Chapter 1: The City

Mlawa: A Dorsky and its passengers (click to enlarge)

As one wandered over Mazowsze, the northern part of Poland, in a train travelling from Warsaw to Danzig or, via a road leading to the land of the Kaszuby - to the Baltic Sea - one reached Wyszyny, Konopke or Szydlowa, villages along the way.

From the endless plains the skies, as usual, reflected a dark forest, several huts, lone trees jutting out from the damp fields and weeds enveloped by gray-white mists, like stacks of light smoke.

If not for the forest, one could see across vast distances. All of a sudden, small towers and roofs loomed up over the hills and peeped out of the plain - a rare sight in those surroundings.

From afar it seemed as though one had arrived at the gates of an ancient crusader castle standing out over the entire region.

As one neared, this far off, enchanted vision disappeared and one saw a small town, similar to many other such towns, all built in the same fashion in the regions of Poland bordering on Germany.

Mlawa, the principal city of the country across the Wkra - Mlawa river, spread out over the hills. Mornings and evenings, the city wrapped in thick gray mists like something unreal, often dissolved away and disappeared from the face of the earth.

The old market place was in the middle of the town. In the center of the market, on a large and wide base of stones, stood a pure white building built in the 16th century. The building was covered with red shingles. Hugging the four walls like a black belt was a Latin inscription: "The same measure of justice applies to poor and rich, to citizens and new inhabitants, 1789."

Above the roof a hexagonal, gray turret with four, round openings reached out to the skies, overlooking all four directions of the wind. The town clock was here. Every quarter of an hour, its hoarse and familiar ring reverberated through the air.

Children stood in the market place and looked at the clock's black hands slowly revolving around its white face and waited for the clock to strike.

Quite often the hands of the clock stood still. No peal was heard. Time seemed to have been arrested. A silent sadness filled the heart. The whole town impatiently waited for Moshe Wilner to get up, climb the tower and reset the clock. The town's time was in his hands. Sometimes one of the lads he met along the way climbed the tower with him.

Not only the town clock was housed in this building. The town keys were also to be found here in the Town Hall. This was where the mayor's office was.

A long time ago, the Jews had had almost no contact with the Municipality. No one asked their advice, what and how matters were to be carried out. Their only obligation had been to pay taxes. Later the Jews were permitted to express their opinion about how the city should be run. It even happened that in this city of the patron-saint Wojciech, Mendel Marker occupied the mayor's seat for several years.

In the time of the Russian rule two synagogue beadles often came to the Municipality. One was Zanvel Langleben, the Rabbi's attendant, the other - Moshke Shamash (beadle) known as "Moshke the Prankster". Because of Zanvel, the names of many of the town's Jews were distorted. Moshe was called Moshik, Izhak-Itzik, Sarah-Saltcha, and so on. It was Zanvel who registered Jewish births in the town books. In order to save respectable men of means the trouble of going to the Municipality and signing the birth certificates, he declared that they were illiterate. That is why many of the Jews of Mlawa had odd names, false names. The dates of birth were recorded according to Zanvel Langleben's fancy. His schemes and calculations were intended to benefit those registered, in the future, when they were to be conscripted. In addition, Zanvel registered the Jewish weddings in the town books. That is why he was always slightly tipsy as though coming from a festive meal.

Moshke Shamash was an entirely different character. He was thin, pale, and gray-haired. Whenever someone died, he would appear on the scene, a lantern in his hand, as though sent by the Angel of Death himself to illuminate the last journey of the newly deceased. Moshke used to come to the Municipality to ask for a death certificate and to strike off the deceased's name from the city register.

Both sectors of the population, Jews and Gentiles, lived near Town Hall, each in its own fashion. In the middle of the market, the Jews had nine shops, one on top of the other, in long row alongside Town Hall. From the other side of the building, the Gentile church and its yard stretched out like a garden of green.

Who knows how far the market would have reached if not for the houses and shops that stood like a fence on all four sides. The families: Landau, Perla, Eichler, Konecki and Frank, "Sweet Rifka," Berish Tzeitag, Haim Zelaska, and Moshe Opotowski occupied one side with their shops and houses. Opposite them resided Henoch Zilbergerg, Wisman-"Panicz," Abraham Isaac Biezunski, Yizhak Rosen, Shimon Lipsker, Kaufman and Baruch Eisenberg. On the two remaining sides lived and traded: Wolf Brachfeld, Leib Lipshitz, Yossel Perlmutter, Yehuda Mayer Lidzbarski, David Hirsch Makowski, Feivish Shapira, Moshe Bialik and others.

All the shops in the Old Market, except for the two pharmacies and the bakery, belonged to Jews. There was a long succession of stores filled with supplies of iron, groceries, leather, fabrics, and haberdashery that were sold retail or wholesale to the inhabitants of the city and of the towns and villages in the vicinity. So it was for a long time.

In the last few years before Poland's emancipation, Polish shops suddenly popped up. The "Spojnia" located itself in the market place and the boycott against the Jews and their stores began.

The Old Market was the busiest spot in town.

From all sides, long streets raced in pairs like the wings of a windmill. Streets and people, the city's entire life was centered around the market place. Here raced Warsaw and Chorzel Streets, there dashed Plock and Granary Streets. At the other end were Nieborg and Szkolni Streets; from a different angle, Zaldowi Street and the New Market.

The streets ran among small wooden houses, several small houses built of stone, then up the hill and down again. In a straight line or a crooked one they extended all along the city. Somewhere, outside town, between fields and woods they joined various roads that connected Mlawa with other cities and towns.

At the end of every street was the beginning of a road. From Warsaw Street, Warsaw Road began and led to Ciechanow, Modlin, Nasielsk, Przasnysz, Makow and Plock, finally reaching Warsaw. From Plock Street, the road led to Strzegowo, Racionz, Sierpce, Plock or Radzanow, Szrensk, Biezun and Zielun. Nieborg Street led to the border through a forest and continued until Prussia. From Ziolda Street it was possible to get to the train station in Wolka or from there, via the border to Ilowo. Long streets connected the city to the outside world. Alleys and lanes joined one city street to another. Only Jews lived on Warsaw and Plock Streets and in nearby Synagogue Lane, Cobblers Lane and Potters Street. In the other streets and lanes there was a mixed population: near the market, Jews and Gentiles and as one neared the outskirts of town, only Gentiles.

Here and there stood an iron pump, a silent witness in the middle of the street. Inns ("zajazdy") were scattered in various corners, noisy with the din of man and beast on market days.

Granaries built of wood or stone could be found in all parts of the city. Wherever you turned there was a granary covered with an awning and on all sides, doors like open mouths waiting to receive the abundant wheat from the fertile fields of Mazowsze. Jewish commission agents, buyers and sellers of second-hand gods, merchants, porters, wagoners and craftsmen were to be found there. A great portion of the city's inhabitants made a living from dealing in wheat.

The streets were paved with round fieldstones like the vertebrae of a strong back prepared to carry a heavy load. Small stones were packed on either side as though framed by weeds. Sometimes the stones crumbled like teeth in an old man's mouth and fell out. A bare section was revealed, similar to the balding skin of a beast worn out from carrying loads. Puddles formed in the holes and a portion of the street caved in and became small mire, so remaining for many days, bubbling and expanding like black dough.

Trees were to be seen only in the market place and in the Polish streets. There were no trees in the Jewish streets. On one side of the streets there was a sidewalk. The little streets didn't have even this. Only a deep gutter crossed the sharp stones in the little lanes, like a parting of the hair. Small streets had only one gutter. Long streets had gutters that extended on both sides. The heder boys removed their shoes and stockings, and ran barefoot in the water, following the stream, picking up small pebbles and floating paper boats in the full gutters. These poured out foaming right into the "rzeka" (river), a small, insignificant outlet of the Wkra River that flowed into the Dzialdowka River. The muddy waters of that rivulet known as "Seracz" streamed slowly through the streets, hugging the entire city in two long and lean arms.

The staff and the Editorial Board of the Agudat Yisrael newspaper "Undzer Tribune"

All the people in the picture were identified and commented by Moshe Peles, Chairman of the Mlawa Organisation in Israel, April 1999:

1. Perlmuter Ahron - Lives in Los Angeles 2. Mundri Hersz z"l- Perished in Holocaust 3. Mundri Pinchas z"l - died in Israel, among the leaders of Agudat Israel 4. Alksandrowicz - Perished in the Holocaust, may God revenge his Blood 5. Grosbard Arie - Perished in the Holocaust, may God revenge his Blood 6. Teacher of Talmud Torah 1), perished in Holocaust, may God revenge his Blood

7. Ajronowicz Zeev - lives in Haifa, Israel 8. Margulis 9. Frenkel Moshe Dawid z"l, son of Yerucham Fiszel z"l, died in USA, contact Ary Frenkel 10. Gebreter Jakob z"l - died in Israel 11. Wolarski - perished in Holocaust, may God revenge his Blood 12. Rajngwircz Gerszon z"l - died in Israel 13. Mundri Abraham - perished in the Holocaust, may God revenge his Blood.

All the streets in town looked alike. Each had many wooden buildings and a few stone ones, narrow alleys and wide yards that served as public passages through which one could go from one street to the next. Small alleys behind the yards suggested a respectable but modest existence and made for great co-operation among the neighboring houses and yards. However, despite the similarity, each street had its strictly unique life-style, its special flavor and even its own history.

On Plock Street just across the way from the Evangelical Church stood a pump. Opposite the pump was a white stone house, the teacher Yonah Wishinski's school. In back of this white building extended the "mountains." What were these mountains, what secrets did they hide?

It was told that many years ago there were no mountains here at all. A large church had stood there. Once, the funeral cortege of a Rabbi greatly learned - 6 -in the Torah passed by and the gentiles began to make fun of the Jewish funeral. The Rabbi suddenly sat up in his funeral shroud and...the earth split open and swallowed up the church. In its stead mountains appeared that hummed and rumbled endlessly. Any heder pupil who was not afraid to listen to these sounds could cup his ear to the ground and hear the Gentile voices grumbling in their sunken house of worship. On Sundays and on their holy days, these echoes from the depths of the mountains grew stronger.

Between the wojewodztwo (District) offices and the Wymysliny (Gentile street) in the direction leading to the forest, there was an expanse of land crossed by valleys and pits, called the Rosegard. Very few Jews lived there. It was in this region that the authorities had carried out their verdicts of hanging, burning, or beheading. And all this was done in the name of the Goddess of Justice. According to the town chronicles, it was here that witches were burnt.

Close to the Rosegard, in a pale of sorrow, a few abandoned graves of victims of the Polish uprising could be seen. The Rosegard struck both Jews and Gentiles with fear and terror. It was said and believed that sinning souls flourished there in the form of demons and evil spirits. It was best to avoid going to the Rosegard even in the daytime and certainly never at night. The Jewish representation there consisted of several neglected and sorrowful graves of victims of the cholera that once raged in town.

*

If one crossed Nieborg Road and went past the fields, one could reach "Kozielsk." But the direct route led from the Old Market through Szkolna Street (Kozia Street) and passed right alongside Leder's large mill. The Kozielsk region extended far beyond the forest. It was a small Jewish island in the midst of gentile fields. This place was designated by J.C.A. (Jewish Colonization Association) to be a Jewish agricultural colony. That was the plan. Actually, only several Jewish families lived in Kozielsk and their main source of income was not from agriculture. But the Jewish agricultural settlement, tiny as it was, served as a training farm for all those who aspired to emigrate to the Land of Israel. It provided a deep spiritual experience that provoked the imagination and stirred up dreams.

It was here in Kozielsk that the Mlawian townsfolk for the first time in their lives saw Jews with sickles reaping wheat in the fields. Only here Jews milked cows and carried manure. In this settlement the Gentiles could see stalwart Jews who didn't know the meaning of fear. With great pride the Jews told of the prowess of Haim Miedzak who felled a Gentile with one resounding smack. In later years the town halutzim (pioneers), in training for kibbutz life, worked here. Today these girls and boys, who began their pioneer work in the fields of Kozielsk near Mlawa, are to be found in Kefar Menahem, Gal-On and other kibbutzim that they founded in the Land of Israel.

The baker Zureh Prasznicki and his family, and the large Gluzman family, then also lived in Kozielsk. The old Guzmans lived out their days in Palestine and their son, Raphael-Fula of Kozielsk, today sows wheat in the fields of kibbutz Ein-Hahoresh.

*

A favorite spot in town was "behind the church." This was the meeting place of the first swallows who began to break away and leave their patriarchal homes. In the summertime at twilight and on Saturday afternoons, young people gathered here who were imbued with the new ideas of Socialism and Hibbat-Zion ("Love of Zion" - a 19th century Zionist movement). Here they immersed themselves in dreams and debated topics of the times. Voices echoed in the air singing new songs such as "Bamahraysha" ("With a Plow"), "Makom Sham Arazim" ("There Where the Cedars Grow"), "Hashemesh Shoka'at Belehavot" ("The Sun Sets in Flame").

Naïve and enthusiastic youth saw the world through eyes full of love and faith. A new dawn had broken, a new day had arisen filled with sunshine and appreciation of mankind. The light of progress would open people's eyes. A new and beautiful world was in the making, so they believed. Here, "behind the church," young boys and girls met for "love trysts". In those days, the sons of respectable Jewish families were afraid to appear in the city streets with a girl. Even going "behind the church" with a girl was considered heresy.

Behind the church was a very old garden. Here towering, ancient trees cast their shadows. Bushes and tall weeds formed secret corners. Half-shaded hiding places attracted the bashful Jewish girls and boys. This was the days of "Raizele, the Shohet's Daughter," "The Daisies," "Don't Look For Me Over There," and other songs.

*

Times changed. The Poles broke up the Russian Orthodox church. That whole area became a large park full of ornamental trees and lawns. The young people abandoned "behind the church" and found themselves a new spot, "Swiss Valley." There were no half-shaded hiding places in "Swiss Valley," only broad expanses.

Popular "Swiss Valley" extended from the end of town, not far from the guard's hut on Szranski Road. On either side of the railway tracks fresh green fields, hills and valleys, spread out. Here was a spacious, living landscape covered with open fields. There was an abundance of wild flowers: blue cornflowers, bluebells, camomile, and yellow groundsels. Among the fields was a deep valley covered with tall weeds, "Swiss Valley."

It is difficult to explain why it was just this area that happened to inherit the intimacy of "behind the church." Perhaps the drawing power was the railroad track and the trains racing back and forth. They aroused and dispelled the restlessness of yearning for far away places, "the strong desire to abandon town as soon as possible." These and similar thoughts possessed the better sector of the Jewish youth.

Trains pulled in and dashed off somewhere far away. They aroused hopes and the faith that, at long last, the day would come when they, the youth, would leave town for the wide, wide world.

Those far off days of sunny Polish autumn when in the afternoons one wandered about the fields and feasted one's eyes on the autumn leaves, the redness of fading birch leaves, spring to life in our memories.

Not only the youth but also serious-minded Hassidim would be possessed by the same strong urge to wander miles away from town-obviously, in order to fulfill mitzvot (commandments). On Saturday evenings, after Havdalah, (close of Sabbath ritual) the Hassidim would rise and set out for Marinow, to Yossel Goldstein's "estate," in order to "take over the house" for several hours.

Outside, the shohet (ritual slaughterer) would be slaughtering geese. Within the large corridor the Hassidim would seat themselves around wooden tubs and husk rye for a pottage of groats for the Melaveh Malkeh (the last festive meal at the close of the Sabbath). The curtains were ripped off the windows and transformed into aprons for the new masters of the house and kitchen. Hassidim would carry supplies of food from the pantry and the cellar, toiling and laboring in the kitchen, well into the night. Then they seated themselves for the Melaveh Malkeh and sang with fervor and with zeal until it was time for the morning prayers of the week's first new day.

The elite would sometimes set out and head for Ya'akov Mondrzak's estate in the forests of Wrubliwo to visit the Surgal Wiegoczyn family. In time the city forest also drew more people. Pale-faced Jews, coughing Jews, would "camp" there for a few hours during the day. The Rabbi himself, according to doctors' orders, would set out in his carriage to benefit from the fresh air in place of medicine.

*

Near town there was a lovely spot, Rodak. Nest to the Mlawa forest was a wooden water mill. The waters of the Mlawka River poured over the paddles of a huge wooden wheel and set the millstones in motion. A small, narrow wooden bridge led to Mlawka forest that extended for miles and miles and continued past the Prussian border. The dams in front of the mill halted the stream that was covered with nuphar. The white water lilies formed such a thick mat that the waterfall (known as "Niagara") on the other side of the bridge seemed to force its way through their blossoms. The first owners of the mill were the Mlawiaks, then came the Weinbergs. The workers were, of course, Gentiles.

Between Warsaw Street and the tar pit, extending far, far away, up to the "zabrody" (a neighborhood in the outskirts) were fields and orchards that belonged to the starostwo (the district authorities). (The starostwo building belonged to the Leibels.) This was one of the most beautiful sections of the city. One could wander among tall weeds, field flowers and gardens covered with reseda, lilac, cress, asters, dahlias, roses, oleander, tabacco blossoms, sunflowers, and large, unfenced-off orchards. A noisy brook streamed nearby. This was a foreign world within Warsaw Street. Here a Jewish soul was filled with dread because of the Gentile silence and the strange and pungent fragrance. To enter the unfamiliar landscape of the Gentile neighborhood, of the starostwo, was like breaking into the priest's garden or perhaps, even into his home. For a Jew, this whole area was strange and awesome. The very presence of the starostwo house on top of the hill with its broken, thatch roof, struck fear into the hearts of the passers-by. No Jewish lad could possibly imagine that this old and picturesque building was just a granary and not a nest of witches and devils.

*

To the west, across the way from that same Gentile mystery, was the "village." This was where the Jews had lived before they were allowed to settle in the city of Mlawa itself. In our time there remained only several folk tale about this ancient Jewish community in the village. At the site itself there was an old cemetery with sunken, caved-in graves, several tombstones dating back 200 years and...the village synagogue. This was an old wooden structure built in the tradition of wooden churches then common in Poland.

After they had abandoned the village, the Jews of Mlawa for many years believed that the old synagogue in the village would last forever. Parents told their children with pride that the Tzaddik (a Hassidic leader) Levi (Rabbi Levi Yizhak of Berdichev) himself used to pray there and that next to the mezuzah one could still see his holy fingerprints. And indeed, through his virtue, the modest wooden synagogue continued to stand there like a rock of ages, alone in the midst of the Gentile community. Many fires broke out during those years in the "zabrody," but the synagogue was untouched. On Saturdays and on festive days, the city's Jews, headed by Wolf Brandele's (Rabbi Abrehmel Ciechanower's grandson) would set out for the old synagogue and pray there.

Only one Jew remained in the old Jewish community and continued to live there among the Gentiles. He was called "Rebbiyeh". He was a simple, God-fearing tailor of average height and of ruddy complexion. Both summer and winter he would rush through Warsaw Street at a brisk pace on his way to the minyan (religious quorum) in town. With great certainty the boys told one another that that very tailor from the village...was none other than one of the Lamed-Vav Tzaddikim (one of the thirty-six invisible just men who justify the existence of the world).

For many years the tradition of going to pray in the old synagogue in the village was continued. And then the First World War broke out. In those turbulent days of 1914-1918, the last vestige of this Jewish community was destroyed. Suddenly the Jews of Mlawa realized that the sanctified and beloved synagogue had simply disappeared from the face of the Holy One's earth. The goyim (gentiles) there had taken the little synagogue apart and burnt it. There remained only the stories and tales about the Tzaddik Levi of the little synagogue and about "Rebbi-yeh" of celebrated mystery who lives on in the memory of the people as one of the Lamed-Vav Tzaddikim.

'Yavneh' school with principal Fisher and the teachers: Fanya Margolis, I. Hirshhorn and L. Lubliner, 1927

According to the market's appearance one could readily determine what day of the Holy One's week it was. Each day the market had a different look.

On Saturdays and holidays the market rested. The stores were closed with lock and key. Not many people were seen about. The few persons passing through the market place were Jews dressed in velvet and silk: the men in black caftans and felt hats, the women in long dresses and Turkish shawls and adorned with heavy gold chains and precious stones. With calm tread and radiant faces they walked through the streets, in the direction of the synagogue, the batei midrash (houses of study) and the various houses of prayer.

The market was empty. There was no trade, no business. Sabbath. Holy peace interwoven with silver dust hovered in the air and spread light and joy on all the days of the week.

On Sundays, the Christian holy day, the market was filled with peasants from early morning. They waited in front of the church for the priest.

Before services, the village peasants sat in the ditches around the church and with hearty appetite tucked away derma filled with meal and sauerkraut, and bread dipped in mead or wine.

The Jewish stores were half open, half closed. No Jew was to be seen in the market place. They stood on guard in front of their stores and homes.

The church bells aroused sad thoughts, unpleasant memories, fear. The Jews well knew that troubles and persecutions always began on Sunday, on "their" holy day.

Mondays and Wednesdays were gray days. Places of business were open, as usual. The "turnover" was limited. Tired people moved about unwillingly and with no goal in mind. They stood in groups, stood and kept silent. They stared with glazed eyes at the half-empty market that stretched on like a yawn. If there was any talk, it was pointless. The groups broke up, the people scattered and continued to drag their tired and heavy feet.

On such days the market was full of a contagious dreariness. It added a weight to each thought, to each movement, as though man and life itself were sinking into a bottomless pit.

The fate of Tuesdays and Fridays was more favorable. These were the trade days. From all sides, man and animal streamed into the Old Market. In the early morning hours the place was already too small to hold all those coming there. The overflow poured into the Pig Market, the Vegetable Market, and the New Market. These were not really markets. In the Vegetable Market there was an amusement park; in the New Market, soldiers paraded on holidays.

On Tuesdays and Fridays all the streets breathed and seethed with the pulse of trade.

All the empty places in town were taken over by markets and fairs. The market came to life as all the streets hummed and bustled with activity. From early dawn, peasants streamed into the market in carts harnessed to one or two horses. The carts were loaded with wheat, baskets full of fruit, geese, ducks, chickens, and turkeys. Here and there a pig or a calf was lying in the wagon, and tied to the back of the wagon, was a colt or a cow.

The peasants who came on foot carried straw baskets filled with butter, cheese, cream in earthen pots, cherries, strawberries, or even fowl. One farmer led a cow, another, a flock of geese.

In an endless din all these flowed into the market place from all directions, like streams of water noisily rushing into a big reservoir.

There was tremendous noise and bustle. Usually quiet Jews changed so during market days that one did not recognize them. People forgot themselves entirely, "shed their skins." Jewish men and women would run after a peasant and his cart. One Jew would pass his hands through grains of rye and another would grab a chicken from the cart and blow at the back feathers to see whether it was plump enough. Sometimes two or three Jews led a calf away. One pulled its head, another twisted its tail in order to force the creature to move faster. To lay hold of a sack of grain, or a cow, or a chicken was considered to one's credit. It was a virtue to be a partner to the meager profits. Agents, dealers and just plain Yidenehs (Jewish women) sold second hand goods to hard-pressed housewives who were all angry and full of wrath as they jostled one another to get at the carts. With much noise and great effort they tried to make a penny profit. There were ever more mouths to feed, life became ever more difficult.

The main trade was in grain. A Jew would grab a wagon loaded with wheat and rush over with the peasant to a granary belonging to a big wheat dealer such as Mordechai Leib Rack, Baruch Eisenberg, Moshe Citrin, Moshe David Zlotnik, Meyer Reingewircz, Abraham Rybak, Fischel Fraenkel, and others. The middleman was paid his commission "per sack" and then he would run out to look for another prospective customer with a wheat-laden wagon.

If there were any difficulties in getting the wheat to the granary, the small quantity of grain was brought straight to the mill.

The owners of the mills were Jews. Wheat and flour were distributed from Mlawa to many towns and villages within the country, and even abroad.

The large steam-driven mills that belonged to Moshe Yosef Czarka, Leder and Monklak, Mondrzak, and Perlmutter, were known throughout Poland. In addition to these, there were also smaller wheat mills ( that belonged to the Greenberg-Peterkuzer and Berlinko families) and a barley mill. The noise of the mills filled the heart with a sense of comfort. It dispelled the fears of people walking about alone at night. The white, flour-covered millers did not strike fear in a person's soul, they radiated a feeling of warmth and satisfaction.

The Jewish millers bought grain through commission agents. Those were paid for their services according to the number of sacks sold, a customary practice. Only one large Jewish mill, wishing to be rid of the Jewish agent and to push him out of the market, broke with this tradition. The owners of the mill had to pay a higher price to the farmer who brought the grain directly to them. The struggle between the classes slowly caused the patriarchal traditions of many generations to be discarded here, as in all parts of the world.

During the time that business deals were being carried out in the streets, the market became full of hundreds of horses and wagons standing one next to the other on either side of the church. In the market's remaining space, Jewish and Christian craftsmen arranged their wooden stalls next to one another. There were tents and tables laden with wares and baked goods. Each craftsman had his particular spot. The tailors' booths looked like shacks with walls of material from which many oversized suits hung. For many years the vendors of ready-made clothing earned a living here: Benyamin Soldanski and his sons, Moshe Grzebienarz Wielgolaski the Tailor, Kurta, and many others.

Next to the tailors were the cap-makers. They were always arranged in the same spot and in the same order: Mendel Yohanan's, Mota Greenberg, and others.

A little farther on were "work benches" from which hung shoes and boots. They belonged to Simha the Lame and his sons, to Leibtcheh the Lame, and to Lupczak.

On the tables, arranged in rows, were loaves of bread, white rolls, sweets, and bottles full of mead, honey-wine, soda water, sour pickles and herrings. The dealers in glassware and blue chinaware had their wares spread out on the ground.

All the Jewish stores in the market and all the stalls were chock-full of peasant men and women who had come to town to buy goods. One examined a scythe, another bought a pair of boots, a suit, a cap. The farmers' wives bought kerosene, salt, herring, flowery kerchiefs, white material, and corals. The hurdy-gurdies played, the magicians showed off their magic tricks, swallowed knives, and ate fire.

When the peasants felt a penny in their pockets, they craved a drop of brandy. After one gulp came a second, and yet another. Tempers flared. The peasants began to speak loudly as hands fluttered. One more minute and blood would flow from nose or skull. Screams and curses echoed in the air. No market day went by without blows and blood.

In the midst of this chaos, negotiations were conducted till late afternoon. The peasants began to scatter and returned to their villages. The craftsmen dismantled their stalls. Wearily they dragged their heavy feet homeward – till the next market day. The place began to empty. Dirt and cow dung were everywhere.

On the days that the monthly fairs were held, the bedlam was even greater. The number of peasants from the villages was larger and more Jewish dealers came from as far away as Warsaw.

During weekdays, people rested after their deals were completed. One could sit down and go to sleep in the middle of the market without being disturbed. The main area was half empty as though drowsing. Bored Jews wandered about with a stick in their hands or on their shoulders, a piece of straw in their mouths. These included: Yonathan Segal the Handsome; Moteleh Zilberstein the Stumpy, with a cigar in his mouth and speaking a confused German; Zalman Lidzbarski the Tall; with his umbrella; Mordovicz; Mattes Katz; Moshe Cukerman; Pinhas Lubliner; Arieh Leib Fried; and Henoch Skurka. There was nothing to do. Jews liked to wander around in the market, to meet people, to hear a word or two, to get in a word. During weekdays the market was like a big club with many corners. In each corner different people got together. Life kept changing.

Jewish merchants were seated in their open stores, happily yawning with open mouths right in the direction of the market. One studied a religious book, another got all excited discussing politics or Judaism. There were also some like Sana Eichler who in the middle of the day would become absorbed in a game of chess.

The sounds of cantorial music drifted through Moshe Wilner's window. They came from the phonograph or from Wilner himself who was tuning his voice while absorbed in watch that had stopped running: "Mai ka (what does this imply), this means the watch is sleeping…?"

In high spirits, his neighbor Yosef Rodak, the warden of the synagogue, always dressed in a clean black capote of woven cloth, would smile into his little, gray beard. An idea, a new idea had just popped into his head, a new remedy. He spoke in a low voice, calmly as befitted a frail Jew. As the feltscher (medic) in town, he walked slowly, ploddingly. He was in no hurry. If anyone needed him they could come to him.

Talking to himself, big-bellied Itcheleh Zloczewer minced about. He was looking for a person of authority in the Gentile delicatessen. He talked to himself unceasingly. It was hard to understand what he was saying. He swallowed his words. His belly had not expanded so from talking Itcheleh loved to grab a drop of brandy and chase it down with a nibble wherever he could. He himself made fun of his big belly: "If I only had what this belly cost me I'd be a rich man. I wish that the convert Wishinksi's entire possessions should only amount to what this belly is really worth."

Like a calf after its mother, a thin emaciated fellow with a ruddy complexion, trembling with cold even during the hot summer days, always trailed behind him. This was his brother "Luzer", the only Jewish drunkard in town.

Just one other Jew in Mlawa could compete with the size of Itcheleh's belly. This was the stubby glazier, Leibel "Pultorak", the one they married off to a crippled girl at the cemetery in order to put a stop to the cholera plague in town. He was a Zionist. He owned one share in the Jewish in the Jewish Colonial Trust and spoke Ivris (Hebrew) even on weekdays.

Next to Wolf Brachfeld stood the porters with thick ropes strapped round their waists. They were waiting for occasional work. From afar, the heads of Ladno's sons shone. Old Mordechai Ladno with the long, yellow beard was worn out from working at the porter'' trade for so many years. Now his sons Itzik, Isser, and Shiyeh joined him in his labors.

Alongside them stood a robust Jew known as "red dew and rain." The porter "how goodly" was struck with this nickname for life. After his wedding ceremony, the other porters put him in "seclusion" with his young bride. He didn't understand what he was supposed to do. Annoyed, he ran back and forth in the room. His friends, the porters, peeking through the window saw how confused he was and yelled out: "Nu, begin!" "-Begin what?" "-From the beginning." It was then that he stood and recited the prayer "How goodly are thy tents."

In the afternoon hours the train from Warsaw pulled in. The market place became a little more pleasant. Jewish men and boys assembled in front of Mendel Wishinski's house. They waited for the newspapers that Mendel Bashkes himself or his son Motel or his daughter Miriam was about to bring from the train. All waited impatiently as though the newspaper could alter their entire way of life. Each day everyone awaited miracles, deliverance and solace. The moment they saw the bundle of newspapers, they tackled Mendel like a hive of bees, like evil locusts. Mendel shouted, yelled and cursed the crowd, belittling them. Everybody wondered how this small, emaciated Jew had the strength to make such a racket.

After the newspapers had been grabbed, the crowd dispersed. In the market place Jews stopped to read the papers. Some of them went off by themselves to read the news in privacy. Others drew up to a group of Jews among whom the paper was being read aloud accompanied with comments. Those with first claim to the paper came to read the news to a neighbor or to a friend in his store or home.

The "privileged readers" of the papers who were called to read in Haim Eliyah Perla's hardware store were members of "Mizrahi": Moshe Cukerkorn, Arie Leib Fried, Shlomo Fischer, Pinhas Lubliner, Leibesh Lubliner, and the Zionists' "consul" Abraham Benyamin Magnuszewski. But once Moshe Bialik entered, nobody else had a chance at the paper. He attached himself to the newspaper like a cat to butter. He bent over it, breathed rapidly, and let out strange rumbles, like a Purim rattle. With glittering eyes he swallowed the paper whole, from beginning to end and even the editor's signature. "It's a big paper, full, chockfull of reading material and yet there's nothing worth reading." The visit at Haim Eliyah's drew to an end. This scene was enacted each day.

Zionists in short coats congregated in Avram Yizhak Biezunski's textile store. There Haimush ruled supreme, for he knew everything.

A totally different crowd gathered around Wolf Brachfeld in front of Aronowicz's small tea store. They sneered at the whole world and its politics. Here no one believed in anything. Here jokes and jests flew and endless practical jokes were carried out.

The main speakers were Leibel Brachfeld together with Eliezer Wiszinski, the veteran prompter of the Jewish theatrical plays in town. Adam Greenberg, the stage director of the drama club and the theatre's main actor, who had just recuperated, did not let himself be outdone and amused his companions. Meyer Kanarek, Zigmunt Lipschitz, Shayeh Krzeslo and Haim Yosef Eichler listened and enjoyed themselves. Feivel Opatowski, who had come just then from the "Talmud Torah" (charity school), lent an ear, smiled and was silent.

Hazkel Berman, who in his travels had seen the whole, wide world, returned to Mlawa from New York and London. He regarded the crowd with eyes full of contempt and dismissal. With arms akimbo and hugging his sleeves, he stood next to Butche Edelstein and, as though talking to himself, said, "Precious stones roll along the ground here. Were else in the world can you find another country where you work so little and lead such an easy life?"

From the corner of Plock Street appeared a thin, dark man, tall as a gothic tower. His hair was covered with a small black hat. Black capes, one longer than the other, descended to the ground like waves from his long neck. He held a prayer book in his hand, ran a few steps forward and then retreated two or three steps. His soft mouth muttered unintelligible words, "Shall I go? Shall I not go? No, I won't go." And he rushed back and forth and repeated this word, "Shall I go? Shall I not go? No, I won't go." This was Krulewizki, a Gentile who prayed to the moon. Twice daily he rushed like this to the Evangelical Church on Plock Street and to the Roman Catholic Church in the market place as though he had lost his whole life on the way.

The trees around the market rose aloft and extended on and on. The shadows grew longer. The hour was late. People slowly were beginning to scatter. Afternoons the market rested.

At twilight, the market came to life again. Until night descended the pupils from Meyer Shlomo's heder waged a war against the boys from the "reformed heder." Tired children slowly disappeared, each turning in the direction of his street.

Now no one disturbed the market's rest. It was immersed in the deep slumbering void of a weekday night.

All around the market, one next to the other, were large stores and small shops. Textiles and fabrics were supplied to Mlawa and its surroundings by the large stores belonging to Avrum Yizhak Biezunski, Wolf Brachfeld, Simha Wiernik, and Alter Cohen, and by the small shops owned by the Landau sons. The large hardware stores were owned by: Haim Eliyah Perla, Pinhas Mondri, Yizhak Rosen, and Shimon Lipsker; the leather shops were owned by Yosef Filar, Butche Edelstien, and Zilberman; the haberdasheries belonged to the Eichlers, Kaufman, Berish Tzeitag, Blumendranz, and Meizlitz. Moshe Wilner, Feivush Shapira and Moshe Opatowski were the proprietors of watchmaker and goldsmith shops. The liquor and wine shops were owned by David Hirsch Makowski and Yehuda Meyer Lidzbarski, the "original liquor" concern belonged to Binem Estreicher. The large food concerns belonged to Leib Lipschitz, Frank and Konecki. Moshe Gabeh (Hirschberg) owned a small perfumery.

The stores were full of all kinds of merchandise. Business was carried on with the neighboring towns and villages. In the Old Market the profits were greater than those of the Jewish shops in other places in town. That made it possible to "squeeze in" a page of Gemara (a part of the Talmud consisting of commentaries on the Mishnah), pour over some religious book, "talk politics," deal with party matters and public affairs, or even find time to play chess in midday. Business went on of its own accord. "Livelihood is in the Hands of Heaven," so why make and effort? Truly enterprising merchants, wanglers and manipulators who traveled a great deal, rushed about and believed that everything depended on them alone, including one's livelihood, were quite rare in the Old Market.

Most of the merchants were in business by sheer chance; the result of a match, an inheritance. For them business was not the most important thing in the world. Whenever they had the opportunity, they turned their stores over to their wives or to their teenage sons. For where has it been said that a Jew must devote himself to selling nails and measuring yards of merchandise for a whole lifetime? When times were normal, reality justified this philosophy of life, well expressed and characterized by the adage, "Making a living is in the hands of G-d."

Life became difficult, even very difficult, when the times turned turbulent, or worse. Even in the market place, Polish businesses began to sprout. Pickets stood in front of Jewish stores and barred the Gentiles from entering and buying. The generations-old tradition of trade was on the verge of collapse together with the Jewish means of livelihood. The Jews had always felt that they and their existence were rooted in Polish soil.

In the square known as the "Old Market," the Jews resembled one another in dress and appearance shared a common language, made their living mainly from trade and kept the same Sabbaths and holy days. And yet they greatly differed from one another.

Reb Haim-Eliyah Perla's hardware store was right in the middle of the market, opposite the Municipality. When a Jew went there to tend to some matter, he just incidentally happened to step into the store to hear or relate something. If a Jew wandered about the market without anything particular in mind, he felt a desire to find out what was doing at Perla's. In addition, the store served as the city headquarters of the "Mizrahi" movement. Here one could always find the members of the Committee, including Reb Moshe Cukerkorn, the "Mizrahi" warden. He was a vigorous and enthusiastic person with a warm Jewish heart full of compassion and love for the Jews. It gave him tremendous pleasure to hear any good tidings from the Land of Israel. This was far more important, as far as he was concerned, than his lumber business.

With the enthusiasm of a former Gur Hassid, Moshe Cukerkorn would bitterly denounce the Hassidic Rebbehs, (Hassidic leaders), who were opposed to Palestine. According to him, it was up to each leader of a Hassidic congregation to lead his followers and emigrate to the Land of Israel. In his rage, however, the "Jewish robber," who loves the Jews with all his soul, was quite evident. His anger, directed against the Hassidic Rabbis, did not stop him from extolling the teachings of the Rebbehs immediately after his outburst. Moshe Cukerkorn was full of charm and naiveté and endless love for the Land of Israel.

A frequent guest in the hardware store was young Arieh Leib Fried, a member of the "Mizrahi" Committee. He was a pale young man with a fine ear for music who enjoyed basking in the warmth of his much older friends. His young life was cut short by the German beasts of prey. There in the middle of the market where he had spent most of his days, the Nazis hung him.

Sometimes one saw in this company, the old teacher and grammarian, Reb Shlomo Itcheh Fischer, the principal of the reformed heder. Fischer used to lend an ear, listen to what was being said and sometimes add a word or two. Then he would head for home, lost in his skeptical thoughts: why did they spend so much time talking about what should be done. His favorite saying was, "Not from deserts come mountains," talk without action is worthless.

If one of the Jewish artisans, locksmiths, or blacksmiths chanced to enter the store, or if someone from the village came to buy a scythe, axe, or saw, the place became overcrowded and some of the people were forced to remain outside, at the entrance. The truth of the matter was that the entire enterprise was of no importance for its owners. In any case, the one who served the customers was Haim - Eilyah's son, Itcheh.

Haim Eliyah was considered a slightly haughty Jew, not very friendly at all. Actually, people greatly annoyed him. What had he to do with all those loafers, politicians, and customers when he was immersed heart and soul in a pamphlet of the utmost importance and interest. And what book was not interesting? It was far more interesting and important than everything else about him, both people and hardware. And that is the reason why people like Haim Eliyah are slandered.

Apparently, Haim Eliyah inherited his love for the printed word from his father, Reb Yeruham-Fischel, the author of "The Book of Commandments." The thirst and yearning for knowledge filled Haim Eliyah's entire being, was his whole life. But times were different then. It was purely accidental that he wound up as a dealer in hardware and the head of a family. He was active in many organizations and had to mingle with people, while his life ambition was to seclude himself in a special room with a pile of books. When Haim Eliyah talked about books in general or about Maimonides, the Geonim (exceedingly learned Rabbis), or Spinoza, his outward composure, haughtiness, and impatience that so repelled others, melted away. What remained was a man full of love and respect for the printed word, for man's pure spirit.

A book was always his closest companion. In the store, at home and even during "reading time" at the "Mizrahi" headquarters, he would sit and pour over some pamphlet with his shortsighted, bespectacled eyes. He was always immaculately dressed. His face reflected the wisdom of a man truly learned in the Torah.

There was only one thing that could draw him away from his daily life: his great love and yearning for the Land of Israel.

Even before World War I, many Mlawian Jews were made familiar with the first taste of the Land of Israel on holiday afternoons at Reb Haim Eliyah's home. The refreshments for the guests included "Carmel" wine. It was here that the first hesitant steps were taken towards and actual and realistic comprehension of the Land of Israel, which, in those days, was more dream than reality.

Haim Eliyah was privileged to visit Palestine several times. He bought some land, left some of his children behind in Palestine and returned to Mlawa to liquidate his business. But he was not fortunate enough to return to the Land of Israel, his heart's desire. The upheaval in Poland tragically cut short the thread of his life and he died an untimely death.

Haim Eliyah's partner was his brother-in-law, Gecel Glowinski. His heart too was not in business. He was a frail Jew, a man of learning, one of the followers of the Gur Tzaddik. He was not often in the company of others. His children were brought up in the spirit of secular education. His wife was one of the few women who in those times had acquired a secular education.

Wolf Breindele's resembled something not of this world, a messenger of the Angel of Death. Breindele's was of always and old Jew. He stemmed from a good family, related to Reb Avrehmele from the old Sage of Ciechanow's court. People were afraid of him. This tall Jew with the ruddy complexion and sparse, white beard was the strict warden of the Jewish burial society (Hevreh Kadisha). He had a savage appearance like that of one of the Cohanim (Priests) who blew their horns and caused the walls of Jericho to tumble. Sometimes his face was pale and sallow, without a drop of blood in it. He then resembled a piece of yellow parchment stretched over lean bones and looked like an old man, a Samaritan Priest.

From Wolf Breindele's one could get decorated Turkish talliths, little bags of soil from the Holy Land, and shrouds: anything connected with burial. Summers he wore a tall, black hat and a long, rep capote; winters, a fur cap and a long bulky cape made of fox fur.

It was not pleasant to have to deal with Wolf Breindele's. He ruled the town with an iron fist. When a young boy or girl died, the stern warden of the burial society was not about to listen to any pleas intended to soften his heart. "You say that the burial society is demanding a great deal of money! And if the father of the deceased girl had to give her a dowry, would he spend less? It's quite obvious that the deceased was of marriageable age!" In a hoarse squeak he would finish off with these words.

On Rosh Hashanah, Wolf Breindele's used to lead a group of Jews to pray Minha (the afternoon prayers) at the "village" synagogue. Each Friday evening its floors sparkled after being scoured with yellow sand. Wolf Breindele's used to perform the "Shalom Zahar" ceremony for his neighbors: Haim Eliyah Perla, Gecel Glowinski, and their children, and offer them chickpeas and wine. He himself had no children. During "Shalem Zahar" he would show off his expertise in calculating the advent of the righteous Messiah. He did not spare the labor involved in pushing this date off from year to year. Each time he simply declared that, once again, he had been mistaken in his reckoning.

After he died, a large manuscript was found in his home full of calculations, gematria, and acronyms relating to the coming of the Messiah when, at long last, the dead would be resurrected. The manuscript was left with Reb Itchkeh.

Reb Itchkeh, the brother of the Rabbi of Biala, lived in a small wooden house in the middle of the market. He was a stout, healthy Jew with long, curly forelocks. He looked very dignified. He wore white shoes and stockings and a silk caftan. His manner was that of a Rebbeh and he presided over a table just as a Rebbeh did.

His daughter-in-law was known in town as Reb Itchkeh's Matels. A black headdress decorated with beads and feathers covered her wise head. She was quite celebrated. She spoke French, Russian, and Polish, and made fun of the Rebbehs and their courts. She freely voiced her opposition and resistance to the Hassidim's backwardness. From her Hassidic and wealthy home, she derived her pride, self-assurance, and love of freedom.

Her daughter, Hava-Yitta, the future wife of the writer Stupnicki, dared further. She, the mother of grown sons, discarded her wig, left her husband, the Hassidic loafer Yankel Sunik, and turned to new ways.

Reb Itchekeh's grandson was even more defiant. He was a young man with curly forelocks down to his shoulders, engaged in the study of the Torah. The boy had a good head. One fine day, on behalf of his fellow students in the besmedresh and himself, he turned to some of the students of the Jewish gymnasium and asked them for help in obtaining a secular education. In Reb Itchkeh's house, a circle of apikorsim (heretics), ex-Hassidic boys, got together. Their heretic ways surpassed those of their teachers.

Close by to this group of "breachers of the faith", lived a pleasant-mannered Hassidic Jew whose heart was full of love for the Jewish people. This was Mendel Motke's (Safirstein), the brother of Yosef the Shohet. His big head, covered by a tall, Jewish cap, stood out from his short, stocky body. The cap made him appear to be slightly taller than he really was. Long, coarse, uneven hair descended from his smiling face. Each hair grew as though for its own benefit and, all together, they made up the long beard of this small person. His lithe movements afforded him the mischievous charm of a boy. In his daily life, he followed the rule that says: "Receive every person graciously, always with a smile and a pleasant word." When he got hold of one of the boys, he would first honor him with a Hassidic pinch of the cheek and then ask what he was studying. The boy would jump with pain to his question that generally was in grammar or the Bible. Mendel Motk's and his brother Yosef Motke's, the ritual slaughterer, enjoyed boasting about their expertise in the Bible and in the rules of grammar. Both brothers greatly loved children and would test them on these subjects at every opportunity. This trait characterized Mendel his whole life long. When the children grew up and turned to different ways, Mendel even then remained their old and true friend.

All of a sudden Mendel Motke's disappeared from the market place he had frequented daily. Mendel's heart was sick, he became weak. During his illness, Mendel begged and implored to be told about the Land of Israel, about the Jewish people, and about the holy places. Hersch-Ber, Landau's son and one of the adherents of the Alexander Rebbeh, used to come to pay sick calls on his friend Mendel.

Hersch-Ber was a Hassidic Jew, a scholar. His face was pale and sallow, his small beard-black and sparse. These did not testify to a rich and happy life. He barely eked out a living. His occupation was rolling cigarettes. He was utterly exhausted from travelling to the fairs in Pomorze. These trips were not an easy way of making a living. Polish hooligans who belonged to the "Pickets," representatives of the boycott against the Jews, from time to time would attack Jewish dealers and steal their merchandise. It was not easy for such a Jew to earn his piece of bread, not easy at all.

Hersch-Ber would visit the ailing Mendel. He didn't bring flowers or a bottle of red wine or even an orange. He sat down and said: "Mendel, I have brought you a saying from the Rebbeh," and he took out of his pocket a pamphlet written by the old Alexander Rebbeh: "Rejoice oh Israel." Mendel's pale lips began to move, deep lines furrowed his face and his eyes shone with happiness. It was obvious that the patient's heart was full of joy. When he touched the book, he felt as though the Rebbeh himself had come and extended his good, warm hand to him.

Zalman Lidzbarski also lived in Mendel's house. He was tall and thin, an Alexandrower Hassid. He always carried a black umbrella. He dealt in materials and textiles and, to some extent, money lending.

The front of the house was occupied by a glassware and utensils store run by "Sweet Rifka," Mendel Laski's wife. The store was listed in her name.

Close by lived Binem the Winemaker, also known in town as Binem Shiyeh's. The Gentiles called him Binem Estreicher. He was a skinny Jew, haggard from his frequent fasting, with a thin, blond beard. His voice was like a eunuch'' and fearfully he observed the Holy One'' world through his two, red and sick eyes. His clothes seemed stuck to his body and one piece of clothing was longer than the other. As they used to say, "The Thursday is longer than the Wednesday." From his open shirt, the collar of which was rolled up over his capote, one could see his long, thin neck and his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. Even on weekdays, he wore a velvet hat over his skullcap; Saturdays, a shtreimel (a black broad-rimmed hat trimmed with velvet or fur, worn by religious Jewish men, especially in Galicia and Poland) of moth eaten fur. This he hid under his bed during the week to keep away the moths. Binem was a shlimazal, par excellence. He was a devoted follower of the Alexander Rebbeh. Waggish Hassidim said that when his wife beat him with a broom, he would hide behind the bed and yell out in his reedy voice, "Impudent woman, don't you know that it's written, 'and he shall rule over her,'" and that during Melaveh Malkeh the floor rag was found in the pot of groats.

Disregarding all these tales, whether they be true or exaggerated, Binem looked upon his wine trade with awe and reverence. So as not to mislead the Jews into drinking "heathen wine," he dragged himself and his wines in freight cars from far off Bessarabia. Without knowing one word of Polish or Russian, he succeeded in protecting the wine from the touch of a goy's hand even, from his glance.

There were entirely different customs and a different atmosphere in the nearby spice and condiment store owned by the wealthy partners Konecki and Fraenk. Here business was conducted in a modern way. There was an office, a telephone and account books. Old Konecki wore a short coat, a stiff hat, had short-cropped hair and spoke a Germanic Yiddish, in short, a half-assimilated Jew. His sons' education alienated them from Judaism. But, after years of reflection and doubt, they returned to the Jewish fold. Hilik recalled that his real name was Hillel. He quit the assimilationist scout movement named after "Borek Yosilewicz" and, until he left Poland, was active in "Hashomer Hatzair." His sister Borka repented too. For many years she was a member of "Hashomer Hatzair." Her young life came to an end in Auschwitz.

In one of the corners of the market, near Plock Street, was Wolf Brachfeld's dry goods store. He was tall and had a yellow beard. Formally, he was an Alexandrower Hassid but actually, Wolf Brachfeld was more inclined to business than to Hassidism.

Out of Wolf Brachfeld's entire family, only one son remained alive, in the Land of Israel.

There was also a Jewish print shop in town. Jews who ran businesses needed letterheads for correspondence; others needed "wedding announcements," "New Year's" cards, and theatre announcements. Later on there also appeared a newspaper in Yiddish, "The Mlawa Times." All the printing for the town and its surroundings was done in Reb Leibesh Heinsdorf's print shop. He used to pray in the Hassidim's shtibbl (small Hassidic house of prayer) and was interested in German, Russian, Polish, Yiddish, and modern and ancient Hebrew literature. He was a Jew who in everyday life, in every conversation and in any company, followed the adage; "The words of the wise are uttered with dignity and calm." He was an aristocratic Hassid who obeyed the rule, "Good manners are more important than study." Any close contact with Reb Leibesh Heinsdorf gave one the impression that even though he seemed always calm and composed, he was a person trapped in an unfamiliar world.

Reb Leibesh Heinsdorf followed a mixed philosophy of life in which were united faith, common sense, and total resignation. His warm, shortsighted eyes, full of love, were always glued to a book or pamphlet.

He was respected by one and all and everyone was full of wonder at the marvelous nature of this man who lived in peace with the progressive Jews and with the Gur Hassidim.

During weekdays he wore a short coat; on Saturdays, a silk caftan and a small velvet hat.

Leibesh Heinsdorf was considered one of the calmest and most modest persons in town who would walk at the side of the road rather than disturb the passers-by.

In the old Market there were dozens of other "houses" with hundreds of inhabitants: Hassidim, Mitnagdim (anti-Hassidim), freethinkers and traditionalist Jews, Zionists, Bundists, Folkists, and just plain Jews, "reciters of Psalms," who have not been mentioned here at all.

An important role in the various walks of Jewish life was fulfilled by the following families: David Pizicz, Lederberg, Lubliner, Meizlic, Shimon Lipsker, Henoch Zilberberg, Herman Kleniec, and others. It didn't matter whether they resembled or differed from one another, were secular or religious, Hassidim or Mitnagdim - a common destiny united them into one big and close family.

Yet another citizen who was far removed from business and secularity lived in the Old Market. This was the Town Rabbi, Reb Yehiel Moshe Sagalowicz of blessed memory. Like any Rabbi in a Jewish town, he had his adherents and opponents. One side claimed that the Rabbi was inclined towards Zionism. In contrast, the other said that he favored the "Aguda." Some didn't like his interpretation of the Bible. True, the Rabbi was not a gifted lecturer. The congregation found his Lithuanian pronunciation quite strange. But in spite of all these differences, the Jews respected their Rabbi and considered him a great scholar.

The greatness of his character came to light during World War I. When the Jewish population abandoned the town that had been so severely punished by frontline fire, only few Jews, among them the Rabbi, stayed behind. "As long as there is even a single Jew in town, the Rabbi remains," he declared. So said, so delivered. Because of this stance, the Rabbi gained much love and loyalty from the entire Jewish population. His greatness and high moral values, his devotion and love for his congregation, were revealed even further during the last war of annihilation. When the Jews were first expelled from the city, they ran to save the Rabbi's life. But the old Rabbi of Mlawa did not seek means of deliverance at a time when the life of his entire congregation was in jeopardy. Together with his people he was deported from town and his pure soul breathed its last in exile in Lublin. For forty-nine years he had served as Mlawa's Rabbi.

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Updated 27 Feb 2002 by LA