay public homage to their Rabbi. The procession of the hundreds of former prisoners made its way slowly from the site of the former central prison of Jerusalem which served as place of assembly towards the courtyard of the Sephardi Orphans Home. There in the presence of thousands, the former members of the underground, whose exploits had beocme a legend, paid tribute to Rabbi Levin.
I became intimately associated with Rabbi Levin several years ago when I was to collaborate on a book about him, which was planned by former members of the underground. I visited with him quite often in his humble home in one of the old quarters of Jerusalem. An iron bed, a tiny table, one or two chairs and a small shelf overflowing with books were his sole possessions. However, this humble home contained a treasure, which should be the envy of the greatest and wealthiest in Israel: Hundreds of letters written to Rabbi Levin from prisons in Palestine and detention camps in Africa; among them some by prominent leaders of the underground, others by men who had been condemned to death. All of them expressed love and gratitude towards their rabbi. Among these letters I found a check for a small sum. It had been given to Rabbi Levin about twenty-five years ago but was never cashed by him. In the middle of the thirties the Irgun Zvai Leumi undertook its first retaliatory raids against Arab marauders. In drastic counter measures the British administration rounded up hundreds of people suspected of belonging to that movement. Rabbi Levin began to take these prisoners under his wings. In Tel Aviv a small comittee to provide aid for the prisoners had been established. When the news of Rabbi Levin’s activities reached the comittee, it sent him a letter of gratitude enclosing a small check with the explanantion, that although its limited means did not permit it to reward him properly for his work, it would regard it as a privilege if he would accept the small sum as a token payment for his traveling expenses. Rabbi Levin whose financial position was never too secure, and with his small and irregular income, had to support a large family, refused to accept the gift. He and his wife who had been his partner in all his acts of loving kindness and piety, and who passed away several years ago, declined to accept any payment, even for the expenses they incurred in the performance of their services on behalf of the prisoners. The check was never cashed and today with the hundreds of letters of gratitude, it presents a document of human devotion and sacrifice.
The Jewish Press, Friday April 8, 1960