As the area was about to be subjected to heavy construction, there was no alternative but to carefully dig up the kevarim and rebury the niftarim. As many chevra kaddisha members had already fled Pressburg or had been deported, there was a shortage of people to do this difficult and painful job, carried out under the supervision of Rav Shlomo Zalman Unsdorfer, rav of the chevra kaddisha. (Rav Unsdorfer, sometimes referred to as the Pressburger maggid, was murdered by the Nazis in 1944. His derashos during the difficult war years are gathered in the sefer Sifsei Shlomo.) The bones of each niftar were placed in small labeled boxes and carried over to the newer cemetery, where they were buried in a large kever achim.

Reb Shloime Stern of the chevra kaddisha brought his two young sons Brudi (Yisroel) and Bubby (Sholom Dov) to help, too. Brudi Stern, just a teenager at the time, described the heartrending scene in his memoirs: “The Yidden were forced to vacate the ancient cemetery… There were about six levels of graves, because over the years, the nearby Danube River would break its banks and cover the beis olam with earth, and they buried there another layer of graves… We used sieves to sift the earth for bones, then placed the bones in these boxes and took them over [to the newer cemetery]. I have pictures of the depth which was dug, until the area was clear of Yiddishe bones.”

Yet what about the clutch of graves of Pressburg’s great rabbanim, including the Chasam Sofer? As it was clear that the cemetery was slated to be destroyed, the efforts were focused on saving the Chelkas Harabbanim, which contained the graves of the Chasam Sofer, the first Rav Akiva Eiger (not to be confused with his father-in-law Rav Akiva Eiger), Rav Meshulem Igra, and 23 other rabbanim going back through the centuries.

Rav Michoel Ber Weissmandl knew that the Slovakian Nazis were susceptible to bribes, as bribes had successfully been used to delay the transports to Auschwitz. Perhaps the government could be bribed not to dig up the Chelkas Harabbanim?

Although all Jewish property had already been confiscated and anyone who was found holding on to their valuables would be shot, Moshe Aryeh Leib Watitz bravely held onto a sack of valuables worth a small fortune, which he handed over to the chevra kaddisha in order to save the chelkah. (Reb Shloime Stern, who had helped finance bribes to stop the deportations, also donated to this cause, according to his son’s memoirs, and there were several other anonymous donors as well.)

The Jews were represented by a Slovakian lawyer named Dr. Aristid Jamnický. In his memoirs, Jamnický wrote that Rav Weissmandl told him that if he would successfully help in the preservation of the Chasam Sofer’s grave, there would be a large sum of money placed in a Swiss bank account in his name. “But I refused,” Dr. Jamnický wrote. “I said that in matters of faith I do not accept payment.”

Dr. Jamnický was awed by the tenacity and dedication of the oppressed Yidden of Pressburg. The Jews had been stripped of their rights and assets, and were a hairsbreadth away from deportation to death camps. But the threat to the ancient cemetery still drew all their resourcefulness and dedication.

“I could not resist noting that it was truly admirable that now, in such a generally tragic time, they still try to preserve the bones of their deceased fellow believers who died centuries ago,” Dr. Jamnický wrote. “At the cemetery, Rabbi Weissmandl [explained to me that] ‘it was only respect for tradition and its constant nurturing that helped us Jews to overcome various kinds of misfortune which we were and are so often subject to. This is our highest order. We are not allowed to give up under any circumstances, even the most horrible.’ ”

Even Armin Frieder, the leader of the Neolog (Reform) congregations in Slovakia at the time, sided with Rav Weissmandl. Despite their diametrically opposed ideologies (and that of the Chasam Sofer himself, who dealt with extremely difficult issues of emancipation and assimilation among Europe’s Jews — many of whom chose baptism as their ticket to freedom — maintaining an unflinching hard line and arguing that the perilous allure of modernity far outweighed the dangers and great losses among the Jewish people), Frieder joined Rav Weissmandl’s rescue efforts. He was also a member of the “Working Group” who bribed the Nazis and successfully delayed Slovakian Jewry’s deportation by two years. Regarding the cemetery, Frieder wrote in his memoirs, “The main question was still open: Will the offices let our great leaders of the Torah rest in peace in their graves, or will they force us to pull out the bones of the dead geonim, as they did to our living brothers whom they drove out of their homes?”

Perhaps because of the large bribe, perhaps too because of a rumor of a curse that went along with disturbing the bones of this holy rav, the authorities agreed for those bones to remain in place, covering them in a ceiling of cement.

How Much Shame?

Immediately after the war, the Communists had gained control of the Eastern European states, and Slovakia became a satellite of the Soviet Union. At the time, there were plans for a tunnel to be dug under the Bratislava Castle, which would cut through the very spot of the Chasam Sofer’s protected grave. Records from 1949 state that “regarding transferring the former Jewish cemetery by the tunnel under the Bratislava Castle, all the graves shall be moved without exception and with appropriate respect so that the deadline for tunnel construction under the Bratislava castle and for Slovanska Road is not postponed.”

The Bratislava Jewish community — those who had returned postwar — sent the mayor a letter of protest, stating that “we respectfully request a change in the mentioned order such that the old Jewish cemetery may be dealt with … leaving the grave of Rabbi Moshe Sofer and other Jewish scholars undisturbed and giving the above-mentioned graves the status of a mausoleum underneath the renovated area.”

Rav Avraham Shmuel Binyomin Sofer, known as the Cheishev Sofer and rav of Pressburg from 1938 onward, after his father, the Daas Sofer [Rav Akiva Sofer (1878-1960)] moved to Eretz Yisrael, met with Czech foreign minister Jan Masaryk at the United Nations during this postwar period. As a direct descendant of the Chasam Sofer and son of the Daas Sofer who was the former rav of Pressburg, the Cheishev Sofer was able to persuade the government to leave the kevarim the way they were, by constructing the tunnel on top of them instead of through them.

In the end, the graves were not exhumed, but protected by a concrete sarcophagus which sealed the graves and protected them from the elements, but also made access extremely difficult.

Although the graves were protected by a concrete ceiling, reinforced with steel construction, the conditions inside were terribly cramped. To access the space, visitors had to lift a manhole cover, then climb down into the ground. The ceiling was so low that the tzaddik’s high tombstone could not stand up and had to be laid on the ground nearby. And then there was the problem of flooding from the nearby Danube. In winter floods, the area occasionally became impassable. Nevertheless, a steady trickle of people continued to make their way to the kever. The Chasam Sofer left an incredibly large pool of descendants (after being childless for 26 years with his first wife, he remarried the daughter of Rav Akiva Eiger, with whom he had eleven children) and ever-widening circles of talmidim who are deeply attached to his seforim and his path in avodas Hashem.

In the 1960s, the Vaad Leshmiras Kever Chasam Sofer Uge’onei Pressburg, made up of descendants and talmidim, was involved in lobbying the Slovakians to build an ohel and a new entrance to the graves, but nothing came of it. Two decades later, in 1982, things changed for the worse when the authorities built a shortcut for the tram tracks through the tunnel — and placed a tram stop directly over the kevarim. In place of the manhole covers, they erected a plexiglass booth for entry. Yidden continued to find their way to daven at the kever, while the travelers on the Bratislava tram had no idea what was under their feet.

There were a few isolated incidents of vandalism, but the main problem was the thunderous rattling of the trams, and the possibility that the pressure of their braking and starting would destroy the sandstone matzeivahs.

One year in the mid-1990s, a small group gathered to daven on the Chasam Sofer’s yahrzeit. As they prayed there, the deafening sound of the tram passed above their heads. Shaken, Mr. Brudi Stern, one of the teenagers who had originally helped exhume the bones from the destroyed cemetery, turned around and said, “Ad musai vet zaan azah bizoyoin far di heiliger Zeide? [How long will the holy Zeide be so disgraced?]” The pain-filled words, and the feeling that the tzaddik’s kever was lying in such a disgraceful condition, were an impetus for those who were with him to consider action.

“It made such an impression,” recalls Rabbi Shmuel Binyamin Schapira of Vienna, who was present at the time. Rabbi Schapira is a son of Agudah MK Avraham Yosef Schapira a”h, who was in turn a son-in-law of the Cheishev Sofer. “Since the Communist regime had fallen in 1990, we thought maybe it would finally be possible to do something about it. For me, it would be an opportunity to continue the work of my grandfather, who had protected the kever of the Chasam Sofer from harm in the 1940s.”

Together with Mr. Shmuel Binyomin Schiffer of Vienna and his father, Holocaust survivor Mr. Gershon Schiffer, Rabbi Schapira met with the president of the Bratislava Jewish Community, Professor Peter Salner. Mr. Salner was a friend of the city’s mayor, and arranged a meeting with him, in turn. The mayor promised to help. The talks were warm and promising, with the mayor stating that he was well aware of the honor the Chasam Sofer’s presence brought to Bratislava. Yet no practical plans were made, and no budget was allocated.

IN

the Spring of 1998, things finally began to happen. Peter Salner was going to be traveling to the US with his wife, and Mr. Schiffer insisted that the two of them meet with Rabbi Romi Cohn a”h, a famous mohel, real estate developer, Holocaust survivor and teenage partisan, and proud Pressburger. He was also chairman of the International Committee for the Preservation of the Gravesites of the Geonai Pressburg-Bratislava, although as a Kohein, he’d never been to the Chasam Sofer’s grave. He had the financial acumen, dedication and charisma to lead efforts to renew the kever.

As the Chairman of the International Committee, he nurtured a warm relationship with Peter Salner, and in the winter of 1999, he came to Pressburg for meetings with the mayor, the Minister of Culture, and the Minister of Foreign Affairs. Under discussion was a project to reroute the tram tracks, and to restore the tzaddik’s burial place by providing proper drainage and access.

By July 1999, through Rabbi Cohn’s personal efforts and with the involvement of numerous rabbanim, the Slovakian ambassador to Washington and others, a memorandum of understanding and contract was signed between three parties: the mayor of Bratislava, Peter Salner of the Jewish Community of Bratislava, and Rabbi Romi Cohn of the International Vaad. The City Council of Bratislava approved a budget for the year 2000 that included the funds necessary to reroute the tram tracks. The International Vaad took on the burden of financing the remaining repairs, which would go into the millions. Just as Yidden had given their fortunes to save the kever in 1943, so many stepped forward with vast donations for its honor to be maintained decades later.

Even Rabbi Cohn was surprised by the turn of events. In an interview with Mishpacha before his petirah, he explained how he never thought it would work. “When the group came to meet with me, I told them, ‘My friends, the train tracks pass right over the kever, and to demand of the Slovakian government to change the route of the tracks is just an impractical dream — clearing out a tram stop and moving tracks? It’s just impossible.’ But the delegation didn’t take no for an answer, and so I went to work. I called a gathering in the home of Rav Simchah Bunim Ehrenfeld, the Mattersdorfer Rav in America and a Chasam Sofer einikel. I said I was ready to work, but that it would cost a lot of money, and it would be extremely undignified to schnorr money for the kever of the Chasam Sofer. I said, ‘Let’s try to put $100,000 on the table — then we can begin and see what can be done.’ In four minutes, the money was on the table.

“Rabbi Moshe Sherer of Agudah helped me in reaching out to the Slovakian ambassador to the United States, telling him that the US was interested in renovating the gravesite. Fortunately, the ambassador agreed to help. And despite the many anxieties and setbacks we had, the Slovaks kept their word. A short time later, the train station was cleared away and the tracks were moved.”

For Peter Salner and the Slovakian government, the way the Vaad operated was both a shock and a revelation. Salner recorded in his memoir, “From the beginning, it was apparent that they were not going to resolve disputed financial or technical matters pragmatically, but instead according to halachah… For these people, Judaism is not only a matter of declaring one’s faith, but also a way of life and of thinking.”

Through the Night

With such a high-profile renovation plan, there were passionate opinions on all sides. Rabbanim and descendants of the Chasam Sofer, from Jerusalem and Bnei Brak to London, Strasbourg, and New York, discussed the issues and suggested resolutions. There had earlier been a minority who felt that the tzaddik’s remains should be exhumed from Slovakia and transported for reburial in Eretz Yisrael. There was strong opposition from some senior rabbanim who felt that no work should be done in the area at all, because of the risk that the construction would disturb the remains of any nearby kevarim that might still be in the ground from the old cemetery that lay there for hundreds of years until 1943. For some, the seasonal flooding meant the work was an urgent imperative. As a Kohein, Rabbi Romi Cohn wanted halachic solutions that would enable Kohanim to visit the kever. And there was the broader issue of the kever turning into a secular tourist site.

As the local authorities engaged architects and engineers to plan the project, two rabbanim stepped forward to preside over every detail and decision and ensure that halachah, kevod hameis, and kevod HaTorah were paramount: Rav Yosef Lieberman ztz”l, rosh kollel of Shomrei Hachomos and rav of Sadigura in Jerusalem, was born in Pressburg/Bratislava and was a descendant of the Chasam Sofer and a talmid of the Daas Sofer; he was also a trained architect. He was joined by Rav Shmuel Akiva Schlesinger of Strasbourg.

It was soon clear that, to quote Salner, “Practically all steps that construction engineers normally take in cemeteries are prohibited by halachah.” And so an on-site mashgiach to serve as a go-between between the rabbanim, the committee, the local Jewish community, and the non-Jewish architect and construction companies was appointed. This was Gershon Turm, who today owns a hearing aid store in Ramat Gan. Although his father, a builder by profession, came from Galicia, his wife’s family has deep roots in Slovakia, and the Turms had actually visited the Chasam Sofer’s kever in its old state.

Turm shares how he found himself involved. “A friend approached me and told me about the project to remove the tracks and restore the kever. He said the project had run into difficulties, with differences of opinion between the various parties involved. But the Chasam Sofer’s yahrzeit was approaching and there was a feeling that the kever would be completely sealed off, with no one able to approach and pray. My friend asked if I would be able to help out. Two days later, on Succot of 2000, I was on the plane to Bratislava. Baruch Hashem, I helped arrange the yahrzeit access in peace.”

Moving the train tracks involved major construction and engineering efforts. Gershon was tasked with overseeing these efforts, acting as the onsite mashgiach, and he was determined not to make a move without consulting with Rav Leiberman and Rav Schlesinger. Because of the gravity of the sh’eilos involved, he kept updating the rabbanim with pictures of the work and questions about both major and minor details.

“I didn’t want anyone to say that I was making my own decisions, and besides, I’m a mizrachnik with one foot in the chareidi world. So it was important to me to keep up a constant halachic dialogue with the rabbanim. I was their boots on the ground. In fact, Peter Salner of Bratislava’s Jewish Community complained about the phone bills I racked up.”

One time, Gershon was on the phone with Rav Lieberman in Jerusalem through the entire night. Under the train tracks was a reservoir which held the water supply for the whole city of Bratislava, flowing through a pipe sixty inches wide. All this had to be moved in order to move the tracks, and this work had to be done at night. Gershon Turm had to be there, to check every single bucket of earth, soil, or gravel that was removed from the site for human remains.

“Maybe the Rav wants to go to sleep?” he asked Rav Lieberman, as it got late.

“It is impossible to go to sleep,” the Rav replied. “You can’t know what will happen.”

“The Rav remained on the phone with me that entire night, as I stood in the cold Bratislava tunnel, watching the men dig and checking the dirt for human bones,” Gershon relates.

Since the waters of the Danube swept the whole beis hakevaros for many years, the situation with the bones was quite complex. “The workmen wanted to work chik-chak, getting the work done, chucking the debris, and following the plan forward,” Gershon says. “I had to constantly slow them down, and remind them that I needed to see with my eyes every bit of earth they moved.”

W

hen the train tracks had been removed, the first stage of the project was complete, and Turm returned to Ramat Gan. The plan for the second stage was to raise the roof of the sarcophagus and build an ohel, a structure over the kever to enable access and a place for prayer. (The architects and contractors, who then wanted to turn their sights to the landscaping, were taken by surprise by Rav Shlesinger of Strasbourg’s comment, “In a cemetery, only G-d can be gardener.” (Landscaping in a cemetery is considered chukas hagoy.)

It didn’t take long for Peter Salner of Bratislava to reach out to Gershon Turm, asking him to return, because it was too complicated for the project to proceed without a mashgiach. The architects had elaborate plans for a striking structure, but the rabbanim forbade digging foundations over the old burial ground. How could they build without foundations?

Gershon, for his part, wasn’t sure about returning to Europe, but after a long, private discussion with Rav Shmuel Wosner ztz”l of Bnei Brak, word got back to him that Rav Wosner considered him right man for the job.

“I went back to Bratislava and remained there while the second part of the project was carried out,” he says. “And I’ll admit that this period of my life had a huge impact on me.”

During the project, parties who objected to the construction turned to the Eidah Hachareidis in Jerusalem and asked them for an injunction to stop the work at the Chasam Sofer’s kever. Emotions ran high, and Rav Yosef Leiberman was called to the Badatz and testified about the entire project. The verdict of the beis din, signed by Rav Dushinsky, Rav Yisroel Yaakov Fischer, Rabbi Moshe Sternbuch, Rav Moshe Halberstam, and Rav Moshe Bransdorfer gave clear directives about the construction, allowing it to proceed and specifying many conditions, from an onsite mashgiach during the job — Turm was greenlighted, which he views as a big honor and sincere compliment — to the languages of the signs in the memorial requesting visitors to wear modest clothing.

Rav Yosef Leiberman later recounted to Shmuel Binyamin Schapira what happened when he returned home from the hearing at the Badatz. Thoroughly exhausted, he fell asleep, and his rebbe, the Daas Sofer, a grandchild of the Chasam Sofer, came to him in a dream and gave Rav Leiberman a kiss on his forehead. He viewed this as an endorsing sign of approval for his efforts to preserve the kavod of the Chasam Sofer’s burial place.

The new complex, completed in 2002, was designed by architect Martin Kvasnica, adhering to the strict requirements of halachah as well as the high standards of contemporary architecture.

But just a few years later, Bratislava experienced serious flooding from the River Danube. Rav Shmuel Wosner inquired of his talmid Rabbi Shlomo Cohn, currently rav in Adass Yisroel of Melbourne and a half-brother of Rabbi Romi Cohn, whether he had heard if the kevarim remained safe and dry. When Rav Cohn relayed the information that the kever was “as dry as in the summer,” Rav Wosner responded, “I am mekaneh your brother’s zechus.”

Now a magnet for the tefillos of thousands, the kever features a large plaque honoring the memory of Moshe Aryeh Leib Watitz. Watitz was murdered with his entire family, but the fortune he bravely squirreled away from the Nazis’ prying eyes is still paying dividends for the Chasam Sofer’s physical and spiritual progeny.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1034)