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A Holocaust survivor and her family saw ‘Leopoldstadt.’ The Broadway play told their story.
(New York Jewish Week) — On a Wednesday evening last month, three generations of a Jewish family made their way to their seats at the Longacre Theater to see “Leopoldstadt,” Tom Stoppard’s epic Broadway play about the tragedies that befall an extended Jewish family in the first half of the 20th century in Vienna.
The date of the family gathering was a significant one: Nov. 9, the 84th anniversary of the Nazi pogroms known as Kristallnacht. And in the audience was Fini Konstat, 96, who lived in the once thriving Jewish neighborhood after which the play is named, and witnessed the horrors it portrays first-hand. Alongside her were her daughter and her son-in-law, Renee and James Akers, and her oldest great-grandchild, Lexi Levin, 23.
When Konstat was a child, she lived in a “nice apartment” in Leopoldstadt. But exactly 84 years to the day of their theater date, “I was running with my father, seeing all the Jewish stores with all their windows broken,” she told Levin in a short video her great-granddaughter filmed before the curtain rose.
“It’s such a blessing for me to be here with you,” Levin said to her great-grandmother in response. “Ninety-six years old, survived a pandemic, at a Broadway show in New York City.”
Left: Fini as a child on the balcony of her apartment in Leopoldstadt. Right: Fini with her three children in front of the very same building, pictured in 2015. (Courtesy)
Since the beginning of its Broadway run in mid-September, “Leopoldstadt,” with its depiction of a prosperous Viennese family on the brink of destruction, has moved audiences to tears and inspired deep reflections on the Holocaust. Based on the celebrated playwright’s own family history — of which he was barely aware while growing up in England — it has provided a stark counterpoint to news about rising antisemitism and the celebrities who have been purveying it.
But for Konstat, the play was much more personal. “When I heard the word ‘Leopoldstadt,’ this alone gave me lots of thrills and memories,” Konstat, who is known in her family as Mimi, told the New York Jewish Week in accented English. She recalled how Levin, who recently moved to the city, invited her to fly to New York to see one of Broadway’s hottest tickets.
“Leopoldstadt,” she repeated, her voice breaking. “The second district. That’s where we lived.”
At the end of Stoppard’s five-act play, audiences learn that most of the Jewish characters had perished under the Nazis — of the four generations in the show, just three cousins survive to carry on the family’s legacy.
For Konstat too, she and her parents were among the very few in their extended family to survive the Holocaust. “Almost all of them went to Auschwitz or other camps,” Konstat said. “My mother was a twin and only the twins remained alive. [My mother’s] five other siblings and my grandmother perished.”
L-R: Renee Akers, James Akers, Lexi Levin and Fini Konstat at the Longacre Theater to see Tom Stoppard’s ‘Leopoldstadt on Broadway,’ Nov. 9, 2022. (Courtesy)
In a Zoom conversation held over Thanksgiving weekend, Konstat, surrounded by two of her daughters, two of her granddaughters and three of her great-granddaughters, shared what the play meant to her — and how her family has restored what she lost.
In the months after Kristallnacht in 1938, Konstat and her parents hid in a neighbor’s apartment; Konstat recalls hiding under the duvet when German soldiers showed up. Eventually the family fled to Turkey, and then to India, before settling down in Mexico City. There, the teenage Fini met her husband David, also a survivor who escaped Poland. The two of them began to write the rest of their story — starting with the birth of the first of their three children in 1948.
Unlike many Holocaust survivors, Fini and David Konstat were open about their experiences during the war, instilling a sense of pride and duty to remember in their children — something that eventually extended to their grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
“They were proud to speak about how they survived this,” said the Konstats’ middle child, Renee Konstat Akers. “Their life was an odyssey. They had the courage to do things that you would never think were possible. We grew up grateful knowing how our family survived in that incredible way.”
Each child moved to different places as they grew up and got married. Manuel, the oldest, stayed in Mexico. Renee married an American and moved to the Midwest, and Denise, the youngest, to Houston. Each became deeply involved in their Jewish communities, sending their children (Konstat’s grandchildren) to Jewish day schools, celebrating Jewish holidays and participating in synagogue life.
“The word ‘miracle’ really does not feel like an understatement in this scenario,” said Sherry Levin, one of Konstat’s grandchildren. “When we think about what it took for my grandmother and grandfather to survive and how they were able to intersect in Mexico, and such an amazing multi-generational family has come to fruition, it feels miraculous.”
Pictured here on their 40th anniversary, Fini and her husband David met in Mexico City after both had fled Europe. They were married 54 years before David died in 2001. (Courtesy)
Reviews of the show have ranged from rhapsodic to resistant, with some critics suggesting the play is simplistic and obvious in its story-telling or that it is less a well-crafted play than a well-meaning lesson on the Holocaust.
But just as the Merz family clashes and argues about everything from antisemitism to intermarriage to socialism in “Leopoldstadt,” each generation of the Konstat family that saw “Leopoldstadt” that night came away with something different — a reaction influenced by their age, their Jewish identity, their nationality and their relationship with their family.
For Konstat, the arc of “Leopoldstadt” was so familiar that it hardly stirred her. “It was just very happy watching it and enjoying it and enjoying my children with me, “ she told the New York Jewish Week. “I didn’t think about anybody else.”
Akers, too, felt an intense familiarity with the story, and, perhaps toughened by her own family history, didn’t experience an intense emotional reaction. Her own parents’ lives gave Akers a sense of purpose in her life — for example, in the 1990s, she was passionate about helping resettle Jews fleeing the former Soviet Union. With her own children, she instilled in them a strong sense of Jewish purpose in their work, their education and their family.
“I was a sandwich in between seeing my mother and my granddaughter,” she said of her “Leopoldstadt” experience. “I was emotional thinking of my mom who went through it, but I was more emotional about seeing my granddaughter be so moved. It really hit her at her core.”
Indeed, it was the youngest member of the family present that night who was most shaken by the play.
“It really felt like a gift to my family and to me, specifically, to be able to see what Mimi’s life looked like before the war,” Lexi Levin said, surmising that, as a fourth-generation survivor, she is among the first in her family to be able to start processing the loss on a grander scale.
“For the first time in my life, I really felt the magnitude of her loss,” she added. “I’ve known her story and I’ve been inspired by her story to be involved with my own Jewish causes, but I have never been able to access and truly empathize with her grief and what it meant that she lost the entire family she had before this one that she created.”
Turning to her great-grandmother, as if trying to make her understand the exact precision of the show, Levin explained, “It’s a play about generations and the family was large and then it was small.”
“You made it large again,” she said, referring to the generations of family that had assembled — in the Broadway theater and again over Thanksgiving weekend. “Look at this room.”
Pictured on her 90th birthday in 2017, Fini Konstat now has three children, ten grandchildren and twenty great-grandchildren. (Courtesy)
There was a coda for the family after the curtain went down. The day after the show, the family wanted to see the 1907 “Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I,” one of Gustav Klimt’s most famous paintings, which currently hangs at the Neue Galerie on the Upper East Side. A version of the portrait’s true story — how a painting of a socialite from a prominent Viennese Jewish family was looted by the Nazis and the family’s efforts to get it back — features in the plot of “Leopoldstadt.”
The gallery, however, was closed on the only day the family could visit. After a call to the management at the gallery, which showcases the German and Austrian art collections of Jewish philanthropist Ronald S. Lauder, the gallery’s director arranged a private tour.
“It felt like we were in a puzzle and everything was finally coming together,” said Akers. “It was an emotional, emotional time.”
When the week was over and the emotions were spent, Konstat and the Akers returned home with a reignited passion for their family story. But there was yet another twist: In addition to the whirlwind trip Levin planned for her grandparents and for Mimi, she had been undergoing the laborious process of applying for Austrian citizenship. Six members in Konstat’s large family have undertaken the process over the last two years.
“Part of the motivation was knowing Mimi’s story, and knowing that she survived because her mother had citizenship in Turkey,” Levin said. “That story was just inspirational to me, knowing that dual citizenship was what saved our family.” She convinced her brother and mother to apply for Austrian citizenship as well.
The day after her grandmother and great-grandmother left New York, Levin called them with news from her small apartment in Manhattan: An Austrian passport had arrived in the mail. The curtain was rising on another act.
Konstat was surprised at how interested her family was in getting Austrian citizenship. “I feel very good,” she said. “I’m very happy.”
“Does it make you emotional?” Levin asked her during the Zoom call with the New York Jewish Week.
“It does — of course it does. I used to love Austria,” she said. “I was sad to leave. I was disappointed. We never thought of coming back. I was happy to be able to escape. Thank God we made it out of hell.”
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No Kings But God: What I Learned as Miss Israel in Times Square
Ayelet Raymond. Photo: Instagram
This Passover, as Miss Israel, I found myself in Times Square surrounded by protesters holding signs that read “No Kings.”
I came for a peaceful pro-Israel photoshoot, wearing my Star of David crown — the first ever designed by a beauty queen — but the moment I stepped into the crowd, everything changed.
I suddenly found myself surrounded by hundreds of anti-Israel protesters. People looked at me — at my crown, at my Miss Israel sash — and warned me to be careful showing Jewish symbols. I felt it too. The tension was real. It became a question of safety — do I leave, or do I stay?
I was born in Jerusalem, but have lived in the US for many years. And I will always be so proud to be an Israeli and a Jew.
In that moment, I asked myself: Ma Nishtana — what is different this year in New York, as antisemitism rises more than it ever has before?
Looking around, I thought about the Passover story, where there are two sources of power: Pharaoh and God.
Pharaoh had control, authority, and power over the Jewish people, but his power had limits. He could not stand against God.
In my early education in Jerusalem, in a Bait Yaakov school, I learned a simple truth — God is the King of all kings. That belief has carried the Jewish people through history.
That moment became my lesson of Passover in modern life.
The Jewish people did not leave Egypt when they felt safe or ready. They left with faith. They stepped into the unknown — vulnerable, exposed — and still moved toward freedom.
And here we are in 2026, at a time when antisemitism is rising in New York and all over the world, when being visibly Jewish brings tension.
So I made a choice — not to hide, but to be visibly Jewish without fear, wearing my Star of David crown in one of the most public places in the world.
From Jerusalem, where I was raised, to Times Square, where I stood that day, we end the Passover Seder each year with the words: “L’Shana Haba’ah B’Yerushalayim Habnuya” — Next year in the rebuilt Jerusalem.
We do this because Jewish identity has never depended on comfort — it has always depended on the choice to stand tall for our beliefs and our faith.
Ayelet Raymond is Miss Israel, Miss World Influencer, and Miss World International — the social media personality @KosherBarbie, and a proud voice for Israel.
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A Growing Majority of the World’s Jews Are Israelis
A drone view of Jerusalem with the Knesset, the Israeli parliament, in Jerusalem, Feb. 4, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Ilan Rosenberg
A Jewish friend of mine made what I thought was an interesting observation the other day. We were chatting about world affairs, and he pointed out that to those who hate Jews, we are all Israelis — that those who carry out antisemitic attacks on Jews in synagogues or at Jewish gatherings, be it in Europe, North America or Australia, make no distinction between Jews and Israelis.
In fact, the distinction between Jews and Israelis has always been a blurred one in the Arab/Muslim world. The original 1988 Hamas policy document, for example, mentions Jews, not Israelis.
One of the October 7 attackers boasted to his parents in a phone recording found after the Hamas attack that he “killed Jews”: “Your son killed Jews … Mom, your son is a hero.” And antisemitism, including Holocaust denial and genocidal threats, has been a cornerstone of Iranian government policy for decades.
A the same time, it occurred to me that when it comes to demographics, a growing majority of the world’s Jews are in fact Israelis.
According to the Israel Central Bureau of statistics (CBS), the world Jewish population is about 15.7 million — still one million less than the pre-Holocaust number. (The numbers can vary, depending on the criteria used to define who is a Jew, but these figures are generally reliable).
Close to one half of the Jews in the world, 7.2 million out of a total Israeli population of over 10 million, now live in Israel. If we add the thousands of Israelis who immigrated from the Former Soviet Union who are not halachically Jewish, the number is even more impressive.
Moreover, the CBS also notes that virtually all of the growth in the world Jewish population is taking place in Israel. This is because the Jewish fertility rate in Israel is much higher than for Diaspora Jews.
Much of what I have said so far is not new. But what is rarely mentioned is the fact that a growing proportion of the Jewish Diaspora is now made up of Israelis.
As in all democratic societies, Israeli citizens are free to come and go, and emigration has always been a feature of Israeli population statistics, even during pre-state Mandatory Palestine. A report by the London-based Institute for Jewish Policy Research, notes that one million Israelis (Israeli nationals, and their children, including those born abroad) now live outside Israel. Two thirds live in the US and Canada, the remaining third in Europe.
While substantial numbers have emigrated to the UK and Germany, others have made their way to smaller countries, countries in which Jewish numbers had been declining because of low birth rates and emigration. Israelis now represent close to half of the Jewish population of Norway and Finland and over 20% of the Jewish communities in Bulgaria, Ireland, Spain and Denmark.
Yet, here is the strange thing. These numbers are somewhat fluid. Some Israelis return, even after an absence of several years. For example, in 2025, 24,500 Israelis returned to Israel. This urge to return is particularly evident during time of war, a period of maximum personal risk. Why? According to Dan Perry of The Jerusalem Post, this need to return during war is based on a mixture of patriotism and Zionist messaging.
I think there is a simpler explanation, especially now. At a time when Jews are under attack everywhere, Israel is the only place where they can fight back.
Jacob Sivak, a Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada, is a retired professor, University of Waterloo.
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Authentic Hasidic tales, translated into Polish
פֿאַר חסידישע מעשׂיות איז שטענדיק פֿאַראַן אַן עולם. אָט, אַ שטײגער, װעט באַלד אַרױס אַ נײַע דײַטשישע איבערזעצונג פֿון דעם פּױלישן שרײַבער סטאַניסלאַװ װינצענטס בעל־שם־טובֿ־לעגענדעס. װעגן דעם האָט זיך אַ מאָל (אױף פּױליש) באַקלאָגט דער ייִדישער קריטיקער בער מאַרק, אַז דװקא די „פֿינצטערע חסידות“ נעמט אױס בײַם ניט־ייִדישן לײענער־עולם.
דאָ ניט לאַנג האָט מען אױך אַרױסגעלאָזט פֿון ס׳נײַ די זכרונות פֿון עסטרײַכישן אױטאָר זאָמאַ (שלמה) מאָרגנשטערן, װאָס דערצײלט װעגן דער חסידישער גאַליציע פֿון זײַנע קינדער־יאָרן.
בנוגע דער באַליבטקײט און דעם כּישוף פֿון חסידיזם האָט װאָלף לאַצקי־באַרטאָלדי, מיט אַ יאָר הונדערט צוריק, געשריבן: „אונדזער ייִדישקײט איז פֿאַרגליװערט, אָבער מיט חסידות קאָן מען נאָך מגייר זײַן. והא ראַיה: משׂכּילים און פֿאַרשײַטע אַפּיקורסים האָבן זיך אומגעקערט צו ייִדישקײט אױפֿן װעג פֿון דער חסידות.“
אױך אין פּױלן איז לעצטנס אַרױס אַ נײַער באַנד חסידישע מעשׂיות. נאָר דאָס איז אַ בוך פֿון אַן אַנדער פֿאַרנעם, פֿון אַן אַנדער מדרגה. דאָ גײט ניט דװקא אין חסידישן ראָמאַנטיזם, נאָר אין אַ זאַמלונג עכטע חסידישע מעשׂיות מכּל־המינים, איבערגעזעצטע אױף פּױליש. אַזאַ כּוללדיקע זאַמלונג באַװײַזט זיך צום ערשטן מאָל אין װאָסער ניט איז לשון.
נאָך אַ חידוש: דער באַנד פֿון כּמעט 1,000 זײַטלעך גײט אַרױס אין דער ערשטער סעריע פֿון דער פּוילישער „נאַציאָנאַלער ביבליאָטעק“. אין דער צװײטער סעריע גיט מען אַרױס װערק פֿון דער „פֿרעמדער“ ליטעראַטור, אין דער ערשטער — װערק פֿון דער פּױלישער ליטעראַטור גופֿא. ס׳איז ניט דאָס ערשטע מאָל װאָס מע נעמט אַרײַן אין דער ערשטער סעריע אױך װערק אָנגעשריבענע לכתּחילה אױף אַן אַנדער שפּראַך. ס׳איז אָבער פֿון די געצײלטע בענד װאָס נעמען אַרײַן ליטעראַטור ניט פֿון קײן קריסטלעכע מחברים, און דערצו פֿון אַ נאַציאָנאַלער מינדערהײט.
ניט געקוקט אױף דעם פֿאַקט װאָס אָט די געקליבענע חסידישע מעשׂיות זאָלן מיט זיך פֿאָרשטעלן אַ חלק פּױלישע קולטור־נחלה, רעכנט מען זיך אָבער ניט מיט קײן מלוכישע גרענעצן. פֿאַרקערט, מע האָט זיך באַמיט צונױפֿזאַמלען מעשׂיות פֿון גאַנץ ייִדישלאַנד, אױך פֿון די „נײַע“ גלותן מעבֿר־לים, און פֿון אַלע תּקופֿות.
אױך זשאַנערן פֿון פֿאַרשײדענע סאָרטן זײַנען דאָ פֿאַראַן: לענגערע דערצײלונגען, כּמו־װיסנשאַפֿטלעכע כראָניקעס און גאָר קורצע מעשׂהלעך. לאָמיר עפּעס פּאָסמאַקעװען פֿון אָט דער פֿיל־מיניקער זאַמלונג.
נאַט אײַך אַ מעשׂה פֿון די סאַמע ערשטע דורות חסידישע גוטע־ייִדן: די הײליקע ברידער ר׳ אלימלך און ר׳ זושע זצ״ל זײַנען אַװעק אָפּריכטן גלות כּדי צוצוציִען ייִדן צו חסידות. זײ האָבן אַזש אָנגעשפּאַרט ביז צו דער דײַטשישער גרענעץ אין קאַטאָװיץ. װען זײ האָבן זיך גענומען גײן װײַטער, האָט זיך אָבער באַװיזן דער שׂטן און געזאָגט זײ: טאָמער װעט איר אַריבער די דײַטשישע גרענעץ, טאָ זײַט װיסן אַז דעמאָלט װעל איך פֿאַרװאַנדלען אַלע ייִדן — אין חסידים. די ברידער האָבן זיך שטאַרק איבערגעשראָקן, אַז זײ האָבן דערזען, װי שלעכט ס׳װעט זײַן פֿאַר דער חסידות, װען די ברײטע מאַסן זאָלן זיך אײַנשליסן אין אירע רײען, װאָרן דעמאָלט װעט די חסידות אין גאַנצן פֿאַרלױרן גײן. און זײ האָבן זיך אומגעקערט אַהײם, אין זײער לאַנד.
טשיקאַװע: יענע ערשטע פֿאַרשפּרײטער פֿון חסידישקײט האָבן גאָר מורא געקראָגן זײער נײַע תּורה זאָל זיך ניט צעשפּרײטן צו פֿיל, כּדי זי זאָל חלילה ניט אָנװערן איר תּמצית. אַנדערש מיט עטלעכע דורות שפּעטער — אַזאַ מין ליטעראַרישער נבֿיא פֿונעם בעל־שם־טובֿס תּורה װי מאַרטין מרדכי בובער האָט דאָך געהאַלטן, אַז דאָס פֿירט דװקא ער צוריק צום לכתּחילהדיקן קװאַל, װען ער האָט ברײט אױפֿגעפּראַלט „די שערי־תּשובֿה פֿון חסידישן ראָמאַנטיזם“. אַזױ צי אַנדערש, האָט די ליטעראַרישע חסידות לױט בובערס און פּרצעס נוסח טאַקע אַנטפּלעקט דעם „נפֿשות־באַשאַפֿנדיקן כּוח“ פֿון דער חסידות (ציטאַטן פֿון לאַצקי־באַרטאָלדי).
די אַרױסגעבער פֿון דער פּױלישער אַנטאָלאָגיע „חסידישע מעשׂיות“, די פֿאָרשער מאַרטשין װאָדזשינסקי און װױטשיעך טװאָרעק, זשאַלעװען ניט קײן כּוחות אױף מפֿרסם צו זײַן דאָס בוך. אַחוץ די געװײנטלעכע מיטלען — ליטעראַרישע אָװנטן, נסיעות אױף ביכער־ירידן, ראַדיאָ־אינטערװיוען און דאָס גלײַכן — לאָזן זײ אַרױס אַ שײנע סעריע פֿילמעלעך מיט מער־װײניקער באַרימטע פּערזענלעכקײטן װאָס לײענען אָדער דערצײלן איבער מעשׂיות פֿון דער אַנטאָלאָגיע.
די אױבן געבראַכטע מעשׂה, למשל, לײענט זײערער אַ קאָלעגע פֿון ברעסלױער אוניװערסיטעט, דער פֿילאָלאָג יאַן מיאָדעק. מיאָדעקן קען אין פּױלן שיִער ניט יעדעס קינד. ער גיט שױן צענדליקער יאָרן עצות װי אַזױ צו רעדן אַ לײַטיש פּױליש. בײַ גלײַך מיט די אַנדערע פֿאָרלײענער, גיט אױך מיאָדעק אַ מאָל צו אַ זאַץ בשעתן לײענען. דער רבי ר׳ אלימלך און זײַן ברודער ר׳ משולם־זושע קערן זיך אום אַהײם, אין זײער לאַנד — קײן פּױלן, הײסט עס, גיט צו מיאָדעק און קוקט דעם צושױער־עולם אין די אױגן אַרײַן.
פֿאַרשטײט זיך אַז די אַרױסגעבער האָבן ניט אײנע אַליין באַװיזן אױפֿטאָן אַזאַ עובֿדה פֿון „אומקערן אַהײם“ די פּױלישע צדיקים מיט זײערע מעשׂיות. זײ האָט געהאָלפֿן אַ גאַנצע בריגאַדע איבערזעצער: צװישן זײ זײַנען דאָ דערפֿאַרענע מיט אַ לאַנגן סטאַזש און אַ נאָמען, נאָר אױך אָנהײבער אינעם פֿאַך, תּלמידים פֿון די אַרױסגעבער, װאָס האָבן זיך אַזױ אַרום געדרוקט צום ערשטן מאָל. צו זאָגן דעם גאַנצן אמת, בין איך הקטן אַלײן בײַגעװען בײַ די ערשטע שטאַפּלען פֿון פּראָיעקט. אַזױ האָב איך געקענט זען אַז מע לאָזט ניט אױף הפֿקר די איבערזעצער, נאָר מע זאָרגט מע זאָל זײ געבן אַן אָרנטלעכן אַרײַנפֿיר אינעם חסידיזם.
דערמיט האָט זיך פֿאַרנומען ניט אַבי װער, נאָר װיכטיקע מומחים, בתוכם די לינגוויסטקע לילי קאַהן װאָס האָט אײַנגעפֿירט דעם עולם אין די כּללים פֿון חסידישן לשון־קודש, צי דער היסטאָריקער גדי סגיבֿ (סאַגיװ) װאָס האָט אָפּגעהאַלטן אַ װאַרשטאַט װעגן חסידישן שטײגער דערצײלן מעשׂיות.
אױך דער פּױלישער לײענער װאָס נעמט אין האַנט אַרײַן דעם באַנד „חסידישע מעשׂיות“, איז זוכה צו אַן אַרײַנפֿיר, װי גאָט האָט געבאָטן. די רעדאַקטאָרן זײַנען מקדים די דערצײלונגען מיט „אַ װאָרט אַפֿריִער“ פֿון אַ צװײ הונדערט זײַטלעך — אַ מין מאָנאָגראַפֿיע פֿאַר זיך און, בײַם הײַנטיקן טאָג, דער סאַמע גרונטיקער טראַקטאַט װעגן חסידיזם װאָס איז פֿאַראַן אױף דער פּױלישער שפּראַך.
די מעשׂיות גײען לױטן כראָנאָלאָגישן סדר. װײַטער האָט מען זײ אײַנגעטײלט לױט געאָגראַפֿיע און טעמעס. לאָמיר צום סוף ברענגען נאָך צװײ בײַשפּילן. אינעם חלק װעגן חורבן און װידערגעבורט געפֿינען מיר אַ מעשׂה — װעגן פּױלישן פּױפּס, יאַן פּאַװעל דעם צװײטן. דער בלאָזשעװער רבי, ר׳ ישׂראל שפּיראָ, גיט דאָרט איבער אַז אַ פּױפּס איז ער געװאָרן — אין זכות פֿון אַן עצה װאָס ער, יאַן פּאַװעל, דעמאָלט אַ יונגער גלח אױפֿן נאָמען קאַראָל װױטילאַ, האָט געעצהט אַ פּאָליאַטשקע פֿון די חסידי־אומות־העולם װאָס האָט אױסבאַהאַלטן אַ ייִדיש ייִנגל פֿון די נאַצישע רוצחים, אַז זי דאַרף איבערגעבן דאָס קינד די אַמעריקאַנער ייִדישע קרובֿים, עס זאָל װאַקסן בײַ די אײגענע און טאַקע אַ ייִדיש קינד.
אַז מע האַלט שױן בײַ חסידישע מעשׂיות װעגן די קאַטױלן, איז אָט נאָך אַן אינטערעסאַנטע דוגמא, אַ מעשׂה װעגן כּוח פֿון דערצײלן מעשׂיות. אַ מאָל איז געװען אַ ייִד, און זײַן װײַב האָט ניט געבױרן קײן קינדער, האָט ער געבעטן אַן עצה בײַ ר׳ מרדכי טשערנאָבליער און ר׳ ישׂראלטשקע רוזשינער זי״ע, װאָס האָבן זיך פּונקט פֿאַרהאַלטן אין אײן שטעטל. דעמאָלט האָט דער רוזשינער רבי איבערגעגעבן אַ מעשׂה, אַ סגולה פֿאַר װײַבער װאָס קענען נעבעך קײן קינדער ניט האָבן.
ס׳האָט געטראָפֿן אין רױם, אַז אַ פֿרומער קריסט האָט געהאַט אַ טאָכטער, װאָס ער האָט זי געלערנט אַלע קאַטױלישע דינים און מנהגים. איז זי אונטערגעװאַקסן אַ געלערנטע. די יונגע פֿרױ האָט אָבער מקנא געװען די גלחים װאָס פֿאַרמאָגן אַ סך כּוח און מאַכט. האָט זי זיך איבערגעטאָן אין מאַנסבילשע קלײדער און איז אַװעק אין טעאָלאָגישן סעמינאַר. זי האָט אַזש אַריבערגעשטיגן אַלעמען דאָרט מיט איר בקיאות און קענטעניש. װען מע האָט געדאַרפֿט צוקלײַבן אַ נײַעם פּױפּס, האָט מען דעריבער אױסגעװײלט זי װי דעם ממלא־מקומו. איז זי אָבער אַראָפּ פֿון גלײַכן װעג און פֿאַרגאַנגען אין טראָגן. פּונקט װען מע האָט געהאַלטן אין פּראַװען אַ גרױסע חגא אױף די גאַסן פֿון שטאָט, האָט זי געקראָגן די װײען און געגאַנגען צו קינד. פֿון דעמאָלט אָן איז מען בודק צי דער מענטש איז ניט אַ מאָל אַ נקבֿה, אײדער מע קלײַבט אים אױס פֿאַר אַ פּױפּס.
בײַם פֿאַרענדיקן די מעשׂה האָט דער רוזשינער באַלד אױסגערופֿן: מזל־טובֿ, דײַן װײַב קומט אַ מזל־טובֿ, זי האָט ערשט געהאַט אַ זון. די דאָזיקע מעשׂה טוט אַ פּעולה, אַפֿילו אַ פּשוטער בשׂר־דם זאָל זי איבערדערצײלן.
אױך דעם פּױלישן לײענער־עולם קומט אַ מזל־טובֿ װאָס ער האָט זוכה געװען צו אַזאַ גאָלדענעם צוגאָב צו דער פּױלישער קולטור־ירושה. ס׳װילט זיך אױך מאַכן אַ שהחיינו לכּבֿוד די חסידישע מעשׂיות װאָס מע האָט זײ אײַנגעבירגערט אינעם פּױלישן ליטעראַרישן קאַנאָן אױף אַזאַ לײַטישן אופֿן.
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