My father was a Holocaust survivor. My parents arrived in Lakewood in 1960. My father and his fellow Greeneh needed a shul. These men were transplants from post-war Europe and didn’t feel comfortable in the local Orthodox shul. It just didn’t have the taam of the alter heim, and they felt they were kneaded from a different dough. They wanted a place of their own.

To them, a shul was a shteibel and a shtiebel was much more than a shul. My earliest memory of the shul is that of a four-year-old girl. The shul was housed in a cinderblock garage, located behind a drug store. Every year on Simchas Torah my mother made a huge kiddish in shul . This was during the early 60’s and kiddushim consisted of kichel, herring, sponge cake, galla and kishke.

Life was lived in shul and shul was our life.

Before long, the kehilla outgrew the small garage, The mispallelim were determined to have their own shul but were short of resources. At the time money was scarce, but there was an abundance of hotels in Lakewood. So my father, and the other men used these resources. They were able to procure space in hotel lobbies for their minyan. The minyan spent several months in a hotel, moving from one lobby to another. This way, they were able to keep their minyan together until they had enough money to buy a small house on 13^th Street. By then, the men had a name for the shul. They called in The Anshe Sfard.

The house was converted to a synagogue with a few small renovations. The men, some of whom were in construction, knocked down a few walls to make the best use of the space. A mechitza was placed across the back of the shul and this was the ezras nashim.

The shul members were kedoshim. Not because they died al kiddush Hashem like most of their families, but because they lived al kiddish Hashem. Many struggled with parnassah, while others prospered. But in shul, they were all the same. In shul, they belonged to one another fully.

After a while, the shul realized they needed a rav, and they were blessed to find R Shmuel Blech and his Rebbetzin, Sarah. Rav Blech quickly became the beloved rav ot the shul and the entire Lakewood kehilla. Although the shul was officially called Anshei Sfard, it was and still is popularly known as R’ Blech’s shul.

Today, one might overhear two people speaking, asking one another which shul they belong to. To me, that question is entirely backwards. You see, when I was a child, the shul belonged to me. It was my shul. That sentiment speaks volumes about what a shul meant in those days. It was a place where mispallelim got together, men, women and children. It was a constant in our lives and it didn’t take long for others to be drawn to it as well.

Although at its inception, most of the mispallelim were Europeans, there were some Americans who were drawn to the shul, too. They were welcomed like landsman. One of those Americans was Mrs. Rubin. She sat directly in front of me, and I was fascinated by her clip-on earrings, something my mother had never worn. I became familiar with bracelets, since Mrs. Silberberg wrists were adorned by gold bangles. The bracelets seemed to be playing a game of peek-a-boo with me. I couldn’t take my eyes off them because they shared space on her arm with the numbers tattooed there. I don’t know what tempted me more, the impulse to run my fingers over the numbers on her arm, or the wish to play with the charms dangling from the bracelet.

Simchas Torah was an experience unlike any other. These men, who could easily have been broken by the horrors they had lived through, were the most spirited people I have ever known. Around and around the bimah they danced, with the Sifrei Torah. When they were called up for the hakafos, they held the Sefer Torah tightly against their chest, the way one might hold a beloved child who had disappeared and then been found.

Yankel, was like a man on fire when he danced. While short in stature, his indomitable spirit was larger than life. His enthusiasm, his passion, his ahavas Torah was riveting. These men, who called themselves the Anshei Sfard, suffered nightmarish lives during the war. Some lost parents and siblings. Others lost wives and children, too. But on Simchas Torah each man danced with a radiance, passion, and happiness that belied the painful experiences they endured.

Over the years, the shul grew. New members joined and once again, the shul building was expanded. It no longer looked like a house and took on the appearance of a real shul building. The shteibel was gone, but change is inevitable.

The years passed and slowly but surely, so did its members. One by one they left this world to enter the next. Shortly after my father was niftar, I had a dream. All the men were in shul, dancing around the bimah of the original shteibel. They were all old men, but they danced with a vigor reserved for the young. They were spirited, they were passionate, and they were alive!

These men and women fought to survive the Holocaust. They came to this country “green” yet successfully transplanted their mesorah to the next generation. None of them had the privilege of learning in yeshiva during their adolescence and into adulthood. Yet, each and every one of them raised a family who did just that. By today’s standards, they might not all have been considered talmidei chachamim. Perhaps, they didn’t have the breadth of knowledge of Torah many people have today, but they endured for the Torah’s sake.

We often hear it said, “Er is geven a poshuter Yid.” I maintain, that in truth, it is not so pushut to be a pushuter yid like the men of the Anshei Sfard.

Michelle Halle, LCSW is a therapist in Lakewood.