Jewish Victims of Nazism Fail in Efforts to Negotiate Forced-labor Compensation

A delegation of the Federation of Jewish Victims of the Nazi Regime has failed in its efforts to negotiate forced-labor compensation with the West German Manufacturers Association, it was reported here today by Joseph Schuldenfrei, a Haifa lawyer and a member of the delegation. He said that despite the group’s having written to the Association in advance of its visit to West Germany, the Association avoided discussing the issue on the grounds that the application was a civil claim that was no longer valid under the statute of limitations. The Jewish delegation represented a quarter-million Israeli survivors of slave-labor camps. It suggested total compensation of 400 million marks ($100 million). It did receive a promise from the manufacturers that a meeting could be arranged for the beginning of My if it is given three weeks’ notices.

President Zalman Shazar of Israel, who has written “I was a child of the shtiebel…It was my second home,” spent Purim eve last night in Brooklyn as the guest of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Menachem Schneerson. It was Shazar’s second visit to the shul as head of state, the first having been five years ago. Some 500 bearded hassidim waited expectantly in the chilly evening air for him to arrive, which he did at 6:10 p.m. Patriarchs and cameramen attempting to follow him into his meeting with the Rebbe created a crush that slammed this correspondent against a wall, American Secret Servicemen, Israeli Secret Servicemen (Shin Bet) and New York City policemen put up a solid resistance. The patriarchs, in the true spirit of Eretz Yisroel, refused to give up a single inch of occupied territory until negotiations resulted in the admission of those cleared by the Secret Service. The usual police pass was not sufficient even for a JTA correspondent, who required the verbal intervention of Israeli Consulate official Gabriel Padon and the physical protection of a large law-and order Lubavitcher to reach the small inner room.

Inside, Shazar and the Rebbe spoke in Yiddish, head to head, for half an hour. discussing past holidays and mutual friends. The Rebbe wore his black caftan, the President his black overcoat and both wore black hats. They spoke quietly, gesturing like two elderly Jews over a chessboard in the park. The two dozen privileged patriarchs listened silently and intently. The Rebbe presented Shazar with a siddur, two silver megilla scroll-holders, and a copy of a newly published manuscript by the original Lubavitcher Rebbe. Shazar in turn gave his host a small megilla that had belonged to his grandfather, a student of the original Lubavitcher Rebbe in Russia. Shazar has written of his Habad Hasid grandfather: “Though he learned to forgive his granddaughters much, he could not pardon my Zionist enthusiasm and my odd companions, and he never ceased trying to bring me back ‘to the right path.’ Yet there was no one dearer to me than this grandfather. From my early childhood, whenever I looked at him sitting at the head of the table, I sensed with wonder a sort of spiritual radiance shining from his high forehead. His learning had become part of me, his chants echoed throughout our house, and his ardor was to sustain me for many long years in all the wandering and searching of my life…From my mother, his daughter, I learned that the death of his rebbe had left him terribly depressed and that he was growing more and more eager to leave Russia for Hebron, the Habad center in the Holy Land where his brother, too, had gone in old age…In the summer of 1911, I was at last able to go to Palestine. Half a year later I received the news of his death.” (“Morning Stars.” Jewish Publication Society, 1967)

HASSIDIM WAIT IN THE COLD NIGHT TO SEE THE REBBE AND THE PRESIDENT

After his meeting with Rebbe Schneerson, Shazan, now she went downstairs in the small elevator with his military escort, a uniformed lieutenant colonel; the Rebbe, and two Secret Servicemen. The wood-paneled auditorium was already filled with the hassidim who had been waiting outside. It is a curious combination of old and new–the women, set off in an upper, glass-partitioned tier. looking down on a hall lit by fluorescent bulbs and cooled by air conditioning. The Purim service–the familiar story of Esther and Mordecai, Ahasueras and Vashti, and of course Haman–was recounted for an hour by a rabbi whose sing-song recitation was repeatedly interrupted by the traditional stamping and noisemaking at mention of the wicked one’s name. The service over, a smiling Shazar shook hands with the hassidim up front as the hundreds of others pushed forward for a closer look or a touch. At least one hassid almost fell from his wooden bench, and at least one well-worn prayer book fell to the floor and broke in two. The impact as the congregants pressed for the exits made the earlier confrontation look like only practice for the real game. Upstairs, hassidim broke into song and dance, their rousing choruses resounding within, and without, the tiny cubicle of a room. Shazar and the Rebbe ate privately. It was 8: 30 p.m. Outside the building, not knowing when their Rebbe and his distinguished guest would emerge, the faithful stood behind police lines and waited all over again. They were still there when Shazar finally left at midnight.