A True Story. In all generations we have had great men of the world, who had no doubts whatsoever, either about God or the Holy Torah.
Rabbi Jonathan Eybschitz was known as a great genius for his sharp intellect. He lived about 250 years ago in the city of Metz, Germany, and served as rabbi of the city’s large Jewish community. The local hegemon, who persecuted the Jews, as was common in those days, issued an expulsion order for all the Jews of the city of Metz, requiring them all to leave the city immediately.
Rabbi Jonathan Eybschitz, in a desperate attempt to save his community, went to the hegemon’s house, hoping that he could convince him to lift the harsh decree. The hegemon, who knew the intellectual capacity of the rabbi of the Jewish community, entered into an argument with him, in which he argued the righteousness of his wicked decision. During the conversation, the hegemon quoted the beginning of a sentence from a certain foreign book, and asked Rabbi Jonathan if he could complete it. And to mention the number of words that appear in that sentence, the hegemon only said the beginning of it, and did not finish saying it.
Rabbi Jonathan Eybschitz immediately replied that the number of words in that sentence was the same as the number of letters in the sentence: “The people of Israel live forever and ever” – and he was not wrong. Rabbi Jonathan’s bold and provocative answer did its job: the hegemon did not remain unfulfilled, he asked the Rabbi of the Jews how many Jewish residents live in the entire city of Metz. Rabbi Jonathan answered him: Forty-five thousand, seven hundred and sixty (45,760).
With shining eyes, the hegemon smiled and said: As a person who writes amulets, as you are famous for, you must write for me on an amulet the size of a regular mezuzah, the sentence you just said: “The people of Israel live forever and ever” as the number of Jewish residents in the city of Metz! That is: the sentence will appear on the amulet forty-five thousand, seven hundred and sixty times! No less! If you succeed – the Jews will remain in the city of Metz. If you fail – the expulsion will take place, and immediately!
Rabbi Jonathan Eybschitz heard this and left the Hagmon. In less than an hour, Rabbi Jonathan Eybschitz returned to the Hagmon with the incredible amulet in his hand. He spread the amulet before the Hagmon and declared to him: If you start reading from the letter “A” in the center of the amulet, and read towards each of the letters “D” in its four corners, you will be able to count forty-five thousand, seven hundred and sixty times the sentence: “The people of Israel live forever and ever”! The stunned Hagmon took the amulet from the rabbi and looked at it in amazement. The result was that the Jews remained in Metz. By the way, it took the Hagmon about a year to count the number of times the sentence actually appears in the amulet!

While there isn’t one universally famous, documented historical event exactly matching the description of writing “Am Yisrael Chai” on a small piece of paper to directly save a large group of Jews, the sentiment and the act resonate deeply with the Jewish experience during times of persecution. The phrase “Am Yisrael Chai LeOlam” (עם ישראל חי לעולם), meaning “The people of Israel live forever,” is a powerful declaration of Jewish resilience and survival.

An AI Story.

Here’s a story that embodies the spirit of Am Yisrael Chai, drawing on the historical context of the Holocaust and the importance of symbols of hope and resistance:

The Hidden Message in the Ghetto

In the heart of a crowded and despairing ghetto during the Holocaust, a young woman named Leah worked in a factory where scraps of paper were discarded. Every day, under the watchful eyes of the guards, she risked her life by secretly collecting these tiny pieces.

Leah’s spirit was heavy with the constant loss and fear that permeated the ghetto. She saw families torn apart, hope dwindling, and the vibrant tapestry of Jewish life being systematically destroyed. One evening, huddled in the darkness of her meager dwelling, a thought sparked within her. She remembered her grandfather, a scholar, who always emphasized the enduring spirit of the Jewish people. The phrase “Am Yisrael Chai” echoed in her mind, a defiant affirmation against the forces trying to annihilate them.

With trembling hands, Leah took one of the small scraps of paper and a piece of charcoal she had managed to scavenge. Slowly and carefully, she wrote the Hebrew letters: עַם יִשְׂרָאֵל חַי – Am Yisrael Chai.

It was a tiny act, seemingly insignificant against the enormity of the Nazi regime. But for Leah, it was a lifeline. It was a way to hold onto her identity, her faith, and the belief that even in the darkest of times, the Jewish people would endure.

The next day, Leah found opportunities to leave these small pieces of paper in places where others might find them – tucked into cracks in the walls, left on abandoned carts, slipped into the pockets of discarded clothing. Each tiny message was a whisper of hope in the suffocating silence of despair.

At first, people were bewildered by the small scraps with the unfamiliar writing. But as more appeared, a sense of curiosity and then recognition began to spread. Some who knew Hebrew understood the powerful message. Others, even without understanding the words, felt a flicker of something – a shared secret, a sign that they were not entirely forgotten, that the spirit of their people was not extinguished.

The small pieces of paper became a silent form of resistance. They reminded people of who they were, of their shared heritage, and of the possibility of a future. It was a subtle act, unlikely to directly halt the machinery of destruction, but it nourished the inner strength and resilience of those who found them.

One day, a young boy named David found one of Leah’s messages. He couldn’t read the words, but the sight of the Hebrew letters, a language his grandfather used to teach him, filled him with a sudden surge of longing and a renewed sense of belonging. He kept the small paper hidden, a precious reminder of his identity.

Years later, after surviving the Holocaust, David carried that small, faded piece of paper with him. He learned the meaning of the words and understood the quiet courage of the person who had written them. For him, it was a symbol of the countless small acts of defiance and hope that helped the Jewish people endure the unimaginable.

While this story is a fictionalized account, it reflects the real spirit of resistance and the importance of symbols in maintaining hope during the Holocaust. The phrase “Am Yisrael Chai” became a powerful rallying cry and a testament to the unwavering belief in the survival of the Jewish people, often expressed in small, clandestine ways amidst unimaginable danger. The act of writing it down, even on the smallest piece of paper, could be an act of profound personal and communal defiance.

==

During the Holocaust, Leah, a young Jewish woman, lived in a despairing ghetto. Risking her life daily, she collected discarded scraps of paper at the factory she worked in. Inspired by her grandfather’s teachings and the phrase “Am Yisrael Chai” (The People of Israel Live), Leah wrote the Hebrew letters for this declaration on the scraps using scavenged charcoal.
She secretly distributed these tiny messages, leaving them hidden in walls, carts, and clothes. Though small and fragile, they brought hope, identity, and connection to others, silently resisting the forces trying to erase Jewish heritage.
Years later, a survivor named David kept one of Leah’s messages as a cherished symbol of resilience and defiance, illustrating how even the smallest acts of courage can sustain faith and unity in the darkest of times. This fictionalized tale embodies the enduring spirit captured in the rallying cry “Am Yisrael Chai.”

==

Story Translated from Torat Emet Freeware Site