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Historic Dobrombil

You will need a large atlas or an old railroad map of Poland to locate our little city of Dobromil. I like to call it a city not a town. Although Dobromil looked small when we returned from Przemysl, it was larger than Chyrow, Neustadt, Felsztyn and Nieszankowic. We knew it was the seat of the Powiat and the centre of many small villages and hamlets. When I was a child, I knew that the road to the railroad station led to Neustadt, the road over the bridge to Chyrow and the road over the hill to Przemysl, but there was one mystery road for me. This was the road to Hichik. I knew that if you continued you would get to Knezy-Pole and to Kwasiny and perhaps at the end of infinity, you would strike a city. To the very day, I don't know what city one gets to by following endless chain of villages. There were also some minor roads that led to the Zope; to the Hochen Schloss; one to the Kalvarija and what road led to Bercz, I never knew and still don't know. All these roads afforded many promenades to young and old. The air was pure and fragrant, free from soot and smoke, from noise and traffic of the big cities. As soon as we ascended the hill we looked back to enjoy the panorama of stretches of woodland, rolling hills and vary-coloured cultivated fields that spread in the distance like a natural carpet. Many of us remember the perfumed air during a carriage ride to Chyrow or to Lacko on a balmy summer evening.

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This little city is about 20km southeast of Przemysl which is about 15 miles from Lemberg and 40 miles from Krakow. In this city, we were born, many were brought up there, and many married and raised families. To us, Dobromil was home. There we lived, worked, dreamed, hoped, planned and experienced tortures and raptures of life.

Each one of us remembers his birthplace from a different date. What we did not live through we heard from our grandfathers and grandmothers. We heard about the big fire, der Alter Ruf Reb Mordchai Chop, the Kaiser passing through by train, the building of the railroad from Przemysl to Chyrow, the good business that the Italian railroad workers brought to Dobromil and many other stories and legends that went from father to son. My earliest childhood recollection will take me back to the last decade of the 19^th century.

At that time, Dobromil was a typical city of southern Galicia under the benevolent rule of Kaiser Franz Josef and Kaiserin Elizabeth. I remember the black crepe on the lighted kerosene street lamps during one Yom Kipur when Kaiserin Elizabeth was murdered in Geneva. To us, Wien was the capital, German the language of culture and Schiller, Goethe, Heine and Lessing authors to be read when the Chasidim would relent their vigilance. The city had more than its warranted allotment of Melamdim, Shamusim, Shochtim and Rabunim.

The entire city was inhabited by Jews. The gentiles lived in the outlying parts of the city; their houses surrounded by gardens and orchards. There were about 1500 Jewish families who eked out their existence in

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the usual way. There were many artisans, merchants, storekeepers, balagules, horse-dealers and procentnikes. Dobromil was for some reason the centre of clothing manufacturing so that it even supplied ready-made clothing to Przemysl, Sambor, Moszczysk, Radymno and many surrounding small towns. This demand for men's tailoring shunted many young boys into tailoring apprenticeship so that the majority of the artisans were tailors. They were the envy of the town. They always had work from the early hours of the mornings into the late hours of the night. After the young boy had learned to wash the dishes, bring water, mind the baby, fan the pressing iron and live on rationed bread, he would be allowed to watch the “geseln” work on the machine and learn slowly but surely. When a geseln got married, he would go to Przemysl or to Lomberg to learn cutting. After six weeks of study, he would come home as a fully- fledged master and open shop for himself. Shya Malawer, Feige Dorlich and Yitzchak Warsher would always supply them with work. These “schneideryingen” would always be well dressed and spend their money liberally on frankfurters, chocolate and soda water in the Butkis.

The boys of the better families would learn watch-making, become clerks in stores or help their fathers in their business. Many of these young boys and even some of the tailors would occasionally venture out into the wide-world. They would go to Wien, Budapest, Passau, Krakau, Lemberg and even to Sambor, Drohobycz and Stry. Many would have wanted to go to America but who had 25 dollars for a steamship ticket and 10 dollars for Reisespesen? Besides, parents would

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not hear of their children going to America. Even the big stones in America were “treifa”.

When these boys came back for a visit for Pesach or any other holiday, they were the envy of all the children. They spoke German. They wore high collars and a Brust and Manchetten. They treated their friends to a glass of beer in the “Shenk” and were usually good sports. Occasionally, someone would come back from America for a visit. I remember Wolf Loewenthal, the son of Josele Loewenthal who came back almost every year to visit his parents.

Among these 'yungen' were a few that were outstanding for their daring, bravery and certain types of individuality. If you do not remember Shampol Refuel, Inez, Moshe Chaim Beril Shijes, Henech Artzt, and Shija Libes, then it will be difficult to give you an idea of their tricks and pranks which made them the talk of the town.

So far, I have spoken of the yungen. There was also a small group of young men of a finer type. Young men who kept away from the working boys and also from the ultra-religious. These were: Refuel Springer, Isac Fuchs, Montel Segal, Leiser Cupper, Shimon Kramer and many more of that type. These boys acted with more consideration and decorum. They had a longing for the better things in life though they did not know how to get them. They admired and appreciated the culture, education and talent of Kalmele Fuchs, Shmil Rosenfeld, Shie Malawer, Naftali Fuchs and a few of the others.

Another category of young men were the Klasel and Klaus Bucherim! These would not associate with

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the others. If they did not help their parents in their business, they would not enter a trade or a profession. Their task was to study the Talmud, either with a Gemara Melamed or by themselves. The great Lamden at that time was Nuta Melamed. To him came the prominent Bucherim of 17 and 18 of the town. Moshe Bakenrot, Leizer Chupper, Shija Chupper, etc. In retrospect, it seems to me that the attraction was his daughter, Etele, rather than the scholarship and the piety of Reb Nuta.

The readers who knew Dobromil in those days will understand why, thus far, the girls of the city were not mentioned. It was because the girls went on the Tanzplatz and the boys went on the “Rines”. They would never meet except very clandestinely. This does not mean that the boys did not know the schickses of the town and the many servant girls from the neighbouring towns who were employed by the richer families. But this is a chapter in itself on which I am no authority.

While the bucherim learned their Gemara and indulged in all sorts of hair-splitting interpretations of the Bible and sometimes in forbidden day dreaming, the proletariat boys also yearned for some news of the world. They had heard of socialism, of Dashinsky, of Lieberman, of Vereins and of Zionism. They knew that in Przemysl there was a socialist verein, a Zionist verein, where lectures were given, where gymnasium students volunteered their services to explain the various world movements prevalent in those days. Fortunately, they found the desired contact with Przemysl in Markus Elster, a clerk in the store of Malawer. He gathered these boys around him and enlightened them on Zion-

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ism. Song books were imported from Wien and Przemysl and all diligently learned the songs – Hatikwah, “Dort wo die Zeder”; “Wir Heben die Haende” and many others. The greeting word became “shalom” instead of “servus” and there was some sort of an awakening. The boys were busy and even the girls caught the spirit and acknowledged a shalom greeting from any of the boys who would proffer it. Marcus Elster was sent to Przemysl to bring some speakers to address these schneideryunger, shusters and “kumis'.

These speakers would usually come on Saturday afternoon from Przemysl and give their speeches in Meilech's cheder, in the woods or in someone's closed store. For a while it was only gymnasium students by the name of Kandel, Schlaf who would come to speak of Zionism. Later on, Elster brought a speaker from the Poale Zion Party. This speaker took the group by storm and from then on, it was Poale Zion. The argument was that in this movement we had both socialism and Zionism. A verein was started. Members paid weekly dues but no respectable Jew would rent the group a room so that they were compelled to rent quarters from a gentile. This was the very crude beginning of organization life in Dobromil. If there was later a large Zionist Verein in Dobromil, it owed its existence to the early founder – Marus Elster from Przemysl.

After working one year at Malawer's, he was engaged by Malawer's competitor – Feige Dorlich – where he married the servant girl that was contemporaneously employed there.

Since I used to come to Dobromil for my summer vacation almost every year between the two World Wars,

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I know to what extent the city did change and in what respects it did not. I, therefore, purposely leave the changed conditions to others to describe. Did the children later also play soldiers? Russ and Terik, Fireman where everybody wanted to be, “Der grober Chanik”? I suppose that the games of 'kitchke' and “ik” gave way later to football. Shooting birds with a 'protze' probably gave way to hunting. I wonder whether 'fahren zu di bahn', fahren kein Przemysl, fahren 'shlitash' in winter still remained the longing and yearning of all children.

There were some important events in those days too. The great chain of fires which started at Gershon Knobl's kept the firemen of Dobromil, Chyrow Binkowice busy for several weeks. Two great love affairs were the talk of the town: Moishe Beck and Brandel Berger, Yidal Glasberg and Feidze Moishels. The collective concentrated love of a number of boys for the two beautiful daughters of Shmerl Kupferberg did not materialize for anyone of them because the matchmakers got busy and brought grooms for the girls from other cities. Then there was the theft at Malawer's perpetrated by the “Kumi” that worked there. This affair implicated many respectable young men and got the Kumi a prison sentence of 6 months.

Just a few years after the turn of the century, the great exodus to America began. Visa and passports were not needed, just the “Arbeitsbuch” which was a sort of identification document. Many of the tailors began coming to New York. One brother brought the other. Steamship tickets were bought in N.Y. for $25 on the instalment plan which made it very easy to

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finance the trip. Many of the young men also left for Wien, Budapest, Bielitz, Prosnitz, Paris, Zurich, etc.

The history of a city cannot be disassociated from the important and colourful personalities that influenced the life of the small city. There was the pious Feiga Chupper who took upon herself to see that no woman died without confession and supervised the sewing of the Tachrichim. There was Davidel Preiss who came to plead with those who stayed in “merchatz” too late on Friday afternoon. Some of you will remember his “jiden geht a heim si's schon Shabes”.

An unforgettable character, really a pillar of the community, was Naftule Shames. He was not only a Shames but also a Melamed, a Bal Kore, a Bal Tfila, a teacher of German, Hebrew and Yiddish, a sign painter, a wood turner, a “Mesader Kadushin”, a Sofer who wrote his own Sefer torah, a chronicler to whom the gendarmerie came to ask about citizens and events, a carrier of the Torah to the court when an oath had to be administered, a bal dikduk and a very fine letter writer in all prevalent languages of the city.

His son, Kalmele, was one of the most talented and learned men in the city. He was the finest penman in all languages used there. He was an authority on German grammar and literature. He was a teacher of Hebrew, German and Polish. He had the respect and admiration of the entire city. He was a bookkeeper at the Jewish bank, a profession which he learned by correspondence from a school in Wien. When his father Naftale became old, Kalmale took over all the duties in the synagogue and many women came to Schul to hear him lein and davin. Those who knew

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or heard of Naftule and Kalmele Fuchs will not begrudge the space devoted to them here.

Another family that upheld the tradition of learning was the Malawer household. The people of the city did not realize how much knowledge and education lay dormant in that family. Shije Malawer was known to the tailors of the city as their “Parnuse Geber”. He did not mingle with many people and somehow the people avoided him. He knew of the Greek philosophers, knew Tanach and gave his son Baruch a great longing for worldly education.

Other prominent persons were: Awrumtche Gellis, Luzer Latke, Munish Dym, Shmelke Leiner, Fishl Degen, Berish Grossfeld, Moishele Springer, Dresner, Ritter and many others that will be mentioned by other writers. I did not mention my father because he was entirely obscured by the personalities of my grandfather, Naftule Fuchs and my uncle Kalmale Fuchs. All I can say for my father is that he was very active in the Chevra Lina in Dobromil in those days. The Chevra Bucherim assembled every Saturday morning zum “dawnin” in Meilech Melamed's Cheder. When the speakers who came from Przemysl to address the young men of the city heard of the purpose for which this Chevra existed, they ridiculed them and asked them whether it would not be wiser to form a Verein for the purpose of Zionism. I think their argument was convincing.

I have endeavoured to give you a description of our birthplace, Dobromil, as it was at the turn of the century. To us, that was home with a very strong nostalgia. One of our friends once said to me: “You

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have seen the Eifel Tower, the Alps, London Bridge, Yellowstone Park and many world wonders but is it not true that the greatest thrill comes to you when you come from America to Dobromil and you have your first glimpse of the top of the little metal flag on the Dobromiler magistrate?” My answer had to be: “Yes”. This thrill is no more. I go to Europe but not to Dobromil. My young friends that I got to know during my visits between the 2 World Wars were murdered by Hitler and my old friends have been torn from their graves and strewn to the winds and sands of time.

To them, this book is dedicated as an eternal monument so that those who read may learn something of their simple and crude existence. In us, who knew them, they will always have a tearful sympathy in our hearts.

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Although Dobromil was a little town, it had a respectable place in Galicia due to its appearance and was proud of its close relations with the fortress-town Przemysl. One need not be a poet to realize the haunting beauty of the surrounding high mountains, the old tall castle, the woods, the deep green Tanz Platz, the fragrant roses with the tantalizing and juicy fruit gardens that so refreshingly and mildly filled the fresh dawn air of the spring months.

The Wirva, a narrow water stream, flowed at the edge of the town where Jews used to refresh themselves on hot summer days. But this does not mean that Dobromil did not have the April and May showers; and when the melting mountains of snow and ice would come down with noise and tumult, a big and raging flood would cover the suburbs. It often tore the bridge apart. Poor peasant shacks and their households often floated in the water to other areas and the “Kishkele” Jew, Reb Jacob, with his family, said the “Hagomel” prayer more than once when they were spared and the water reached only the threshold and floor of their home.

Good luck with fires! True, there wasn't much water, but fires were in abundance. It is impossible to remember all the fires but we got used to some of them. There often were fires in the German Colony

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at the station in Hitshik and among them, the small factory of Zindl Lichtziers, the stables and barns of Lazk, the priest and sometimes a whole village caught fire.

It's burning! It is summer. The day comes on, the lovely sky is blue and there is peace and quiet everywhere. All of a sudden there rises heavy black smoke in the middle of the town. Gershon Knebels' drive-in house is burning. The attics are full of straw and hay therefore the smoke is so heavy that it covers the sun. The blue sky turns parchment-yellow. Terrible! Everybody starts packing. Men and women are running with parcels to save their meagre belongings. They run to the Rinies, which are by now fully occupied, the stores are closed, housewives run to the cemetery to pray on the graves. The Angel of Fire stretches his hands; a breeze joins in and more Jewish houses dance in the fire-dace. Fire Squads come in from neighbouring towns to assist the volunteer Firemen of Dobromil. The flames spread. Towards evening, the flames are put out with great difficulty. Dobromil is saved from great danger but nobody closes an eye that night.

The town is being cleaned. At that time the mayor was a gentile doctor and for the welfare of the population, he kept the town as clean as possible. Consequently, he often ordered, especially in the summer, the cleaning of the attics, rooms and pits where the people would throw the rubbish. He even arrested citizens for littering the streets. So it was that in the summer months, the market place was cleaned especially near the town-hall and the monument of Adam Mizkevitch.

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A four-language population and the state of education. Dobromil was as big as a yawn. Its population was divided into four language-groups: Yiddish, Polish, German and Ruthenian. For some of the Jews, the other languages were the real Galuth-difficulty.

Although the Jewish children learned all the languages at the free public-schools, Yiddish was the main language that was used in their homes as well as in the street. If a child was not good at school, parents were responsible. Our brothers, Benai-Israel used to find their way to avoid school but it wasn't very wise.

There were only two tutors and a Talmud Torah for the children. Chumash and Gemara-Melamdim were not scarce. Some youths stayed at the Beit-Midrash to study the Torah; others learned some profession and many went to seek a livelihood in other cities.

Gay moments. There were also gay moments in Dobromil. For instance, a wedding in town when Yidel with the Fidel and Leib with the bass came to the wedding. Curious people would stand at the windows and listen to the Badchen preach to the bride and bridegroom and when the couple was taken with music through the streets, to the court yard of the synagogue where the ceremony would take place, grandma and grandpa danced opposite them with a twisted “Chala” in their hands.

Also, on Saturdays and holidays, Dobromil had a completely different appearance. Everybody was attired in Sabbath clothes. The men with “streimlech” and the women with bandanas. The young and more modern took a walk on Saturday in the paved market-place of Dobromil or spent their time in another manner.

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Jewish politics

A Tchortkover, for instance, would not marry into the family of a “Chassid” of Belz and would not even eat meat of cattle that had been slaughtered by them, and vice-versa. There was a serious controversy upon choosing a tutor. The result was two tutors and both of them lived in poverty, but in town there was much tumult. At that time there was also the election to the “Culture Committee”. After all, the people of Dobromil had different political opinions. There were two parties; the conservatives and the liberals. The liberals put two workers on their list: a tailor and a shoemaker. The conservatives won through various manipulations and conducted the town according to their liking. All went well but there was no income.

At the close of the last century, the social life of the Jews in Dobromil improved only slightly. In fact, the opposite was true – everything was done in the old fashion.

Although at first sight there was the clean and pretty Ringplatz with the stately and towering town-clock with the statue of the great Polish poet, Adam Mizkevitch, it did not actually reflect the real way of living, nor the customs or the habits. Dobromil was, at that time, wrapped in a veil of fanatic superstitions with regards to the dead, demons, ghosts and mere tricksters.

It was told at that time that at the house of Dr. Brauner, on the side of the Totegass, a woman was seen walking, clad in white. It must have been the spirit

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of a young woman that had died while giving birth to a child that Dr. Brauner delivered.

Or, on a Slichot night, we ourselves saw that the curtains on the third floor of the women's synagogue moved by themselves, back and forth – indicating a spirit looking for rest. Everybody knew that the souls of the dead spent each night in the large synagogue, and woe to him who had to walk through the courtyard of the synagogue at a late hour of the night.

Who could forget that upon spilling dirty water you had to cry out thrice: “Beware, beware, beware!” This was supposed to be a means for chasing away the “ghosts” from the cemetery. Thus, the older ones planted a wild fear in the hearts of the children.

On another occasion, something was seen prowling at a late hour of the night around Dr. Bick's tombstone. Dr. Bick's grave-stone was placed apart from the others on the highest place in the cemetery. Since Dr. Bick had been a doctor and was not so careful with the six hundred and thirteen precepts, it was supposed that his soul, that could have no rest, must stray and prowl night and day in the sinning world and every night, it was impelled to come to the grave.

Again, on another occasion, a hand was seen tearing the tiles off the roof of Shimainsky, the chimney-cleaner. Obviously, an evil spirit!

Who had seen all this was never told.

Within the framework of the population of Dobromil, the Jews were the largest minority. Jews constituted

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the majority of the tailors, shoemakers, tinsmiths, scribes, tutors and …. Too many poor people, menial labourers, stevedores that used to carry heavy loads on their backs; and carriage drivers that brought passengers to and from the rail-station. All of these made a very scant living.

There were two public schools: one for boys and the other for girls. But how many Jewish children went to school in those days? The rich orthodox children did not attend them; the poor ones often lacked warm garments to wear to school, and the parents had to bribe the police in order to escape punishment.

The institutions of learning for the young Jewish child in Dobromil were the two “cheders”. When a child was three years old, the father would wrap him in a “tallit” and carry him to the “cheder”.

The children of more well-to-do parents went to a Gemara-tutor and later to the Beith-Hamidrash and to the House of Worship until a matchmaker put the yoke on their shoulders forever. But the poor boy had to learn a profession at the age of ten or eleven to be able to support himself as well as to make the hard life of his family somewhat easier.

Once in a blue moon, a wandering poor preacher would preach in the Beith-Hamidrash between Mincha and Ma'ariv.

In Jewish Dobromil, a book or a newspaper was rare. I remember a family that subscribed to a Polish newspaper (the “Napshod”). Of course, we had to wait until a book-pedlar would pass through Dobromil with Sidurim, machzorim, Chumashim and some story books that we sold for a few pennies.

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The Purim-Actors

On holidays, the Jews of Dobromil were very gay. This was especially so on Simchat-Torah, Chanukah and Purim. Even then, Chassidic Jews did things which all year-long were considered by them improper. For instance, throwing table cloths in the Beith-Hamidrash on Simchat-Torah, or on Chanukah, playing 'Drediel” or even cards.

But above all, the gaiety was great on Purim which actually is not a holiday. A most respectable place was reserved for the Purim Actors – the pioneers of the dramatic studios and theatres in general. My late father used to tell that he himself had acted on Purim as Judah in the play “Joseph and his Brethren”.

In my time, the Purim Actors played “Jacob and Esau” which impressed the town people to a degree that they besieged the place. I still remember the cast: Yitzhak Itche Freides, who was tailor's apprentice, Rivka – Shaye Berge, the son of Volf the butcher; Jacob – Akive who was “Belfer” with Melech Melamed; Esau – Izeik, also a “Belfer” with the same Malamed.

The Jews of Dobromil found their greatest enjoyment on Fridays in the public steam bath. Big and small, poor and rich felt like Adam in Paradise at the public bath.

The important Jews with big abdomens sighed and shouted with please.

It was an old custom in Dobromil that a rich person

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paid 4 Kreitzer and got, in return, a good pail with a fine broom for the sweating. Ordinary people paid 3 Kreitzer and received a dry broom with a few leaves and the poor received for their 2 Kreitzer nothing but were happy with a pail full of holes and with a second hand broom that they found.

From the steam, all the Jews in Dobromil came home with flaming faces and aroused spirits. They started preparing for the prayer in the synagogue, Shtibel, Kloez or Beith-Hamidrash.

In those years, much before World War I, i.e. before the time of forming a community, there was a rule in Dobromil that the “prominent citizens” assembled on Chol-Hamoed Passover for a tasty feast of hard-boiled eggs with fresh “chremzlech”' and prima-sort Shlivovitz for Passover, to elect arbitrators that would appoint a year-Gabai of the community.

In addition to all the good wishes and congratulations that the chosen gabai received, he also took over from the leaving gabai the keys of the synagogue, the horns and all holy articles belonging to the people. The gabai thus became the governor of the Jewish town of Dobromil.

Once upon a time on an ordinary Thursday evening – when the shoemaker had long put away his awl, the tailor his scissors, the grocer the liter, the stevedore the rope and everybody hurried to the synagogue to pray Mincha-Ma'ariv, to shake off the yoke of making a living, to take off the Goyish everydayness, to sink deep in the Mishnaot and other holy books or simply to have a chat with other people that could tell of the

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outside world – it was then that the hurrying Jews found the synagogue locked!

Anxious Jews started assembling in front of the locked gate of the synagogue and looked with inquiring eyes at one another. What is that? What happened? The tumult grew bigger and everybody wondered. Several Jews went to look for the “gabai” of the town.

The remaining crowd started, in the meantime, to pray together in the synagogue courtyard under the sky and the ringing “Amen, Yehe Shemai Raba” went all over town.

After the Mincha prayer, the crowd did not disperse but argued heatedly about the bad deed that had been committed against the Holy community of Dobromil.

The delegation of Jews that had gone to look for the gabai had hardly stepped over the threshold of the gabai's door when they quieted down and those who were angry the most greeted the first gabai of the town in a subdued tone.

The following day, on a Friday, all Dobromil knew the terrible story about the locked gate of the synagogue.

The cause of the matter was very prosaic. It started with Shlomaleh the Bather suddenly appearing at the open door and with his hoarse voice exclaiming: “I am not going to heat the bath tomorrow, the Sabbath Eve”. “God be with you, Reb Shlomeh” – the gabai stood up from his chair: “You don't intend to leave a whole town with Jews unwashed for Sabbath?” “It's true, but I cannot stand my children going so thread-

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bare any longer and I don't earn enough to even dress my family and nobody listens to my complaints”.

Since the gabai had often discussed the important matter with the most respectable Jews in town and it went in through one ear and left through the other, he decided finally to lock and close the synagogue and thus to cause an uproar among the Jews of Dobromil.

And he succeeded!

On that same evening, the most prominent Jews assembled and their meeting lasted until two o'clock after midnight. After hot discussions, it was decided unanimously that starting from the following day, the payment of 2 Kreitzer would be cancelled and only the price of three and four Kreitzer would remain for everybody. Thus the poor people were raised to equality with other people and got a few twigs and a pail with holes for the steam bath.

The honourable assembly also drank “Leycha'im” with a roused spirit after such a difficult piece of work and called the Bather in to inform him of the decision.

The following Friday, the holy community of Dobromil sweated at the bath as usual and the people poured pails of hot water on the heated stones and the Jews beat themselves with the brooms and sighed with pleasure.

Shlomaleh continued to heat the bath, the synagogue remained open and the Jews of Dobromil could freely go to pray in the synagogue.

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I was born in Dobromil on Passover, April 2, 1896, the fifth living child and the second son of Mordecai and Roizaly who were also born in Dobromil as were their parents.

My paternal grandfather was Hersch Melamed who was a very learned but poor man. My father was a tailor and, though I cannot remember him because I was only three when he died, I have often been told that he was a humorous and witty person who bore up well under the circumstances of poverty and poor health.

My mother was the daughter of Elie Shiye Knopf, a butcher. A story is told about him which illustrates his kind heart. In his youth, all able young men were forcibly taken into the army to serve a lengthy term. Elie Shiye was chosen by the city officials to grab these young men. It bothered him to see fine Jewish boys forced to spend the years of their youth in the army. He and his brother Berish devised a plan to warn these boys and still not endanger their own relationship with the officials. His brother would go to the neighbourhood where the youths lived and casually, but loudly, announce: “Tomorrow we will be here to take these 'yingatches' into our service”. When tomorrow came, there were no

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'yingatches' to be found and Elie Shiye could not be held responsible.

My father and mother worked together to scrape together what little they could for themselves and their children and it seemed that they were always a few “greitzers” short for Shabos. Things were not too good but we didn't know what hardship really was until after my father died. I remember, as if in a dream, being taken by the hand and led each morning to say Kaddish for my father. I was four years old at the time and barely able to pronounce the words but I dutifully repeated what was told to me and remembered to be appropriately solemn.

My mother was left completely alone to care for six children; the oldest of whom was about seventeen and the youngest about one year old. My older brother, Hersch, was already learning to become a tailor but he was still an apprentice and unable to earn money so my mother did what little she could as a seamstress, repairing clothes for the neighbours. Though things were very bad at times, my mother never asked for charity. The people of Dobromil, however, were not blind to our difficulties and many of them gave us unsolicited help. I remember that my Aunt Beily Peri, who was my father's sister and the wife of Meyer Kramer, and my Aunt Pesaly used to send bread and fruit every weekend though they themselves could scarcely afford it. Life was not easy but we were still able to laugh and sing.

My brother Hersch left for America in 1902. That same year my sister Sarah went to Przemysl where she stayed until 1906 when she too left for America.

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My sister Rifky, who had learned to be a seamstress, went to work in Przemysl but after a short stay, returned to Dobromil having contracted a serious illness and soon passed away. She is remembered as a clever, good-looking and capable girl.

We, three children and mother, stayed in Dobromil. Mother sent us to school and I also went to Cheder. My mother was anxious to have me become a student but as much as we both tried, I found it difficult because, besides going to school, I had already found a place where I could earn some money. I worked for Reisel, Itzik Schneider who took trousers to operate from Shiye Malaver and received ten “greitzer” per pair. She operated ten pair of trousers a day. I sewed the bottoms and made the button holes and she paid me 1 ½ greitzer a pair which gave me 15 greitzer a day when I worked. I continued to go to school and the mothers who had children in America though I was a genius and came to me to write their letters to America.

Poverty was still with us and when I was twelve years old, I was forced to leave school. I worked in various places doing factory work. My mother thought that this was not good for me. She wanted me to at least become a good tailor. She made arrangements with Dovidl Zeisig for me to work three years as an apprentice, starting with nothing for the first year and earning only my food for the next two. During that time, things changed somewhat for the better. My brother Hersch and sister Sarah sent four dollars each several times during the year which meant twenty Kronen. This small amount made it possible for us to live much better. In 1909, my sister Pessel received a

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steam-ship ticket and left to join her brother and sister in America. Meanwhile, I was learning how to become a good tailor and after 2 ½ years of apprenticeship, I knew how to make the fire in the press iron, sweep the room and other such little things which were necessary for a boy that wanted to become a good tailor to know. I also knew how to fell a lining in a good jacket, how to sew on buttons and, though I was eager to sew on the machine, I was not allowed that privilege.

In the year 1911, we received tickets from relatives in America for us to finally make the long awaited trip and about New Year's day of 1912, on a bitterly cold and snowy morning, we got on a sled that was driven by my uncle Meyer Kramer that took us to the train which would take us to the steamer for America. I will never forget Fetter Meyer telling me to always be a good Jew and to put on my 'tviln' every morning.

We landed in the United States on February 28, after traveling two months. We had been delayed in Hamburg waiting for the boat. It was an old and slow boat named 'Pennsylvania' and it dragged on the waters for weeks and weeks. We thanked the Lord when we finally sighted land. It was late afternoon when we reached Hoboken, New Jersey and we prepared to leave the boat. We watched hundreds of people disembark, but our names were still not called. It was already late at night when we were told that we must remain on the boat over-night. The next morning, after a sleepless night, we finally arrived at the 'Castle Garden'. Once there, they put my mother into a hospital claiming that she was sick and must be kept under observation

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and my younger sister and I were placed in two different rooms with more than one hundred people in each. We were kept there for ten days until, at long last, we received aid from one of our 'Landsmen', Mr. Schnur, a political figure in New York and a Dobromiler whose efforts and influence made it possible for us to land in New York.

On Friday, March 10, my brother came to 'Castle Garden' and took us to N°94, Columbia St.

My sisters Sarah and Pessel had prepared two rooms for us completely furnished and which was to be our new home in America. The following Wednesday, Saul Miller called for me and took me to the factory where he and Hersch worked to teach me to become a finisher. I earned four dollars a week for a few weeks while learning the trade. A new problem arose. I could not understand how a Jewish boy could work on Saturday. I discussed this with my employer and he agreed that, since it was the end of the season, I could have permission to stay home on Shabos.

I continued to work and I continued to learn and, according to the opinion of some people, I became a fast and good tailor. One of my mother's dreams had been realized.

After being in America for several months, I started to attend night school. This was not as easy as it might sound. The foreman at the place where I worked objected to my leaving early saying that he needed the over-time work. He did not allow me to even bring my books with me complaining that the place was a factory, not a library. In spite of these and other obstacles, I continued to go to school and whatever I had not been

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able to understand and grasp in Polish, I had no difficulty accomplishing in English and for the little time I had to devote to study, I was proud that my teachers always said that I was one of their better students.

I was very young when I became active in the Socialist party, striving for a better world in which to live. Until 1917, young people were in a quandary as to which way to turn – left or right or stay in the middle. I am glad to say I never turned left.

In July 1914, just before World War I, a chubby and pretty 16-year old girl arrived in the United States. I had known her in Dobromil as Gela, Meilech Melameds. Her brother Joe brought her from 'Castle Garden' to the home of her uncle, Avraham Fuchs. On their way, he told her that here in America she would be called 'Gertrude' or 'Gertie'.

On Shevouth, a week or so later, I met her at a picnic that some of our friends and landsleit had arranged. She was crying bitterly for her home in Dobromil and, though her eyes were red and she looked so unhappy, I thought she was very pretty. She became a visitor to my home where I lived with my mother and three sisters and we soon fell in love. A few years later we were married. She was a wonderful wife. I was the envy of all our friends and all the people who knew us.

We had three children – two boys and a girl. She was a most devoted wife and mother but she never ceased to remember her sisters and brothers. She had a great feeling for them and showed these feelings not only in thought but also in deeds. She never forgot the family she had left in Dobromil and she later helped

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her brother Joe bring a younger sister, Hancha, to America. I will never forget her sorrows and regrets when they did not bring her brother Selig quickly and her nephew who was her brother Shlomo's son. They had been planning to come to America but it never came to pass. Her brother Shlomo never really desired to leave the land of his birth. My Gertie thought very highly of all her brothers and was particularly proud of her brother Joe's intellectual achievements in the United States and her brother Selig's accomplishments, one of which was his ability to write letters in English.

She was kind not only to her immediate family and to the people that she knew but also to people that she never even met. She used to tell me, and then later to her children: “Give to everyone in need. Give to everyone a little according to what you can afford. Don't leave anyone out because the one you leave out may be the one who needs it most. It is better to give each man a penny than to give one man a nickel and let four others go away with nothing at all”. Such was her philosophy of life. She was active in the relief for Dobromil during World War II, never bragging, never letting it be known what she did and what she gave. Everyone that knew her admired her. Some people said: “She can do it because her husband is Alex”. But that was not true. She did it because she was Gertie, kind, considerate, charitable, unselfish and good.

As I stated before, I became active in the Socialist party and in 1926 when the cloak makers went out on strike for better conditions, I became active in that strike. It was a long and hard struggle but we finally

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won our rights and after we settled and I was back in the shop, I received a letter from my union, the International Ladies Garments Workers Union, asking me to see the president, Morris Sigman. He asked me to become an officer of the ILGWU. On February 22, 1927, I began my career as a Union officer and served as assistant manager of many departments until my retirement in May, 1961.

My work in the union was very complicated especially in the early years. There was much unemployment in the United States and the workers were disorganized. It took much effort to organize them. I left the house early in the morning and came home late at night, six days a week and often even on the seventh. My Gertie stayed home with the children and brought them up nicely, sent them to school, gave them music lessons, cared for them when they were sick, sent them to college and tried to teach them to be decent human beings of whom we could be proud. They have grown up well, intelligent, cultured, musical and are good parents themselves. Our younger son has become a professor at Columbia University and is a doctor of psychology. We are proud of our children and I was a very happy man until my wife took sick in 1955. All the doctors and all the medicines could not help my wife, Gertrude., - Gela Meilech Melamed's – and on March 19, 1956, she died. For as long as I live, I will live with the memory of Gela, that beautiful, chubby girl who came to America from Dobromil and became my wife and mother of my children.

The people of Dobromil are good people, most of them always ready to help those that are in need. We

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have collected thousands of dollars for relief in the years gone by though there aren't many rich people among us. I am proud to say that among our Dobromiler, we have many interesting people. We have teachers, lawyers, doctors, good business men, professors, musicians and various other professionals.

I am not a young man any more. I left Dobromil when I was but a boy but I can never forget the Dobromil of my childhood. Although poor, lacking bread and in the midst of much distress, we had a happy home. Song was our food. We, the children together with our mother used to sing the finest folk songs, taught to us by the men and women who passed through our city, slept over a few nights and then continued to wander on. People used to stand near our window listening and wondering.

I think of the Mark Platz. I think of the walks on Saturday afternoon on the road to Chyrow where young and old used to walk. I used to walk there with my friends and we would fill the air with beautiful melodies.

I think of the thrill to hike up to the Schloss. I think of Feige Chupper bringing bread and leckvar to Cheder for the poor children and I can taste that bread even now.

I remember how the music played on the balcony of the city hall every morning in the month of May. It was a one-man band. I don't know what instrument he played but it sounded heavenly.

I long for Dobromil and for everything that was in it and that never will be again.

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Loveliest town of the plain Where hunger and sickness Was the lot of your labouring swain. How often have I loitered over your greens And have forever drawn into my bosom The beauties of your country scenes

Nothing in the world means more to me at this time of my life than to write about the life of my family as little more than memories are left of them. At the same time, it makes me sad and sick to reflect on their hard and endless struggle to live in this world. Little is known of how they met their tragic end. All we do know is that they were shamefully and brutally butchered by the Nazi beasts. For years to come men will always wonder how a civilized people like the Germans could lose all human instincts and turn into mad dogs.

My whole family, with the exception of my father, was born in Dobromil. My father was born in Chyrow. After his marriage he settled in Dobromil where he had a brother named Yukel Ziffer. My father's brother had a fiacre and took passengers to and from the train. With the small amount of money my father obtained as dowry, he bought a fiacre. However, this business was always overcrowded, with many intense

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rivalries and a continuous state of near war. The impoverished drivers would gang up on a new man and declare a holy war upon him. My father was too retiring for this kind of competition and was therefore obliged to abandon it and find other work. The hard manual labour that he was forced into was unsuited to his temperament and character. He was a very sensitive and emotional man. Because of these unfortunate circumstances, he became very depressed and sensitive about his mode of life.

My father's hard life created many difficulties for my mother. She was born in Dobromil the daughter of Moshe and Sheindel Walkes. She was a perceptive and intelligent person. As a young girl, she and several others were selected for the study of Chumish. I always admired my mother's inexhaustible fund of proverbs and folk sayings which she could apply to many complicated life situations.

We were a family of nine: five boys and four girls. All were born in Dobromil. My oldest sister went to the United States at the age of nine with her aunt Blihme. Since I was now the oldest, my parents took me out of school in order to help support the family. I left school most regretfully since I was considered a very promising student. In spite of our poverty, my father would occasionally bring to our house homeless people who primarily supported themselves by wandering from town-to-town and playing hand organs. We shared with them what little food we had and listened to their strange tales. In the morning they would pack their worldly belongings and continue on their aimless journey. My father felt a deep sympathy

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for them, pitying their strange fate, unmindful of our own precarious existence.

Soon, I received a ticket from my sister to come to America. My mother accepted my leaving as inevitable and hoped someday to join us there. However, my father found unbearable the idea that his second child was leaving. To him, every child was an integral part of himself. This was observed by many people from Dobromil who often spoke of his great love for his children. I remember the day I took leave of my family. When I bade farewell to my father, he was completely overcome by emotion and began to weep like a child. My mother and my brother Mates took me to Przemysl where I took the train to Hamburg. I will never forget the scene when I parted from my mother and my brother. She emptied her purse and made ma take her last few cents. A short time later, the town was engulfed by World War I.

Dobromil was hard hit by some of the fierce battles fought for the important fortifications of the city of Przemysl. The battle lines extended to the gates of Dobromil and the casualties were so numerous that there was little time to bury the dead. This caused terrible epidemics of typhus and cholera. Because of the lack of sanitary conditions, the bulk of the Jewish population were the worst victims of the epidemics. Particularly hard hit were the poorer people. Two of our family, a girl Rachel and a boy Israel, died as a consequence.

After the war when I found out what had happened to my family, I wanted very much to visit them and give them comfort. In the early spring of 1925, I

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started on my unforgettable visit with my dear parents, sisters and brothers. I arrived in Dobromil on a Monday night, March 9^th (Megilah night). I came with my brother Mates who had met me in Cracow. My younger brothers were at the station in Dobromil together with my cousin Zishe Yukels. Travelling from the train to Dobromil, I was depressed by the small and dimly lit houses. It intensified my weariness at the end of the journey.

My family lived, at that time, in our cousin Moshe's house which was situated on the way to Knezepolie. When I came near the house, after being away for most of my adolescent years, I was shocked by the sight of my parents. My mother looked much smaller than I remembered. Her face was emaciated and drawn but full of joy and sadness at the same time? My father looked bewildered and very pathetic. His face was furrowed and his deeply set eyes were strangely piercing. My youngest sister Sabena amazed me with her charming beauty. She had a typically Hebraic appearance. However, in my fatigued condition I could not react to all of this properly. I went right to bed but could not sleep. When I arose in the morning, my entire family was at my bedside questioning me about my trip and making suggestions as to how I should spend my time in Dobromil. My brother Mates had more suggestions than anyone else. Mates was a very restless and dynamic character, a little too emotional and intense to be able to govern himself. He was taken into the Austrian army at the age of 16 and took part in some of the bloodiest battles on the Italian front. In the battle of Piave, he was wounded by shrapnel

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and this may have contributed to his extreme restlessness. My two other brothers, Gershon and Aaron did not seek to impose their suggestions upon me. They were only curious about me. My brother Gershon, about 17-years old at this time, was known as one of the best soccer players of Dobromil. Whenever he played, the opposing team was afraid of losing the game. My other brother Aaron, who was about 20 years old, was very modest and fond of reading good books. It seemed to me that if given a chance, he would have become a scholar and a teacher.

The day was just beginning and a good number of visitors came to our house. Among them was the musician Shokale who played with Yidel and Yosel Glasberg. He had a large family and was always on the verge of starvation. My mother whispered in my ear that he was dreadfully poor and needed help. I did my best for him and he was a constant guest until my funds were completely depleted. Many other people came and claimed long overdue debts which my parents had incurred over the years. Then, my father came in with the well-known tailor, Schloime Noech Zeisig. He went there early and selected a robe for the synagogue. I bought him also a new Sztrammel, tallis and shoes. This was one of the rare moments when he experienced a little happiness and we all rejoiced with him.

The main visits and festivities took place on Saturday afternoon right after people came home from the synagogue. All day long they came bringing with them an assortment of cakes, kugels and liquors. In the evening, the younger people came and entertained us with their

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songs and dances. Their discussion of political and cultural subjects amazed me. I was in a different generation from the one I had left.

With the excitement of all these festivities, I felt spring beginning to assert itself. Spring came very gradually, awakening the people from a long and severe winter. Every Saturday afternoon one could see groups of young folks streaming into the country. It also awakened in me nostalgic dreams nurtured for many years while I was in America. I was anxious to take a long walk towards Knezepolie, breathe deeply of the good air and see the beautiful countryside. On one side of the road there were little streams originating from the Rinies and, on the other side, foothills of the Carpathians were evident. I climbed to the top of one of the hills and from there I could see the entire city of Dobromil, the Shuster Gas where I was born, the bridge that leads to Pietnitz and Chyrow, the Bahn Weg, the Ring Platz and Lacker Barg.

One Saturday afternoon, a group which included my wife Bertha, Herman Felsen, Rose Perler, Rosa Treiber and some of my family, took a walk to the famous castle of Dobromil. When we reached the castle we rested for a while, had some refreshments and listened to the two girls, Rosa Treiber and Rose Perler, talk about the history of the ancient castle. They told us that the name Dobromil originated with some event that had occurred within the castle. When we started back to the city, it was getting dark and chilly. As we walked, the setting sun was beginning to disappear behind the distant hills, casting its reflection into every corner of the fields. As we neared the

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bridge, we noticed a group of people running in search of us. We ended the day in our house with singing and entertainment.

Then came the day when I was to return to America. My entire family was very upset. My mother was particularly disturbed and had been weeping for days. The whole family accompanied me to the train; my father being the only one to remain at home. He was again very affected by my leaving and had a deep feeling that he might not see me again. My mother was even sadder than when I had left for America the first time. She also seemed to have an intuitive feeling that she would never see me again. And this was how I left my family.

My parents, brothers, sisters and their children were all killed by the Nazi during their efforts to systematically eliminate Jews and all other 'inferior' races. This bestial behaviour by the enlightened German nation using all of their scientific abilities in slaughtering six million Jews has left a tragic imprint upon the conscience of the world and will eternally damn Germany in future generations.

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Every town in Southern Galicia had a surplus of “Anshe Kodesh” like Melamdim, Shamusim; Chazunim, etc. But Dobromil had more than its share of “Balagulis”. There were several reasons for this. The railroad station was 4km from the centre of the town. There were about 10 trains a day in both directions some of which were scheduled for 2:30 a.m., 4:50 a.m., 6:25 a.m. etc., which meant that some of the drivers had to be on duty all night. What was a “Klezmer” to do between Pesach and Shevuoth, and in the three weeks when weddings could not take place? He just bought a horse and wagon and a new competitor arose to harass and worry the already overcrowded circle of “balagules”. These balagules would park their wagons in the centre of the city in full view of the town clock so that they always knew when to start out for the railroad-station.
The one who got a passenger or two started immediately, the others followed one after the other. The one with the best horse could afford to wait for the last minute and thus have the advantage of catching the late and last passenger. Of course, he would leave even without a passenger because there was always the chance of getting the incoming passengers some of whom may have been his steady patrons. As the train pulled into the station, each fiaker owner kept a sharp lookout for his steadies. When they saw

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a non-committed traveller, they would all surround him, try to grab his valise and persuade him to ride with him. The sad thing was when a fiaker had to return to town all empty. But, return he must because he may get someone from the city to the next train.

There was no fixed tariff. Each passenger paid according to his goodwill and ability. Also, if the 'fiakerman' was a friend, a neighbour or a relative, he usually got a more generous fee. When the young cavaliers came home from the big cities for the holidays or when a native son came for a visit from America, the fiaker knew that guest would pay for his “Arba Koises”, for his “Matzo Baken” or for his 'neue Stiefel' for the winter.

The intervals between trains were varied; some 2 hours, some ¾ of an hour and some only 20 minutes. During these idle stretches of time, these “fiakermen” would stand around to discuss everybody of importance and of no importance in town. They knew everybody's business, love affairs, and legal and illegal, everybody's secrets, past end even guess the future ones. Each one had his usual seat in some near store where he sat to gossip with the storekeeper or his wife.

If the 'fiakern'ek' had sons, he would usually harness his sons to the wagon as he harnessed the horse. The son, a boy of about 10-12 would be given the night duty. He would substitute for his father when his father pursued some other kind or kindred business.

The son would especially want to ride during winter nights when the sled replaced the wagon. During these starry nights, there would always be

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A few loving couples that would hire the sled for a 2 or 3 hour ride. They always preferred the innocent child driver who would attend to his horse, keep his eyes ahead and not cast furtive glances behind him. The young driver would very often take along his little friends “zum Zug” at night, for a ride to “Lacko” or a run to Chyrow. These boys were the envy of all other young children who stood around with their tongues hanging out and anxious for a little hitch.

The fiaker was the greatest event in the young boy's life. With this fiaker “is men gefuren zum Zug, zu furen kein Przemysl”, it was the dream and hidden longing of every child. Since going to Przemysl was not within the reach of the child, he at least went to the station to get a vicarious thrill by watching the train come in and with a broken little heart and tearing eyes, looked at the fortunate ones boarding the train to go to Przemysl. Some young boys who had an uncle or two in Przemysl considered themselves very lucky and above the other boys. Surely their fathers or mothers would go to visit these uncles and take them along. Perhaps the uncle would come for a visit and “men wet ihm akegen furen zudie Bahn”. These were all pleasant possibilities which kept the boys spirits up high. Between the two “Chol Hamods”, the child took 'previews' of his ride to the train. As soon as he saved up 5 Kreutzer, he would be sure of sitting in front near the driver on his wagon or on his sled for a ride “zu die Bahn”. If the return trip was not overcrowded, the youngster was sure of being taken back to town by the same driver. In this manner, the adolescent boy rubbed elbows with the bigger boys, saw and heard things for

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which he was too young and got the feeling of being quite grown up. Very often, this lad ran errands for the fiakerman, took his horse to the brook, watched his wagon, and brought the driver his mother's cake and all to get a ride “zum Zug”.

The children often pitied their counterparts of the nearby towns of Chyrow, Sambor and even Przemysl where the railroad station was in the town. What a dull existence that must be with no fiakers and no occasion to “furen zum Zug”. But deep in their hearts, the children of Dobromil also envied the boys of these neighbouring towns for they could see a train even two or three every day without any trouble and free of cost.

Not only was “Furen zum Zug” a lurking ambition of the youngster but the grownups too could not suppress their desire to get a ride to the station. This desire was realized when someone of the family had to go somewhere by train or when some uncle, aunt or friend had to arrive by train. Then the grownups had their chance to sit on the seats and the smaller boys had to be satisfied to ride in the rear of the wagon and sit on the hay and other horse feed that was carried there.

There were several ways of “furen zum Zug”. The fiaker would come to the home of the passenger. The passenger, man or woman, young man or young girl, would be all dressed up in “Shabes” clothes ready to get to the “wegale”. All the neighbours would come out, surround “dus wegale” and bid the passenger goodbye. It was usually up to the passenger to tell the driver how to go. Some preferred to gallop through the length of the main street and some wanted to drive

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slowly through the city and be seen by everybody. Some passengers were averse to riding through the city and instructed the driver to “furen hinternarimit”. The route then went through the 'rinies' across the brooks, fields and up to the 'Eiserne Brick' and only from there on to the regular road “zu die Bahn'.

Many passengers would never have the fiaker call at their home except in the middle of the night or at dawn. They would usually go to the spot near “Gershon Knebel” and get on the fiaker there. To this class belonged the business people who went for business and those who wanted to get to the 'Bahn' as cheap as possible. There was still another class of riders who would never be seen on a fiaker in the city. They would, as a rule, walk to the end of the city in the 'Neustater Gas' and get on the fiaker there.

Usually it was not necessary to order the fiaker to come. Somehow if you had in mind that you may want to go to Przemysl or to Sambor, the fiaker was there. How he figured it all out is a mystery.

The high season of “furen zum Zug” was 'Chalamoid Pesach' and 'Chalamoid Sikes'. All the 'Schneideryoungen' put on their new suits, their new shining 'Kaloschen' even if the sun was shining and went to Przemysl. Besides them, there were the usual 'Chalamoid' visitors to and from the neighbouring cities. At that time, all the fiakers were busy “und das Stetel hot aufgelebt'.

Yes, “furen zum Zug, “sehen a Bahn”and “furen auf die Bahn' were great events in the lives of children, youths, young men and even older persons. Everybody

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was fascinated by it, longed for it and waited eagerly for an occasion to ride, were it to a wedding, to pay a visit, look for a job, testify at a trial or even to see a doctor.

M'furt Zum Zug

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B. Satt: The Tailor A typical Jewish tailor in a small town in the old country

[Page 60]

B. Satt: The shoemaker A typical Jewish shoemaker in a small town in the old country

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