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Memories

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More than thirty years have passed since I left the town where I was born, Dereczin, where my cradle stood, and where my childhood and youth were spent, but to this day, [the town] stands as if living, before my eyes. Every sapling, branch, and blade of grass, is etched into my heart. In order to better recollect each nook and cranny, I close my eyes: there is the big market, with its businesses and stores, between the first two is our own ironmonger's store; further along, the Deutsche Gasse extends , with its pretty houses, all the way to the green fields, that stretch far, far beyond the town; to the left – the Puster Barg, where we would stroll on the Sabbath afternoon; further is the Shasei that leads to the village of Kuczin; the Slonim Gasse that was used to travel to Slonim; the Zelva Gasse, half Jewish and half Christian, from which it was the way to travel to the neighboring town of Zelva, with its railroad station, to which we would have to travel in a horse and wagon, in which we got shook up really badly during the 12-kilometer ride, and were tired out by the time we got to the train; to the right – the forest, where we went to gather mushrooms, raspberries and strawberries; the Neue Gasse, and all the remaining smaller streets and back-streets; at the marketplace -– the Russian Orthodox Church surrounded by a garden, and further on, near the barracks -– the Roman Catholic Church. Very early on Sundays, the Catholic Church would peal its high note bells with a dainty ding-dong, ding-dong, to be answered by the bass bells of the Orthodox Church, bing-bong, bing-bong.

To this day, I do not know why the pealing of those bells invoked such a sense of sadness in me. It is possible that in my Jewish subconscious, it awoke the experience of the times of the inquisition, when the church bells pealed as Jews were led off –

– Life in Dereczin flowed peacefully, and each person earned a minimal living. There were no great yearnings for the luxuries of life, and one was content to make it through the day, with the expectation that God will provide for tomorrow. The Jewish populace engaged in a variety of occupations: tailors, shoemakers, small goods, merchants. Every Tuesday was our market day. Starting very early in the morning, the peasants would begin to arrive, with their wagons full a variety of products: chickens, eggs, pig hair (!), sheep, cattle, grain, potatoes, etc., and the smell of horses suffused the air. Their horses and wagons clogged the entire marketplace to the point that it was impossible to get through. Our womenfolk would go out looking for bargains, feeling the hens and blowing their feathers, to see which was fatter, bargaining with the peasants to lower the price, and then weighing the merchandise. The scales in our store didn't get a moment's rest during those market days. The women would come into the store even after getting their bargains, and re-weigh their onions, or beans, to assure themselves of the correct weight. That's the way it continued till noon. When the peasants had sold off their produce, they turned to the stores in the market to buy products for themselves. They bought kerosene, salt, manufactured goods, dyes, and all things that they needed. Our store was also full of buyers, and one had to watch them with a thousand eyes, and not permit them to grab any items of merchandise, even the cheaper ones. In our store, the peasants bought cast iron pots, pails, locks, files and saws. The saloons and guest houses were full of peasants, who would drink and eat, often getting drunk, to the point that they would stagger through the wagons tied up in the marketplace. As soon as it began to get dark, the marketplace would begin to empty out, the gentiles, with drunken shouts, would climb into their wagons, and ride off to their villages to the sound of the bells ringing that were attached to the collars of their horses. Merchants and storekeepers would begin to count the take of the market day. Between one market day and the next, Dereczin yawned and daydreamed, with the merchants waiting for a customer.

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Year after year this fashion continued, and since no one knew of a better way of life, there was a contentment with what we had. No sensational criminal episodes ever occurred in Dereczin, and it was rare even that a theft was ever mentioned.

For us, the children, life in Dereczin was literally an ideal. We would get together in my big yard. My older sister Sarah, appointed herself as the “baker,” making mud pies out of sand and water, and then dusting them with “cinnamon” scraped from red bricks. She would sell her “baked goods” to the other children. We make a scale from sticks, and as money, we used pieces of broken plates, rounded out by rubbing the pieces against a stone. And if we didn't get a fair weight, we immediately got into an argument, – and started wailing at the top of our lungs.

I personally ran a “greengrocer:” I tore up a variety of grasses and leaves, and sold them to my customers. When this play-commerce began to bore us, we would play “blind hens” (blind man's buff) – covering up the eyes of one of us, who would then try to catch someone else of us. I recall once, that we broke an electric lamp once while playing this game, which stood on a Marmaran (Turkish ?) stand.

I recall, that when we got a little older, we found a new game: we would stick a marker in the ground, and from a set distance, we would throw sticks at it to dislodge it. We called this game, Metteh. Once, in the middle of a game, one of us broke a window in the Bet HaMidrash with such a stick. I remember that we all agreed that under no circumstances would we reveal the name of the individual who cause the damage.

Saturday afternoons, we would take a walk in the fields, passing by the Catholic Church, its crucifix and image of the Christ, from which we would avert our eyes, and asking one another: “Have we passed by yet?!” And while a Jewish child was forbidden to gaze at the image of Jesus, one was tempted to steal a glance in passing.

We would then come to the cemetery, half for Polish Catholics, and half for Russian Orthodox, where we would sit and sing in several voices, until it got dark, and a pale moon would illuminate the crosses and gravestones around us. Fear would descend upon us, and we would quickly run home.

Our childhood years flew by without care. We were educated, some in a Heder, some in the Talmud Torah, and others at the Polish public school. We borrowed books to read from the town library, and it was at this time that many of us committed ourselves to a variety of organizations such as, the Poalei Tzion, Revisionists, Zionists. A Drama Club was active in Dereczin. Many of our young people traveled to bigger cities to get an education, such as Lida and Slonim, Vilna, etc. The Hebrew Tarbut School stood on a high plane – there, we were suckled with our national ideology, and to this day we remain grateful for what was planted into our hearts and our minds. Apart from local teachers, many also came from other places. To this day I remember the teachers, Zvi Mereminsky from Slonim, Stefania Ruzetsky, and the old teacher Izaakovich (Der Mikhoisker).

We loved and respected our teachers, and more than anyone, we treasured our unforgettable Headmaster, David Alper. A sense of respectful awe would possess us the minute he walked into the classroom. I remember his smile, and his gentle hand gesture, indicating that we could be seated, after we rose and greeted him with a hearty “Shalom,” and he would begin his lecture. I remember his first words, as for example: “Today, children, is Rosh Hodesh Adar (The first of Adar), and the saying is, “When Adar arrives – It is appropriate to multiply one's joy” Before each holiday, he would tell us about the historical meaning of the occasion, and with great spirit, we would imbibe every word of our Mentor.

I am reminded of the last days of the school year, the Day of Judgement – of final examinations. I work a great deal, literally not letting the books out of my hands, and my heart is full of trepidation – will I succeed in being promoted to a higher class?

I arrive with the first crowing of the rooster, and

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quietly and imperceptibly, in order not to wake anyone, I steal out of the house, with my books under my arms, and pick a corner where I can study. The sun shines at length from the east, and the odor of freshly baked goods wafts over from the nearby bakery, and I run over to get fresh rolls for breakfast.

Finally, the day of the examinations arrives, which I awaited with such trembling. The students all come to school dressed in their holiday finery. The teachers sit across from us with serious looks on their faces. Each of the students is called one at a time. My turn comes, and I answer all questions meaningfully and clearly, apart from which I am proficient in language, the Pentateuch and Tanach. I get a good report card and I move over to a higher class. In the higher grades we get homework, compositions and speeches. I remember one of my pieces, titled, “The Life of an Orphan & Widow.” And who better than I could understand the fate of an orphan? I had been such from early childhood. Indeed, I remember how I started my composition: “Life is like a sea, and the father of a family is like the captain of a ship. He guides that ship with a steady hand through stormy waves and holds fast the rudder of family life, he wrestles with the difficulties, until he brings the ship into safe harbor. But it is bitter indeed, when a ship loses its captain and navigator. Then the ship becomes a plaything for the angry waves”

My composition made a strong impression on our teacher, David Alper. He brought it into class, and read it in front of the students. A few of them were brought to tears.

Then our beloved teacher left Dereczin, and took up a position in Pinsk. When he would return to visit his parents during holidays, or for vacation, he would send someone to call for me, asking for copies of my work that he could read to his students.

For many years, I took care of my schoolwork, and my diary, which I took with me from Dereczin to Belgium, but when the Germans occupied Belgium, I lost everything.

This was the way we grew up in Dereczin, until we reached a point where we asked the question: what's next? Dereczin had become too crowded for us, and we saw no real prospects for ourselves. The young people began to leave the town, going off to a variety of other countries.

Our mother, who also doubled as our father, because we had lost our father in early childhood, had given us the maximum and the best in an upbringing that was possible in Dereczin. She would also spend a lot of time with us, and our friends, whiling away many hours reading to us from various books. Our mother was a well read and wise woman, and did not obsess over the difficulties she encountered in life, first losing her parents as a young girl, and then her beloved young husband – she was always full of good humor and in good spirits.

My older sister Sarah, married young, and stayed in Dereczin. My mother and I moved away to Belgium, where we lived through the terrifying time of the German occupation and miraculously survived. I lost my young fiercely beloved husband, who was deported, along with 28 thousand other Belgian Jews to the Nazi death camps. My sister Sarah, her husband Velvel, and their only son, Yehudeleh, were killed in Dereczin. The lie in a mass grave, not far from the place where as children, we would stroll, play and sing.

That is the way we lived in Dereczin, and this is how our most beloved ones were killed there, and of our hometown, all that remains are sweet memories, wretched ruins, and mass graves without any markers.

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My grandfather, Reb Moshe Friedman – Reb Moshe Shayneh-Chaya's – זצ”ל, was a wonder of a Jewish scholar, spending days and nights in study. I can see him now, reciting the Hadaran blessing^[1] in front of his Mishnah study group.

Residents of rural settlements around Dereczin would travel and come to our house. I recall Reb Leib Stein from Shchara, a son of Reb Jacob-Abraham, Dayan of Volkovysk, with his marvelous presence, and his handsome white beard; and Reb Simkha Rabinovich, of Wielka Wola^[2], the son of a Rabbi and a renown scholar, whose scholarly pedigree extended back many generations. My dear grandfather would spend his time with them in the discussion and study of Torah. I can remember how they would accord respect to on another, and how their goodness and gentleness was suffused in their faces, and how it radiated into every nook and cranny. They would engross themselves in wordplay, and with inferences in Torah portions, referring to a book here, and a line of reasoning there. In the world of casuistry and logical inference, they understood each other very well.

The following picture stands in front of my eyes: the samovar is percolating, the electric light is shining, illuminating our large house. My dear mother, of sainted memory, brings in delicious cakes and strudel, which she baked herself. Our worthy guests dink tea, grab a bite of baked goods – our house was a genuine conclave for Torah scholars.

My zaydeh, with his shining countenance and fear of God, never instilled fear in anyone or intimidated them through lecturing or emotional discourse. The acceptance and respect that he won from other observant people and Torah scholars, as well as more liberal and non-observant people, was obtained thanks to his personality and gentleness. He was a mayven (expert), and an auditor of Reb Zundeleh The Righteous,^[3] for whose sake, may we and all Israel be worthy of Divine protection. Reb Zundeleh was a great Gaon, but was lacking in administrative and practical skills, and my zaydeh assisted him in administering his rabbinical chair. When Reb Zundeleh was called away from Dereczin to take the pulpit in Eishyshok,^[4] thanks to my grandfather's familiarity with the position, we obtained the services of Rabbi Leib Luner, זצ”ל. When Rabbi Luner passed away, Rabbi Plotkin, זצ”ל, was selected with the informed counsel of my grandfather. He occupied the pulpit for many years in Dereczin. The gentle Rebbitzen Plotkin passed away in 1920. I can still recall how all of Dereczin escorted her funeral cortege to her eternal resting place, may her memory be for a blessing. The Rabbi's children, at that time were in Russia. Rabbi Plotkin emigrated to America, and the pulpit was given to Rabbi Bakalchuk, זצ”ל.

My husband, Moshe Kamenetsky, was a close friend to Rabbi Bakalchuk, and to this day, the extent of this ‘last Rabbi of Dereczin's’ scholarship and personal presence is a source of wonderment to him; he had a reputation as a magnificent orator and disseminator of Torah scholarship, and was a persona who possessed a gift of open sensitivity to

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all manner of issues in community life in Dereczin.

I return, once again, to memories of my grandfather. He was full of a love of his people, Israel, and the fear of God. He had a great influence on many walks of religious life in Dereczin. Everyone took his opinion into account. He was always invited to participate in religious courts; every involved and convoluted dispute would be brought to my grandfather, who could unravel and simplify, and was one of the best arbitrators of his time.

During the time of the First World War, my grandfather went to his daughters in Slutsk – and from there to Rostov. He writes to us, begging for our mercy, and asking to be brought back to Dereczin, to the Hiltzener Bet HaMidrash, to his son and daughter-in-law, who accorded him such a large measure of paternal homage.

My grandfather never returned to Dereczin, but his [good] name remained behind, and he was well-known someone active in assuring continuity of Torah study across generations, in sanctity and purity.

My grandfather's sister, Chana – Shayneh-Chaya's, Chana Weinstein, ע”ה,^[5] was the wife of Reb Shmuel Weinstein. He was a scholarly Jew, having been a student of the Yeshivah at Volozhin, a substantial businessman with a worldly education. In his spare time, he was always occupied with study and with reading.

His dear, modest wife was a true Woman of Valor, who ran the manufacturing business, and raised her nine children. I see her now before me, with her combed wig, decent, regal and modest in her appearance and demeanor. She was always satisfied with what she was able to accomplish, with the business and with her children. The first one of Dereczin's children who studied medicine [and became a Doctor] was her son, Ezer, ע”ה. In this manner, my Aunt Chana had nakhas, despite the fact that she lost two children, a son, Joseph, and a daughter Dvora-sheh. As only a truly righteous person would do, she bore her pain with love as well.

I remember how my aunt Chana was eulogized at her funeral by Rabbi Bakalchuk, זצ”ל. He spoke of her distinguished lineage of many generations, of how her [good] deeds were an example to her children, and how with womanly wisdom she built her house and family. She raised her children to be fine and gentle people, full of positive virtues. My her memory be for a blessing. Perhaps it was ordained that such a righteous lady should pass away before she could witness with her own eyes how her children and grandchildren were tortured by the German murderers.

I would like to place on record the memory of my dear cousin, Chaim Weinstein, a man of many virtues, with a gentle approach to personal relationships, who was always ready to offer assistance to those in need. He rendered assistance to members of the family in every conceivable way.

He was a son-in-law of Reb Mendel Feldman, ע”ה. Those townsfolk who survived, know well the way of life of this head of our community, who took his own life when, with his own eyes, he saw the end of the Jews of Dereczin.

As I relate stories about members of my family, I am reminded of my childhood years at home. I was born eighteen years after my parents were married. I was raised as the apple of their eye. My father, Reb Zelig Friedman, the son of the renown scholar Reb Moshe Shayneh-Chaya's, spent almost his entire life in the Hiltzener Bet HaMidrash. He studied the Shas, and was a member of a Mishnah study group and a Pentateuch study group. I recall his wonderful appearance, his generosity in receiving guests, and how his face shone when he made Kiddush on Friday nights. And I recall my mother, with her

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good virtues, and her piety.

My parents raised me in the Jewish way, and at the age of six, sent me to Reb Leib's [Abelovich] Heder, where I learned from 9AM till 6PM. Who doesn't remember Reb Leib, who would explain to us the meaning of the words in the prayers; Reb Leib Abelovich, a Jew from his heart, and a fine educator, he would satisfy us with a portion of the Chumash, and his presentations were always full of wisdom and a Jewish flavor.

I spent five years under the tutelage of Reb Leib, and to this day I cannot forget the Abelovich family, with Reb Leib's wife, Chaykeh, ע”ה, with their two children, Dvorah'leh & Abraham'eleh, along with Reb Leib's elderly father, Reb Joseph, ע”ה. They lived in a small house, and there were many children underfoot who were there as pupils, but how magical it was there! We were especially happy, when Reb Leib's wife would bake bread, and take the symbolic ritual portion of Challah, and throw it into the oven fire – the dough would begin to burn, and the air in the small room would get filled with smoke. We would all get a headache, and the good Reb Leib would send us home early.

From Reb Leib's, I moved on to the Mikhoisker, to Reb Abraham Izaakovich. There we undertook the study of arithmetic, grammar, and the history of our people – HaKorot HaIvrim

It did not take long, and a general school was opened in Dereczin. David Alper, ז”ל was the founder.

Those, who will be writing about the last twenty years of Dereczin, will describe his good virtues and great works on behalf of the education of our children. It is literally difficult to portray his great personality, and the extent of his strong influence on the spiritual life of the last generation of Dereczin.

When the general school closed because of a lack of resources, our group of girls went to study with the teacher, Fyvel Einstein. We obtained a great deal of knowledge from him, and to this day we remember him with great respect and gratitude.

I remember the day that the Bolsheviks came to Dereczin. The orchestra played in the middle of the marketplace, and all of Dereczin turned out to listen. The youth was in the vanguard, and the success of the Russian revolution inspired their full ranks. The authorities took advantage of the situation, and drafted 18 year-olds into the Red Army. All the conscripts were taken to the synagogue, from where they were destined to be sent away deep into the Russian heartland. Among these was also our

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brother, Yudel. He was not yet eighteen, but because of his greater than normal height, the Bolsheviks signed him up as well, and were prepared to ship him out.

My distraught and trembling mother went off to Hirschel Levitt, our cousin, the son of Ephraim-Yehoshua. He was a communist, a good speaker, an effective doer, and was already playing an important role among the Bolsheviks.

My mother began to plead with him, with tears in her eyes, that he should release Yudel, who was not yet eighteen, which Hirschel Levitt knew well. Our mother reminded him that Yudel was our only breadwinner, after Shmuel & Hirschel our two older brothers had passed away.

Hirschel Levitt promised my mother to have Yudel released, and in a couple of hours, our brother returned home. We all cried – but this time they were tears of joy.

Hirschel Levitt, and his entire family moved into the Soviet Union, where in the 1930's, he died of tuberculosis.

These are my recollections of those war years, which extended from 1914 to the time that the Polish regime occupied Dereczin.

Membership of HeHalutz on a trip (untitled)

In my innermost dreams, I constantly sense the initial stirring of those ‘enables of the mitzvah’ the founders of the Zionist Youth Organization. Like all beginnings, this beginning was also a difficult one, and our initial steps were hard ones to take. We did not have a clear path that we, the young people full of aspirations of the Halutzim, and the energy and spunk of the young, could follow with any conceptual or practical certainty.

For a number of consecutive years, the anti-Zionist Bund movement was dominant among the youth of Dereczin. There were [at that time], very committed Zionists, but the extent of their commitment was manifested in the reading of a Hebrew newspaper, and in debates with their protagonists. Actual work on behalf of the movement was expressed through support of the Keren Kayemet LeYisrael. Nevertheless, we – thirsty for activities relating to being a Halutz, felt weary of our existing way of life, and sharpened our desire to be Halutzim in the Land of Israel. And a powerful imperative existed among us to find a synthesis between the ideals of nationalism and internationalism and the ideals of Zionist socialism. I will not say that we understood how to realize the aspirations locked within us, and to bring them to the youth of the town for fulfilment.

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It was the Balfour Declaration that awakened the Zionist feelings of the Jews in the Pale of Settlement and the Jews of our town. You would have thought that Dereczin, being small and out-of-the-way, would have been among the last to respond to this awakening, yet miraculously the following happened: they were among the first respondents to this important nationalist event, the Balfour Declaration, when young people took the leadership of this movement, whom I shall never forget. The living spirit of this small group of young people was David Zelig ז”ל, an ardent, yeshiva-trained young man, who was a fiery orator, who in those days, gave an inspiring and fiery expression to readings from the leadership of the movement who exhorted the young people to make aliyah, and build the homeland for the sake of generations yet to come. Whenever he went to the podium, he was accompanied by stormy applause. I see him as the founder of the Zionist Youth Organization in Dereczin, because the young people gathered around him in those days, before there was a Zionist-socialist movement implanted in these territories, since only now were they beginning to gradually liberate themselves from the tribulations of the [First World] War, and the burdens of the German occupation.

To our great distress, the fate of this wondrous young man took a turn for the worse, and he was taken from us in the prime of life, after he contracted typhus.

But the seed had been planted, and people to carry on were found, who possessed both intellectual and administrative skills, at the head of which stood David Alper, ז”ל. It is not easy to succinctly convey the extensive good works of this educator of the young generation in Dereczin, how he broadened the horizons of so many of our youth, and set them on the proper path of loyalty to people and to socialism.

It was David Alper who led me to the path of being a Halutz, and helped me to make aliyah to the homeland. I was active for all the years I lived in our homeland, as a member of the Third Aliyah, who saw in this work a dedication and commitment in the day-to-day life of the people – and I always saw myself as a disciple of those progenitors, the founders of the ZYO in our town.

The HeHalutz membership in 1929 (untitled)

In 1923, I journeyed to Vilna, along with a number of other classmates to study, in order to qualify for acceptance to a technical school. For economic reasons, I was compelled to return home, and we then decided to establish a branch of HeHalutz in Dereczin. Before I left for Vilna, I had already become active in a number of Zionist institutions in Dereczin, in the KKL”L, the Brenner Library, and various other cultural undertakings. When the time

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to realize our plans came – that is when I decided to return home.

In the span of a couple of months, the membership of HeHalutz in Dereczin reached about fifty people. These young people were in essence the seed of the active and operational Zionist movement in our town.

We decided to go to work and prepare ourselves for making aliyah.

We turned to various balebatim, and asked of them to retain us to do any manner of work, light or heavy, for which they had a need. At first they greeted this request derisively, but little by little, they gave us access to a variety of things to do. Even in the general community, we earned a good reputation for dedication to work.

In 1925, when the [Hebrew] newspaper Davar was established in the Holy Land, our house was the only one to get a subscription. I would read from its articles to assembled meetings of the HeHalutz branch, and the members would devour every word about news from the Homeland.

In order to speed the aliyah process, I attended a facilitation camp with other members near Suwalk-Augustov. As the leader of our group, I stood together with the central leadership of the HeHalutz movement, especially with Pinhas Kozlovsky, (who is today Pinhas Sapir, the Israeli government official), who was the organizer of these camps in the Grodno Province. After I returned home from this camp, Pinhas Kozlovsky visited us, and asked of me that I participate in a HeHalutz seminar in Warsaw, and delay my aliyah for a number of years. I did not agree to this proposition, and in May 1926, a group of five of us from the movement in town made aliyah to the Holy Land.

Who in Dereczin did not know Yehuda-Shmuel Epstein and Simkheh die Kremerkeh^[1]? More than one person received help from them, and their home was open to all. They were generous with their charitable contributions, both public and private, despite the fact that they worked very hard to earn their own livelihood.

My grandfather, Yehuda-Shmuel, was born in nearby Kozlovshchina. He was orphaned at an early age, and was educated by relatives. He studied in yeshivas, as was the custom in those days. He was a scholar, and dedicated all his spare time to the study of the Shas. He was strictly religious, with a tendency to sterner observance in matters great and small. Despite this, he had an understanding of the heart of young people and their spirit. He was one of the supporters of the Zionist movement , and of the Homeland itself.

Not once during conversation, would he find favor with our side [saying]: ‘you young people will have the privilege of seeing the redemption of the Land of Israel and the establishment of a Jewish State in your lifetime…’

After the terrible tragedy of losing two of his sons within days of each other, he turned inward, brooding in his sorrow. As expected, he was in the habit of going to synagogue on a daily basis, to the Neuer Mauer. After services, he would remain behind, and study a chapter of the Shas in memory of his two sons, who were taken in the prime of life. His tearful voice would be heard through the open

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windows of the synagogue, and his weeping would tug at the heartstrings of the neighbors.

The extent of his faith can be gleaned from what he had to say at the burial of his [first] son, David-Zelig, who died in the typhus epidemic that ran through town in the closing days of the First World War. After the eulogy delivered by Rabbi Plotkin, ז”ל, my grandfather found the spiritual strength to mourn his son as follows: ‘God gave me the responsibility for twins for a specified period of time. I will not speak against the Lord, even after so great a tragedy. I will always bear this pain in my heart.’

And when his second son [Dov-Berel] fell sick and died, only weeks after the death of his brother, my grandfather found the spiritual fortitude to say the following at grave side, after the Rabbi's eulogy: ‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away; would that my sacrifices cause Him to turn away from his wrath, and let the pestilence subside…’

My grandmother, Simkheh die Kremerkeh, was tied down to the store from morning until late in the evening, with the entering customers, with a seemingly permanent smile on her face. The battle for making a living was a difficult one, but for her entire life, she was a helpmeet to my grandfather.

Despite the burdens of her labor, this woman had the talent to put down in writing the circumstances of her life in a clear and heartfelt manner. A portion of her writing, which by chance is preserved with me, is also reproduced in this volume, and it serves as a means to highlight her noble character.

Friday was always filled with activities: preparations for the Sabbath. My mother was busy and anxious, never sparing any effort to add warmth and a holiday spirit to our home. Mother was always afraid that perhaps she would not manage to finish all her preparations before the Sabbath. That was her custom. She was always among the first to receive the Sabbath Queen, and the last to see her on her out.

As usual, all the preparations were ready on time and before twilight, the house was spotless and shining. A white table cloth adorned the table, and eight Sabbath candles burning brightly spread warmth and light in the room.

The shadows melted away and with them the [weekday] anxiety. A holiday ambiance encompassed every comer of the house.

My father, wearing a kapota (black traditional garment) hurried off to synagogue. My sisters, Hanna-Esther and Zeldeleh, ז”ל, Miriam, and I, began chanting ‘Lekhu Neranenah.’ We were all joyfully anticipating my father's return.

Impatiently, I would go outside and stand at the entrance of the house in order to welcome my father on his return from the synagogue. How I loved to hear his greeting: “Gut Shabbos!” How profound was his faith in this blessing, and how much I believed that it would materialize. The Sabbath would rid my father of the day-to-day worries, of which he had plenty, and it would transport him into a world which was all goodness and beauty.

Father sat down at the table, blessed the Sabbath, and made the blessing over the wine. We all

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accompanied his words with “Amen.” During the meal, my father spiced the conversation with verses from the Scriptures, and we sat and listened. The same thing happened the next day. The custom was prayer, study, and singing. The Sabbath meal, with the traditional cholent (meat stew), passed from its beginning to its end in a holiday atmosphere. My father was a Hasia, and his worship of God was conducted with joy in his heart.

For the last meal, called “the third meal,” my father used to invite a number of Yeshiva students to eat with us. The joy was seven times greater.

There was no limit to the singing and chanting. What did the worries of daily life matter?

“In the Lord I will trust” the singing would burst forth. Until late in the evening they would sing with joy and thanks.

The passers-by would slow down their steps. A neighbor's window would open, and yet another would peek through the door. Even the Christians were full of wonder: how great were the strength and sustenance that a Jew would draw from his God, they would think.

After the departure of the Sabbath Queen, our house would go back to the routine of everyday life, but always with faith in the Rock of Israel.

Thus it was until, until that terrible and bitter day, for my family and all Israel, good and just people, who fell before the forces of evil. May their souls be bound up in the bond of life.

A. Passover

Passover would arrive early in our home, by about Tu B'Shevat, when the owner of the textile store, where our mother was in the habit of shopping, would come around to discover what our mother had in mind to buy for the various family members for the up-and-coming holiday. He did this, because in a matter of a few days, with God's help, he would be turning to travel to Bialystock, to arrange for his purchases, and it would be at that time, that he would want to take into account my mother's specific tastes, and reflect her order among the other orders he would be fulfilling.

On Shushan Purim, a day on which school was closed, mother would go to the store to obtain her necessities. We would naturally accompany her, and assist her in the selection of merchandise.

Once material was purchased, then the selection process of the dress patterns begins, coupled to a visit to the seamstress, reading magazines, (although we may have been young at the time, we also leafed through magazines, and attempted to influence our mother in the matter of a dress pattern), and this is how the consultation among us proceeded, the daughters, their friends, until an auspicious hour when the final measurements were taken for each of us, and transcribed like the law into the notebook of the seamstress.

Then came the process of fitting. In the afternoons, young women, mothers and grandmothers would come together. If indeed, there was a line for first-come first-serve, how could one not give way in favor of the mother of a good friend, or some other respected lady? Meanwhile, the hours run by, and it is after dinner, and then our father appears, to find out what has delayed our return home.

And the baking of the matzos? Even before the special bakeries were opened up, their owners would come to my father to offer their services (my father was the designate to oversee the performance of this mitzvah). But we also personally participated

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in this mitzvah: we wanted to be present every time the dough was kneaded and baked, to pass the matzo from the table where it was rolled to the table where it was perforated, and to inhale the fragrance of the freshly baked matzo as it emerged from the oven. That morning, when the matzo was being baked, we were late for school, with the permission of our father and mother. And when we returned from school, how not to help store the matzo in the large storage area of Eli the Stout!? The matzo was stored in as big wicker basket, and was accorded its own special corner, from which exuded its odor, literally the odor of the Passover holiday.

The various preparatory tasks, like cleaning the house, taking out the Passover dishware and utensils, storing all the year-round dishes – all this occupied us, the students and young people, and filled the days leading up to the holiday.

When we grew up, and either studied or worked away from home. We never lost the opportunity to spend the Passover holiday under the roof and between the walls of our parents' home. We would gather from the ‘four corners’ of the country, and come by train or horse-drawn wagon, on the roads, or off the roads, in order to be seated at the table of our parents on Passover.

On the Eve of Passover, we would seat ourselves around the table which had been set for the holiday, with our father at the head, wearing his spotless kittel, and read the Haggadah together. And we do not content ourselves with mere rote recitation, for everyone adds some insight to enrich the reading: someone with a new explanation he had come upon, another with an historical insight to a specific portion; pedagogical points are exchanged with the children during the Passover event –

And the Seder lengthens and stretches out, until mother begins to urge us on to reach a break point where she can begin to serve the food, because she is beginning to feel tired.

It was our custom to invite friends for the holidays, or younger relatives. The big dining room table, even with its two leaves was often insufficient to accommodate all those sitting around it.

Yet the eight days of the holiday fly by, and on the last day of Passover, we begin to pack our bags. At a late hour, the wagon driver takes us to the train station, and from there, each one goes off -- either to work or to study.

On Yom Kippur Eve, our mother would get up especially early, in order to bake the special Challahs in the shape of a ladder while it was still morning -- symbolic of the path that our prayers would take to heaven, as was the custom of the women of our area.

Then, in the early hours of the morning, the ritual slaughterer, Reb Yankel-Aryeh, would come knocking at our door, a venerable man with a clear voice, who passed before the Ark during the festival days, scrawny and short. He had come to slaughter the kaporeh^[1] roosters in our yard. The rest of the town had managed to recite the ritual over their kaporehs on a prior day, and had brought them to the shokhet or the Hazzan, but our parents had the custom of reciting these blessings precisely on the Eve of Yom Kippur, and the shokhet would come to us, for which he was specially compensated.

Until the fowl are chased down and tied up, the shokhet sits himself at the table and has a boiling hot glass of tea, a second and a third, while snatching a bit of conversation, and then sets his sights on the yard, from whence then come the squawking of the bound fowl and the ones being killed.

During the day, our father would take an interest in each one of us, in terms of the state of health of each member of the household, he would ask about and

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direct choices of food intake, how much, and when – all of this with an eye towards the rigors of the fast, or half-day fast. As the sun began to set in the west, father would return from his afternoon prayers, after having distributed his contributions to the various plates [set out at the synagogue].

On that same day of Yom Kippur Eve, many children would come around to us with small bottles for sale containing ‘smelling salts,’ really being drops of ammonia inside, whose sharp odor counteracted any fainting, should a worshiper be overcome by the rigors of prayer and fasting.

The table is set for the final meal before the fast. Father's kittel, along with his prayer shawl, are set aside on a special chair, as are the makhzors of our parents. With trepidation and anxiety, we approach the table, with a broken and roiling heart: The Day of Judgement!

Before the final meal, the tea has been poured into glasses, in order that it cool down, so it could be drinkable as a closing to the meal. As they recite the blessing after the meal, tears begin to fall from the eyes of both parents.

And then they rise from the table. Father puts his kittel on over his holiday finery, approaches each of us filled with emotion and trembling, from withheld tears and intense feeling, he embraces and kisses us giving us his blessing: A Good Year, may we all be worthy to be here for the next year! And our mother does the same.

They turned to the synagogue. The way is not far, the courtyard of the synagogue is behind our house, in which the Great Synagogue was found, a stone structure which was mostly closed during the winter because it wasn't possible to heat it, Der Alter Mauer, where my parents worshiped, and Der Hiltzener Bet HaMidrash.

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Here she stands before my eyes, my hometown that I loved so much. There, we were close to one another, and I will always remember neighbors, friends, the houses, the streets and gardens, the summer sands, and the winter mud – every highway and byway, which were happily traversed by our young people.

When the heart of a Jewish member of the community became heavy [with a concern], he could always turn for solace to a neighbor or a friend. Our street was inhabited with Jewish laborers and craftsmen who worked hard to make a living, but would derive full joy from their children and grandchildren, living in nakhas, and always hoping for a better life.

This is the way my father's family also lived. Who in Dereczin didn't know Shmuel der Schmid (The Blacksmith) , with his perpetual smile, with his wit and wisdom, with a comforting word for anyone who needed one.

My father survived different [sic: difficult] times, but together with my mother, he always hoped to have nakhas from his children and grandchildren:

from Elya & Bluma and their children; from Esther & Shimon and their children; from Liebeh & Velvel and their children; from Leibl & Zlateh and their children. Here, I have listed some of my nearest and dearest. They grew and matured around my mother and father, just like the trees that sprouted and grew about our house.

Until the angry tempest came that disrupted the lives of towns and cities. Our Dereczin also was destroyed, and our loved ones were cut down just like trees that are uprooted from the soil.

The song of our brothers and sisters, together with that of our fathers and mothers, was silenced. After difficult and tortured years, I still held the hope that I might find a member of my family [still alive] – but when I stood at the long large mass graves, into which our Dereczin townsfolk were cast, old and young alike, I saw that I had been left all alone.

It is our Yizkor Book that will serve as their memorial marker, over which we will be able to mourn and weep.

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The larger part of my life has been spent in The United States, but my birthplace Dereczin, lives ever in my memory, even though that lovely town no longer exists, where my eyes first saw the light of day. I recall the way of life of the Jews of Dereczin with great affection. It was from those roots that I imbibed my spiritual nourishment, and that is why I am full of respect for the legacy I received from those Jewish generations in their long march to martyrdom. This legacy is all the more precious to me, after thousands of Jewish communities in the towns and cities of Eastern Europe were wiped off the map by a murderous hand.

Our town of Dereczin was small, but it had valuable human resources, organized into different functions, which constituted its community infrastructure. The Poalei Tzion and Bund were active, theater, libraries, and charitable works, and all manner of activities to serve the needs of the Jewish residents.

My grandmother, may she rest in peace, was known for her work on behalf of orphaned young girls in the town, who needed a dowry to get married, lest, God forbid, they be left in spinsterhood. Where in today's world will you find that level of concern for all manner of people in need, as existed then in tiny, poor Dereczin?

And when the years of war and revolution came, Dereczin and its youth was also active. I still remember the year 1919, after the Russian revolution, when the Bolsheviks came into our town. The Bundists, together with some of the radical youth in town, allied themselves with the Bolsheviks. The leader of the communists in Dereczin was a “Committee Head.” In those years, we would receive wagon loads of flour and other foodstuffs from The United States for city and town residents, who suffered greatly during those years of The First World War. Rabbi Plotkin was the head of the committee that oversaw the allocation of these supplies, and my father was also a member of this committee. Produce was distributed equally among all.

When the Polish forces drove the Bolsheviks from our area, they began to look for the local young radicals, and especially the “Committee Head.” One of the local leaders accused my father, and together with a goodly number of young people, who were informed upon by local Christians, he was detained at the local constabulary. All the detainees were given sentences of punishment by flogging across their bare backs, which when carried out caused the walls to be spattered with their blood. When it came time for my father to be whipped, he pleaded to be spared the punishment, because he had a family with small children, and in any event had never been a “Committee Head,” on behalf of the Soviet regime. Another local leader, who was witnessing the punishment, recognized my father, and gave testimony that a mistake had clearly been made, because everyone knew that my father was one of those who was involved in the distribution of the American aid among all the residents of Dereczin, without regard for religion or nationality. Indeed, my father was immediately released.

Deep in my heart, I continue to carry a little of the joy and a great deal of sorrow regarding that which I imbued from my town of Dereczin. That is the joy of my childhood, and the sorrow of the destruction and Holocaust. I cannot forget that soil on which my young feet sprang, and beneath which lie the hidden remains of our loved ones.

Written in honor of your memory and out of respect for beloved, Jewish Dereczin!

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It is the sacred duty of each and every one of us to remember and preserve the memory of our families that were martyred. My nearest and dearest were also among the victims of the bloodthirsty Nazis: My mother Masha, and father Karpel Leibovich, my brothers and sisters, Moshe Levinger, together with his wife and children, who were killed in Volkovysk, and David, Itteh-Leah, Liebeh, Esther, Sholom, Kalman, Basheh-Minkeh, & Resheh – who met their murderous end in Dereczin.

I cannot forget my dear grandmother, Chaya-Beileh Zoger, who at the age of 92 was shot to death at the side of the mass grave by the Murderers. Her days and years were dedicated to helping the needy in town, bringing them all manner of sustenance and support, as for example, an anonymous donation so as not, God forbid, to embarrass someone who might be down on their luck or fortunes.

I can recall, as a child, when she would give me the privilege of accompanying her to earn the mitzvah of privately bringing a Challah to the home of needy family for the Sabbath. And one day, when I could not repress my feelings and said: ‘Grandma, these people live in such a neat and orderly house , do they really need your help?’-- my grandmother warned me, if I once more ask such a question of her, she will ‘not take me to provide aid.’

My grandfather, Kalman-David, who passed away before the [Second World] War, needs to be favorably remembered for his constant concern for the welfare of the Yeshivas. He was a formidable scholar in his own right, and held ordination as a rabbi. He did not want to practice as a rabbi, since he was concerned about making a potentially questionable ruling in connection with an issue.

That is the way my grandmother and grandfather were, good, heartfelt Jewish people, who we must never forget.

I feel obligated to recall for good the name of Reb Shmuel Beckenstein ז”ל, because thanks to him, the finances were made available that permitted me to pay for the travel expenses connected with my aliyah to the Land of Israel.

The monies were on deposit with the bank formed for charitable works in Dereczin. In those years of the early thirties, the bank fell on hard times, and I was unable to withdraw my funds. Because of this, my chance to make aliyah was at risk of being canceled.

Reb Shmuel Beckenstein, who was responsible for the money in the bank, called me to him, and gave me those funds for which he was obligated to the bank, in order to help me out in the quandary of my situation. When this became known around town, several other men followed his example.

It was in this way that the funds for my trip were preserved, and thanks to that I remained alive, and find myself today in our own Land.

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It is the eve of a festival, and everyone is getting ready. Houses are being cleaned, and there is running to the stores to get ingredients for cooking delicious preparations in honor of the coming holiday. Every Thursday evening, or on the evening prior to a festival, we the children, would go to Rachel the Storekeeper, and purchase those things told to us by our mother. Later, our mother would knead the dough for a Challah and a babka, and set it aside to let the dough rise. She had already been working since early morning in the kitchen, being occupied with baking and cooking. When we would come home from school, the whole house was suffused with cooking odors, and I remember how we would peek into the cooking pots, and filch little pieces of the freshly baked Challah. Our mother, upon seeing this, would chase us from the kitchen.

Oh, how beautiful the house looked on the eve of Yom Tov! The white tablecloth on the table, and on it the fish and wine; the candles cast a shadow on the wall, and all of us are around the table, dressed in our Holiday finery, with hair combed, waiting impatiently for the Kiddush to be recited, in order that we be able to get on with eating.

The best time was in the morning, when we got ready to go to synagogue. All decked out in our new clothes and shoes that had been purchased for the holiday, we get a snack wrapped in a handkerchief from our mother, in case we get a little hungry during the somewhat lengthy prayer services. In the little package – a couple of pieces of babka, a couple of cookies, ands an apple. Just in case we might run into another youngster on the Schulhof who might be hungry. We arrive at the Schulhof, teeming with people, old and young, children large and small – everyone has come to go into the synagogue. Some have come to pray, others -- to have some conversation with friends. For us it was like paradise. First one has to show off one's new clothes, and afterwards go present oneself to our grandparents. I very much loved to hear the Cantor accompanied by the choir. I was actually quite angry that I was not asked to sing. Our Cantor was a very handsome man with ruddy cheeks and a very fine voice. Having had my fill of the men, I go off to the women's section of the synagogue. My father and both my grandfathers prayed in the Hiltzener Bet HaMidrash, apart from which I also do recollect both the Old and New Mauer synagogues, the Grosse Schul, and the Hasidic schul. Up in the women's gallery it was always hot, and one had to look down into the main sanctuary through bars, as if we were in a jail. Our grandmother, Malka, was always happy to see us, but didn't permit us to utter a word, in order not to disturb her own devotions. Our grandmother, Nekhama gave us a bit more attention, and loved to show off her grandchildren to her neighbors (“What do you say to her, not a bad specimen of a young lady, eh?”). After we had been duly inspected and suitably praised, we would go off to see the grandmother of a friend at another synagogue. We could hardly wait to get out on the Schulhof and open our little packages of goodies. Everyone shows what they have brought, and we begin to trade morsels, so we can taste some of everybody's snacks.

As prayers draw to a close, the Schulhof once again becomes crowded with people, who wish each other a happy and healthy year, walking home, also not alone. By the time I got home, the house was already full of people, family, friends, neighbors, everyone having come for Kiddush. After noon, we went out for a stroll through the main streets of the

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town, where we would encounter gentile children who looked at us with consternation, and we thought they envied us, because we had such a lovely holiday, in which our entire family strolled together, surrounded by friends and with other Jews, carefree and with no fear of what the morning after would bring…

I wish to briefly describe my husband's family. His grandfather, Reb Eliezer ע”ה, was a pious and righteous Jew, and pro-active as well, always ready to put himself in danger, if it would only help rescue someone else. It was told in Dereczin, of the instance when Leib, the son of Ben-Zion suddenly took sick with cholera. The Jews of the town were terrified of even coming close to his house, so my husband's grandfather ran to him, in order to help see if he could be saved. For the sake of his Judaism, he was prepared to do everything. He would wake people up to go to Selikhot services, or to recite Psalms. People remember to this day, how he stopped in the middle of the street and gave his boots away to a poor man, and put a pair of rough walking clogs on his own feet.

My husband's father, my father-in-law, Reb Chaim-Yehoshua ע”ה, was also such a warm and committed Jew. He did many things for the poor of the community. When the Bet HaMidrash burned down, he, along with other men of the community, traveled to secure lumber, from which they constructed a new Bet HaMidrash. His home was open to all – to the poor, to itinerant preachers, and emissaries who would visit Dereczin. There were a number of families in Dereczin who literally had no bread to eat, for them he took a wagon, and together with Itcheh-Yankel Ogulnick, they procured flour, corn and potatoes, and divided it among the [needy] families, and saved them from certain hunger. A Sabbath did not go by without a guest seated at his table.

My husband, who should live and be well, is from the same mold. He was the Gabbai at the Bet HaMidrash, and took an active part in all of the institutions, going weekly on visitations to the sick, and participating in overnight nursing of the ill. Understand, that he did this along with other good and pious Jews from Dereczin. I also helped out a little – it was in our house that the various implements of the overnight nursing group were kept, and I often cooked up the brews for the sick.

Our house was always open to the poor and needy, during the week and especially on the Sabbath, when we would have guests. This is the way we ran our lives. I would always be going around town collecting money and food, and on Friday before nightfall, I would go out with Musheh die Kvoshnyitzeh^[1] ע”ה, and we already knew who was in need of help – and we would bring challah, bread, and other things for the Sabbath.

Even here, I do what I can, health permitting, I go out prior to the festivals, before Passover, collect a little money, and I have my places, where I know who is needy. God should help us so that we will not have to extend such help to others and above all – we should all be healthy and well.

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