From Ferderber-Salz, Bertha. And The Sun Kept Shining. Holocaust Pubns, 1980. Print.
The only place in Cracow where I found a comforting word and some consolation in my loneliness was the house of the Rabbi of Cracow's remaining Jews, Rabbi Menashe Levertov. Each time I felt despair getting the better of me, I hurried to the Rabbi's house to hear some encouraging words. The Rabbi, who was himself a broken man and had lost everything, would find the right words with which to console me. All my life I will be grateful to the Rabbi, that dearest of men, for the help and spiritual support he gave me during that time.
[Bertha Federber-Salz in describing her attempts to get her children's birth certificates made out in their real names so they could take on their Jewish identities again]
My face and shabby clothes indicated quite clearly that I was unable to pay for the service. Nevertheless the man in charge was not ashamed to ask for the certificates, for a sum of money that sounded astronomical to me. "I'm sorry," I said. "I can't pay anything. It hadn't occurred to me that this would involve payment." I added, believing that any Jew would be glad to help children who had miraculously been saved. The man grew angry and shouted, "Who do you think you are, coming and preaching at me? Without money, you won't get the certificates!" With a heavy heart I left the house and went, in my despair, to Rabbi Levertov's house. In tears I told the story to the person who was my only friend and comforter in that city. My tale pained the Rabbi deeply. He advised me to return to the man and tell him that I was entitled to complain about him to the authorities and force him to give me the certificates, but instead I would take him before a religious court. When he heard this he left the room in a rage, telling his secretary to prepare the certificates and take money from me only for the stamps. I brought the certificates to the children, and after that, they were called by their real names again.
[Describing a day of weddings at the Bergen-Belsen camp, 1946] The brides were wearing regular dresses and head scarves; only a few had an especially nice scarf. However, it was not their commonplace clothes that made everyone feel sad on their special day. The souls of parents who had not survived to lead their children beneath the wedding canopy hovered in the air of the camp. On everyone's face one could see grief and mourning and the rabbi's voice was choked with tears as he blessed the couples. After the ceremony each couple went to their own corner to commune with their sorrow, and there was no sound of rejoicing, singing or dancing, as is customary. I went to my nook and sat down to write a letter to my friend, the Rabbi of Cracow [Levertov]. In my letter I described the sad wedding and my feelings of melancholy. Years later, when I met the Rabbie here in America, he told me that he had kept my letter and that when he read it he had heard our tormented people's cry of anguish.