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THE SOUTHERN ISRAELITE
Friday, March 7, 1958
Camp
Lenni-Len-A-Pe
SALISBURY MILLS, N. Y.
BOYS GIRLS, 5-17 YRS.
Modern facilities in charming
country hotting. Private lake, all
land ft water aporta. Water ski
ing, trlpa. work units, photo
graphy, science, tutoring, etc.
Medical staff. 1800 ft. altitude.
65 miles from N.Y.C.
DIRECTORS
MR. & MRS. M. HALSBAND
Camp Tal. OYp*y *-34»| or writ*
NIGHT
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The Fabulous
Male Quartet
“THE
FOUR
MINTS”
PLUS THE FABULOUS
TOKYE TRIO
BILLY SANDS, M.C.
THREE SHOWS NIGHTLY
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CHARGE
S55 Peachtree — JA. 4-1*69
HEBREW SELF-TAUGHT
by AHARON ROSEN
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Reading material in vocalized Easy Hebrew, and also material for
advanced students may be obtained through your local HebrtW
Organization or by writing to : Brit I n it Olamit, P.O .B. 7111,
]eiusuitill, Israel.
Published by Brit lvnt OUmit
PLAIN TALK
\ isil W itli Anne
By ALFRED SEGAL
At a recent matinee in our
town I was with that lovely
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bright girl Anne Frank, and her
noble father in the person of
the fine actor Mr. Schildkraut.
I mean the Anne Frank who has
been keeping alive in the diary
she wrote. Some 14 years ago
she was counted among the 6
million whom Hitler had put out
of the world.
But here was Anne Frank on
this day of 1958 laughing and
making as happy a time of her
life as she could up there on
top story of the Armsterdam
factory. There Anne and her par
ents were in hiding from Hitler.
Now in the theater she was en
acting the diary she had writ
ten, the story of a sweet young
liwe that still stays alive, though
no one can be quite sure in
which of the many graves in the
Belsen concentration camp Anne
Frank lies buried.
At moments all of us in the
theater felt horribly worried for
her. Dreadful sounds would come
up in the night from deep
downstairs in the factory that
was the prison of the Frank
family. Maybe the Nazis were
breaking in, and what would be
come of Anne and her parents?
Everyone around me was crying
for them, and I myself was
thankful the theater was dark
enough to conceal the tear that
rolled down my right cheek.
But it wasn’t yet time for
Anne to die. About two years
were to pass before Hitler was
to find her up there and take
her away to the concentration
camp and to a grave. That noise
downstairs fell away into sil
ence and, thank goodness, for
the time being anyway, my
Anne was same. She could start
playing and laughing again. I
speak of her as “my Anne” be
cause she was a special posses
sion; Anne was of all of us in
the world, of all our consci
ences.
She was accepted as kin by
the Christian lady in the seat
next to mine in the theater. I
could hear her suppressed sob
for Anne, and all around me
other people were raising hand
kerchiefs to their eyes for
Anne Frank. As I looked around
I could feel myself a lot closer
to the brotherhood of man
than ever before in my life . ..
there, in the half-darkness of
the theater, I was in the bro
therhood of the consciences of
people of all the religions . . .
all these consciences together
protesting for Anne’s sake . . .
for justice . . . for mercy . . .
for all kindness . . . Christians
and Jews together.
I had never found the like in
synagogue, church, cathedral or
in any of those other edifices in
which people assemble to be
with God for favors they hope
for. That theater matinee was
but a few days from Brother
hood Week when all over the
land, there would be speeches
for brotherhood in places of
worship and at special lun
cheons and dinners. But the ex
perience of being that afternoon
with all those people who had
come there to be with Anne and
to weep for her was like a gen
uine fulfillment of brotherhood.
In this theater, which is quite
unsanctified, you might say,
everyone was feeling close to
God on account of their consci
ences being so close to Anne
Frank. Yes, the Shubert Theater
of our town was a scared edifice
that afternoon and through all
the week that Anne Frank was
there.
Ordinarily, at theater shows
I go out at intermission to smoke
my pipe in the lobby. But to
leave my seat on that afternoon
with Anne Frank would have
been like leaving schul for a
smoke on Yom Kippur. I just
kept on sitting there waiting
for the continuation of Anne
Frank’s diary.
I sat there through intermis
sion with Anne Frank at my
side, in the spirit, you might
say . . . ‘‘Dear Anne,” I said
‘‘your diary is better than ser
mons . . . the way it takes hold
of people. On account of you no
one here this afternoon feels
stranger to his neighbor. Sev
eral seats away from me I saw
that white woman and the Neg
ro girl crying together for you . .
all of one conscience, you might
say.”
“Yes,” Anne replied, “it’s so
nice for me to be keeping alive
that way . . . still so alive here
and all over the country ... 14
years after what happened to me
at Belsen."
Then I brought up a question
with some hestitation because it
might be painful to Anne.
“And what about Hitler?” I
asked her. “Do you ever see any
thing of him Up There?”
“Hitler? Hitler?” she inquired.
“Who’s Hitler? I can’t remem
ber the name. Is it really some
body’s name? Hitler?”
I pressed the question no far
ther. It seemed that Hitler was
so dead that even one who had
suffered by his hand had no
memory of him. He was a fel
low deader than anyone in the
earth. It wasn’t for me to dig
him up any farther.
Much more important was his
victim, Anne Frank, who was so
brightly alive on the earth; this
afternoon she had rallied us all
to the feeling of oneness in the
brotherhood. The curtain rose
again and Anne was back on
the stage.
Anne played and laughed some
more, gave sun-filled light and
hope to the family . . . until
their final hour when the Nazis
found them up there in the
factory’s top story. Anne’s fath
er had lighted hanukah candles
by which to celebrate, victory
over another oppressor 2,000
years before Hitler. He read:
“Blessed art Thou, O Lord our
God, King of the universe, who
has kept us in life, and has pre
served us . . .” But now it was
time for Jews to get going again;
the Nazis were at the door. The
Franks walked toward their
death with high heads.
I nodded thanks to Anne
Frank as I pulled on my over
coat. At the theater’s door I met
the manager Mr. Noah Schecht-
er . . . “I guess, Noah,” 1 said,
“you’ve had crowds of Jewish
people here this week.”
Mr. Schechter replied, “No.”
Jews hadn’t been so many. There
had been many more Christians
to visit with Anne Frank. He
guessed that Jews were fearful
of going back to dreadful mem
ories.
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