Before the start of the Holocaust, Jewish born Rose Warmer found her Messiah. When her people were being deported, she longed to go with them. She handed herself in, was transported to Auschwitz and brought the people there the Word of God.
Rose was born in a well-to-do Jewish family in Hungary. She studied art, music and dance and led a wandering artist’s life in Vienna and Budapest. In the 1930s when Nazism was rising, anti-Semitism too was growing day by day. Jews were being forced to wear the yellow star and were thrown out of professional jobs to work as cleaners and garbage collectors in the streets.
It came as an enormous shock when the report came that Rose’s brother had been deported to a concentration camp. Although the family barely understood what a concentration camp was, they had heard terrible rumours. Rose’s aging father couldn’t endure the increasing pressure and he died of a heart attack. His sudden death was a traumatic experience for Rose. On the advice of her husband she turned to spiritualism in a search for reassurance about the afterlife, but instead of finding peace her mind became tormented by evil spirits. If these problems were not bad enough, she was humiliated by her husband who was openly unfaithful to her.
Isaac Lichtenstein was a respected rabbi in Hungary. The anti-Semitism in his country stimulated him to search the New Testament. He was captured by what he read and found the true Judaism. He decided to remain amongst his own people and to preach to them that Jesus is the Messiah.
How dare you?
Isaac Lichtenstein was not quite twenty years old when he became a rabbi. After officiating for several years in different communities in northern Hungary, he finally settled in Tápiószele. There he served the local Jewish community for nearly forty years.
Early in his career, a Jewish teacher in the communal school of his district casually showed him a German Bible. Turning the leaves, his eye fell on the name ‘Jesu Christi’. He became furiously angry and sharply reproved the teacher for having such a thing in his possession. Taking the book, he flung it across the room in a rage; it fell behind others on a shelf where, dusty and forgotten, it lay some thirty-odd years.
C.W.H. Wedekind tells about his friendship with the Jewish Meijer Korper in the time just before the Second World War.
We lived in the centre of Amsterdam close to the harbour. At that time many houses were empty and for rent, including in our street, the Lijndenstraat. I was eleven years old when opposite of us the Jewish family Korper moved in: father Wolf, mother Rebecca and the two sons Meijer and Loekie. Meijer Korper was one year older than I. Although the Korpers were not the only Jewish people in the neighbourhood, it was not an explicit Jewish area.
One day Meijer spoke to me and told me that he was a Jewish boy. I told him that I had seen and heard that already a long time ago. Did I hate him for that? “Of course not,” I told him, “after all I play soccer with the Jewish boys.” The fact is, I played at the club “The Centre”, that was set up by Jewish boys. They even had shirts and shorts in the colours of the Israeli flag.