
This week, on Monday, January 27, we observed International Holocaust Remembrance Day. I reflected on a powerful message through a sermon titled Protecting Our Hearts: Confronting Evil Without Losing Ourselves, which I shared last Shabbat. This Dvar Torah, inspired by Parashat Vaera, delved into themes of suffering, resilience, and the human heart’s capacity to endure injustice. By drawing connections between the biblical Exodus, the civil rights movement, and the challenges of our modern world, I explored the timeless question: Is suffering necessary to bring about change?
This message was deeply personal, as I shared the story of my great-uncle, Andrew Baum, a Holocaust survivor whose unwavering hope and optimism sustained him and others in the darkest of times. It was a reminder that while suffering is part of our history, it does not have to define our future. The power to shape our hearts—and the world—lies within us. On this day, as we remember the victims of the Holocaust and all who have suffered under oppression, we are challenged to open our hearts, strengthen our resolve, and bring light into the world.
This reflection led me to share another story, one that connects my family’s history with a symbol of hope: tefillin. The second part of this week’s Baum’s Branches is an excerpt from a sermon for Parashat Bo that I gave last year titled, One Day At A Time, which you can read in its entirety by clicking below or here.

"When I became a bar mitzvah, my grandfather Frank, also a Holocaust survivor, insisted on purchasing a set of tefillin for me. When he gave them to me, he shared a story that has stayed with me ever since.
My grandfather was interned in several slave labor camps before being sent to the Mauthausen concentration camp. He told me that, before their grueling and dangerous days of forced labor, a group of prisoners would wake up early to look for the first signs of daylight, put on their tefillin, and daven Shacharit. In 1943, at the age of 19, my grandfather joined that group.
When he told me this, I was shocked and deeply moved. I asked, “Grandpa, why would you pray, with tefillin no less, when you were in a slave labor camp and suffering because you were a Jew?” His response has guided me ever since. He said, “You had to pray and use your tefillin because it reminded you of better times—both in the past and ahead. We used our tefillin before the war, and it was something you just did every day. When we prayed together, we looked at each other and just knew that at least one of us would survive. Everything was taken from us except for our tefillin. Money, nice clothes, possessions—they meant nothing anymore. But when we put on the tefillin, for a few brief moments every day, we felt free.”
My grandfather survived, though he never knew what became of the others in that minyan. His tefillin became a daily reminder—an ot, a symbol—connecting him to hope and freedom.
The Ramban (Nachmanides) comments that tefillin are a “small miracle.” While God does not perform signs and wonders like the Ten Plagues in every generation, tefillin serve as a daily reminder of what God did for us during the Exodus and what we witnessed with our own eyes. This legacy is imparted to our children and their children, generation after generation.
Our tefillin connect us to the Exodus, our paradigm for freedom. When my grandfather put on his tefillin during those dark days of slavery, he experienced a few moments of that same freedom. These sacred objects continue to give us a dose of freedom and hope every day we use them. And freedom and hope come one day at a time.
As we navigate through challenging times, much like the Hebrew slaves in Egypt, we often grapple with feelings of powerlessness and despair. The echoes of empathic distress resonate in our collective struggle to make a difference and to find hope amidst pain. Yet, we have the same tools our ancestors did. If they made it through, so will we. One day at a time, with faith that just as they were redeemed, so too will we be redeemed.
Tefillin teach us about the small miracles we can create with our hands. They impart the story of our liberation to generations, as they did for my grandfather Frank during the Holocaust. These sacred objects were not just religious artifacts—they were beacons of hope and a connection to freedom in a world of oppression.
As we count the days since October 7 and strive to hold onto hope, let us not forget our hidden weapons of resilience. May these ancient practices guide us, offering moments of freedom and hope even in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges. As we face the unknown, let us embrace the sacred rhythms of time and the tangible reminders of our strength. Like the Israelites, we too can emerge from the darkness into the light of a new day."
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