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I remember my beloved grandfather, May he rest in peace, in Eden, The dignified face, the gentle glance, He looked on people kindly. Reb Mayer'l, head of the community, Weighed his words on a scale, Did not talk a lot, What he said – said quietly. Weighty, with logic and tact, He stayed involved with people, Livelihood, earned with work, but above all, Jewishly and honest. My grandma Reyzl, like those of her time, Full of just belief and trust, Bearing the yoke, showing wonder, Helping earn, rearing children. Auntie Hinde-Leye, a kosher soul, Quiet, unassuming, very wise, Happy with her man Shleyme-Khayim, Lived an idyl like good Jews. On holidays, happy days, together Faithful children, father and mother, The joy deep and wide, The presence of God in the house. The war put an end to that, The good times all are gone. Where are their holy bones, Scattered over fields like stones. My eye sheds a tear, I will write no more, Where can one find justice? Where are you, yesterday?

Even in my early childhood I was tortured by the thought that they do not like us and that Jews are superfluous in Poland. I was too young at the time to understand it was not only Poland that hated us, but the whole world did too.

Our family was the only Jewish family in a Polish village. My sister Rivke and I were the only Jewish children in the Polish school. The Christian children persecuted us at every step and chance. They hit us, threw stones at us and “honored” us with other troubles. My mother wanted to take us out of the school. “I will not have you there,” she said, “and in any case girls do not need any school.” But I was quite stubborn and decided, despite all the enemies, to continue in the school. Although my childish heart was full of pain – not so much from the blows I had to bear but from the disgrace of being insulted as a Jewish child. In my childish way I decided to take revenge: When the Polish religion teacher came into class, I made a demonstration of not standing, but remained seated in my place, as a response to their ugly insults.

Later we moved to Goworowo. As soon as the “He'khaluts” movement was formed in the town, I was one of the first to sign on as a member; and when they began to collect money for “Keren kayemet l'yisroel” I went from house to house asking for money even though in those days it was very dangerous to go into extremely religious house to ask for money for Erets-yisroel. It was very hard then to convince Jews that they needed a land of their own. Like the happy worm in the horseradish, Jews did not feel bitter about the Exile. When emissaries began coming from Warsaw to strengthen the “He'khaluts” Pioneer movement, I pelted them with questions about Erets-yisroel. I asked them so many questions that one responded to me, “This is too many questions for such a young girl, you must travel to Erets yourself to find out the answers to all your questions.” It was evident that I wanted to know more than they could tell me.

I remember an incident: In 1929, when the bloody events broke out in Erets-yisroel, my father brought home the newspaper“Haynt”. Printed there was a call to Jews worldwide from Dovid Ben-Gurion, to

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On the ship Above on the left stand Sore and Yitskhak Blumshteyn and Aron Shron

I feel the pressure of some guilt regarding my dear sister Gitl, her husband Ezra Bergman and their little daughter Sore may God avenge their blood. He, my brother-in-law, was opposed to my plan to travel to Erets-yisroel. Not, heaven forbid, because he did not love Erets-yisroel but he maintained that the time for redemption had not yet come, in particular for a girl alone without her parents in a strange, distant land. My brother-in-law was a highly-intelligent and -educated person, and could motivate what he said. That made me more vexed. We had many arguments. I could not convince him, and he could not change my mind.

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Then my sister got mixed up in it. “Sore!” she said, “you can just ask us, we will send money for your expenses to come back home.” I became enraged and responded, “You will yet ask me to bring you over Erets-yisroel!”

When the war broke out in 1939, I received a heart-rending letter from my sister and brother-in-law. They begged me to save them. I promptly traveled to Jerusalem to the immigration department of the Sokhnut. The official looked at me as if I were out of my mind. He gave me to understand that I was the only one who had brought such a large family, and from my side it was almost khutspe to ask for more certifications. I could not imagine then what kind of misfortune was being prepared for the Jews of the world.

My sister Gitl, my brother-in-law Ezra and their daughter Sore shared the tragic fate of all the Polish Jews. Unfortunately, I was correct in my response. But, okh un vey to being correct! How much would I give to not be correct.

The years have done nothing to heal my wounds. The graves of my sister, brother-in-law and daughter are still open. It is a terrible feeling to keep thinking about it.

May this “book of remembrance” be a gravestone for the dear suffering souls of our martyrs.

The third-grade class of the Polish powshechna school (1934) At the left, teacher Genia Taub (See page 124)

During the last years of the Second World War^[a] the situation of the Jews in Poland became unbearable, especially for the Jews in the small towns. There was, literally, nothing to do and nothing to take up for oneself. But the young people thought of a purpose: they were getting older, they should get married, build a Jewish home, and there were no prospects for how to accommodate this or to achieve any livelihood. The antisemitism increased from day to day. The Pollacks had robbed the Jews of all sources of livelihood, had simply torn the bread out of their mouths. The younger generation was orphaned and hopeless. There was no alternative left than to emigrate to another country.

We, a group of friends, men and women, members of “Poaley-tsion”, and “He'khaluts”, decided that in order to emigrate sooner, the best place was Erets-Yisroel, the promised Jewish land.

But it is easy to say: travel. In order to travel one must have money and a lot of it, and money my father did have but would not give. A mediation on travel began in our house. Father stubbornly held to his side: a child should stay at home, for the pride of the parents. Who would be there to look after Jewishness? And in general, how could he send a child off on such a long journey? My mother looked at it with more distance: “What kind of purpose is it to sit at home with just room and board? How can the young people make a living in such a small town, with such antisemitism and with such competition?” In the middle of one such a heated discussion, my mother called out to my father:

“Velvl! Maybe by rights you should go to Ger to the Rebi, and see what “May he Long Live” has to say?”

My father agreed.

Mother packed his satin kapote, some clean clothes, his talis un tfiln and father went off to Ger for Shabes.

Sunday afternoon father returned from Ger, but he did not mention what the Rebi had said, not yes, and not no. I was very curious to hear what the Rebi had said. My mother also wanted to hear the holy word from the Rebi.

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Saying Goodbye

“You know what, Feyge Nekhame, the Rebi actually said?” “And if you would say no, would that help you?”

In that response from the Rebi father saw that the Rebi agreed to my journey, and then I began to prepare to go to Erets-Yisroel.

Dvore Romaner and Tsipore Grudke set off. 1932.

1. I believe it should read  “the First World War”.  Return

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Since the aliye movement to Erets-Yisroel began in Goworowo in 1932, there had been a few unsuccessful efforts to travel to and settle in the land. At the beginning of the 1920s, Avrom Dovid Rubin and his wife Rivke Tsirl traveled to E”Y, but in time they came back to the shtetl. People joked at their expense, that one of the reasons for their failure was that they had been tricked in E”Y – that instead of potatoes they had put oranges in their sack.

The second try was made in 1924, when the “Mizrakhi” members Yisroel Leyb Tandetshazsh (Avrom Romaner's son-in-law), who got to E”Y through Argentina; Khayim Sheyniak, who had learned carpentry for that purpose through a Christian tradesman in the “Probostvo”; and Yitskhak Dovid Tehilim. In 1925 a son of our town Eliyahu Brokhonski traveled to the Land by way of the Vishkove “He'khaluts”. And that group also could not acclimate and came back to their homes after a time.

Tandetshazsh went back to Argentina and worked there as a teacher in the “Bialek” Schools until his death in 1957 (his son Yitskhak lives in Israel today).

The larger aliye to E”Y from our town began, as mentioned above, in August 1932. Technically that was an illegal aliye, because no one had received certificates. They used the excursions which were organized in Poland for the “Makabiada” games in Erets-Yisroel. They came in as tourists and just stayed there.

In that first group there were my wife Devore (Romaner), Khave Segal with her husband, and Tsipore Grudke. Following them a week later were Sore and Yitskhak Blumshteyn as well as the writer of these lines.

What happened then in the shtetl was indescribable. The farewell-evenings that were organized for us were impressive. Those leaving town went from house to house to say goodbye; it was literally unforgettable. The members of “Poaley-tsion” and BeTaR and other organizations, relatives and dear friends accompanied us to Pasheki. The “Frayhayt” came with their flags. Others

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traveled to Warsaw with us. The train platform was packed with people. The train did not move from the spot, until we finished singing “Ha'tikva”. In Pshetitsh, Rivke Rozenberg-Shafran and Royzke Shniadover awaited us, who also sang heartily with us.

We stayed overnight in Warsaw, and from there traveled by train to Konstants, Romania. On the way we also encountered other “olim” like us and together kept in close contact. On the ship we led a collective life with a common treasury. The head of our kibuts was a certain Gasner from Rovne, already an older person, very much an intellectual and clever; we only ever called him “Aba”.

At the farewell for Menukhe Grudka. 1933.

After a few days I went to the “Histadrut” to request work as a new émigré from Poland. But there was no work. They advised me to go to Rehovot, where I had a recommendation from my wife's parents, to a certain Avromitski. There they took me on temporarily and I went right to the office for an assignment. They sent me to an orchard. The manager looked me over – the new Pioneer with the short pants – and promptly detailed me to the “appropriate” work: he took me to a large yard with a lot of manure, told me to fill a sack with it, put that on my shoulder and fertilize each tree with a little of it. The manure was wet and heavy, and I got sweaty all over. As you can see, this was not the most…

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aromatic job, but I welcomed it with love. I did that work as a contractor and earned 12 piaster a day.

During the time I was working in Rehovot, my wife was in Tel Aviv and gradually got work in her trade of tailoring. She worked for a woman with whom she spent the nights for a sum she would pay off, sleeping on the floor. I went to Tel Aviv every Shabes. As we together were able to save up a little money, we began to clarify our goals. We, along with Sore and Yitskhak Blumshteyn, who were after all staying for a while with their relatives, decided to create a joint place where we could live. We rented an apartment in neighboring Nordoy with a small kitchen, and we all moved in. We bought a little furniture and some kitchen utensils and set up our joint household.

Around then I left my job in Rehovot and stayed in Tel Aviv.

My wife now earned 15 piaster a day and I could find no work in Tel Aviv. Then I remembered that in 1920 I had apprenticed to be a hatmaker with Leyb Hersh and tried my luck in that trade. I succeeded in landing a job in a hat business. For 10 hours – 15 piasters. Also good. My boss was happy with me and sometimes gave me a gift in the form of a pack of “Karmel” cigarettes for one half a piaster. After two months there I got a raise and now earned 18 p. a day. My wife and I together now earned

At the farewell for Rokhl Shapira [Shpira?]. 1936.

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33 p. a day, a good sum in that time. We decided to make a surprise for our parents in Goworowo: we sent them 2 pounds sterling (28 zlotych to a pound) as a gift. The town was then “going of its wheels” – in a short time would it be possible to save up money and send it home?

Sara and Yitskhak were working too, she in textiles and he as an “assistant” and painter, both making good money, so, we were each able to make separate residences. I rented a small apartment, “four by four”, in neighboring Trumpeldor and paid 75 p. a month. We also bought furniture: a wardrobe for 4.5 pounds, a table for 1.5 p., two chairs for 25 piaster and a kitchen table for 12 p. We both kept working and earning, lived for today and did not worry about tomorrow. We forgot about dinner and went out dancing until late at night.

When I demanded 25 piaster a day for my labor, my boss did not accept it. So, I left that place and through the office found work in construction. Indeed, I made 32 p. a day but the work was heavy. And later I even went up to 60 p. a day. My wife was also earning up to half a pound sterling a day and that allowed us to rent a larger apartment – for two pounds a month rent.

In 1933 Avrom Holtsman and his wife came to Erets and rented a two-room apartment not far from us. They also rented a grocery store. Every Shabes evening all we Goworowers would meet at our house and enjoy the time together. Holtsman played the fiddle, we sang, and it was a fine time.

Some time later Holtsman bought a plot of land in Ramat-Yitskhak. He built a residence there and a grocery store, and left Tel-Aviv. In 1936 when Sore's family (Skurnik) came to Erets and settled in Haifa, she and Yitskhak also left Tel Aviv and moved to Haifa.

We, the above mentioned, were the first Pioneers from our shtetl to stay in Erets despite all the difficulties. Later many others followed our example. Then the following families and individuals came: In 1933 – the family of Meyshe Granat and Menukhe Grudka; in 1934, Alek Proska (Viderboym) and Rivke Skurnik (Bar-Kokhba); in 1935 – the family Varshavniak, Alek Grudka (Brakhanski), Yankev Botshan, Dovid Mishnayos and Elieyzer Levin (from Cuba); in 1936 – the family Yehude Grudka, family Meyshe Skurnik, family Dov Tsudiker, family Bertshe Granat, Nomi Proska (Strasberg) and Rokhl Shpira [Shapiro?] (Zakhriahu). In 1937 – Shleyme Apelboym. In 1938 – Sore Romaner (Tsimerman), Nekhame Shekhter (Gelbfish), and Khave Molovani (Vayner). In those same years Aron Tehilim and Ester Gutman (Kantarovitsh) also arrived.

Since I had brought sister-in-law Sore Romaner,

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there is an interesting chapter around that, and is worth noting:

As already mentioned, I did not come with my wife, and in the official documents I was still figured as a bachelor. I used that and went to the immigration office of the “Sokhnut” to request a certificate for my “wife” Sore Romaner. I then wrote to Sore to send me a photograph of herself with the “appropriate” signature on the second side – “for my husband”. I also asked her to send “love letters” with specific texts. I became a regular visitor at the Sokhnut so that they would put aside these “love letters” with the photographs and urged them to take care of my request.

When things dragged out for a long time with “LEKH-V'SHUB” I once caused a scandal, so that Usishkin of blessed memory ran into the room to see what was going on. When an officer (his name was Mikhaeli) became aware of what they were dealing with, he told him to do everything possible to get my “wife” quickly through the requirements.

A. Shron (left) with a friend at construction work

And to this day when Mikhaeli (director of the public airport “Dov”) sees me, we smile at one another, recalling my scene that time in the “Sokhnut” office.

All of the above-mentioned managed to came to Erets just before the outbreak of the war and all of them settled here (except for Sore and Yitskhak Blumshteyn who because of family preferences traveled to America in 1945). The majority of the Survivors after the war came to Erets, by any means possible. Today we number about 150 families, may they multiply.

Cantor Nosn Stolnits

In my youth I visited Goworowo from time to time. I was inspired and affected by the prevailing atmosphere that was permeated with a deep religious spirit, filled with hasidic enthusiasm and love for the people, and everyone was connected and united like one large family.

The publication of this memorial book for the Jewish community Goworowo is a sacred mission. This will be a spiritual mitsve for that severed Jewish settlement that sprouted up and fermented with many sorts of activity, like many other spirited communities in Poland that were so savagely murdered and exterminated by the wild-blooded Nazi regime may their malignant names and memories be blotted out.

From the depths of my heart, I join in the grief for the children of Goworowo who lost their near and dear, and who now go to build a monument to their holy memory and the memory of the shtetl. You may really be proud of the privilege with which the Omniscient God has gifted you, to be able to be actual co-builders on the sacred soil of our newly-realized national Jewish home.

On one of the interim days of Passover in the year 1931 the famous publicist and beloved popular writer Yushzon-Itshele wrote an article in the Warsaw Yiddish newspaper “Haynt” titled “Yom-tov Sheyni”, in which he dealt with the character of Yom-tov Sheyni in the Exile, as it did not exist in Erets-Yisroel and was doubtlessly created for the lands of the Exile.

In that article the author did not have any intention to minimize, heaven forbid, the sanctity of the holiday on the last day of Passover. Yushzon-Itshele himself was a proper, observant Jew, a guardian of Torah and mitsves, and was far from any Reform ideas or insult to tradition.

The little Goworowo demons soon sniffed out that, from that article, one could make dainties for the editors of the Agudist paper “Dos yidishe togblat”, of which Yushzon-Itshele was a dangerous opponent who brought them a lot of trouble with his sharp pen. According to the general rule “hatred perverts justice”, the Goworowo demons estimated that the editors of the “Togblat” would, in their great hurry and avid revenge, not check very closely, not be scrupulous about the details, and not use any logic – and they composed an ostensible invitation to a certain person, that he should come to the Zionist Organization on the last day of Peysakh in the afternoon, where a reception would take place and they would discuss Yushzon-Itshele's article. That invitation was written on an official letterhead with the stamp of the Zionist Organization. Then a letter was added to it, from a supposed Goworowo proprietor who wept with bitter tears at the decimation that was taking place at the reception in the Zionist Organization, that people there ate leavened foods and drank beer, and made ash and mud of the last day of Peysakh, and all of that – because of Yushzon-Itshele.

A few days after Passover, one fine morning, the bomb exploded with the train from Warsaw and the arrival of the “Togblat”. People opened it up and were furious: Across all six columns of the second page was a huge headline in out-sized letters: “Desecration of the holiday in Goworowo”; “Khomets on Peysakh – look, you heavens!” The editor himself had blessed a large editorial article:

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Finally unmasking the very person who had led the Jewish masses away from the straight path. Rogovi poured pitch and sulphur on those who would lead Jews astray, who would make void the yom-tov Sheyni. Ayzik-Ber Ekerman wrote an article full of epithets and witticisms at the expense of Yushzon: “Uncle! We caught you at it!” The story itself was quickly served up on every plate, with the full text of the letter and the invitation, with witnesses who saw and witnesses who heard. The world was coming to an end!

The town was going off its wheels. One could probably believe the story themselves – there it was in black on white. But the address of the invitation – the town crazy, Shleyme Akive Beserman – already gave witness that this was a cooked-up event, an impish game with a far reach.

Soon telegrams were flying, and retractions – no bears and no forest. First of all, everything was kosher l'Peysakh, the most stringent of the stringent, as was done in all the Jewish towns; and second, no reception took place on that day.

The Rov, poor man, had to travel to Warsaw to take the stain of scandal off his community. He published a clarification in the “Togblat” that the whole story was a prank. Reb Meyshe Tenenboym sent retractions to the “Haynt” and the “Moment” in the name of the Jewish community. Yushzon-Itshele had good material for a new essay, and the “Togblat” threw the guilt for the entire thing onto the Zionist Organization in Goworowo, for neglecting its letterhead and stamps, and any little demon can subscribe to a good year. (In fact, they used a long ago-stolen stamp from the Zionist Org.)

That story was the talk of the town in the whole country. Some gritted their teeth and lowered their eyes in shame, and others laughed into their fists at the impish joke that the Goworowo scamps had played.

“Dos yidishe togblat” – “The Yiddish Daily”

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“Der haynt” – “Today”The article “The last day of Peysakh” appeared in “Haynt”, on the 4th interim day of Passover, 20th Nisn, sav-reysh-tsadi”alef (7 April 1931).

It was at the beginning of the 1930s, when young men of my age had to report to the military medical commission in Ostrolenke. Those were no longer the days of putting a “blowpipe” in your ears, claiming a “hunched” back, or cutting off a finger or a toe or imposing some other bodily flaw. One was most often just abandoned to fate and…money. I, as a son of wealthy parents, did not have to abandon much to fate, and happily chose the second path – evading military service with the help of “mezumen”.

My father, who had a brother in Ostrolenke, decided to travel to him and see the thing done on the spot. My uncle introduced my father to a “fixer”, and for 100 dollars he undertook to “fix it” with the military doctor so that I would be completely exempted from the military. In order for the doctor to recognize me, he told me to stick a round, black bit of bandage on the right side of my face. Of course, since my father had given the payment to a third party, and come home happy – it's a small thing? – I would not have to be miserable for one and a half or two years.

The night before appearing before the doctor, we – those obligated to the military duty, some dejected about the morning's fate, and some encouraged (such as myself) – began playing the traditional “dirty tricks”: we took down Ratensky's sign with the painting of pig's meat processing, and swapped it with the sign of a hasidic merchant; we took the wooden front-steps from many houses, so that when the resident got up early in the morning his first step out would be onto the ground; we woke up people for “slikhes”; shouted “fire!”, “thief!”, and other silliness.

We arrived in Ostrolenke on the first train the next morning. We went directly to the military commission. I with my “symbol” go confidently to the military doctor, who examines me carefully from all sides, and looks at me when he notices the requested mark on my face.

His going over me so long and so thoroughly really did call up

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a certain suspicion in me. I was almost certain that he could not find the smallest thing in me that he could misinterpret, and he let me go (in the end I was completely healthy, without the smallest flaw). But I tried to drive away those doubts, because 100 dollars is no small matter.

When I later received my confirmation, I stopped ruminating and philosophizing and saw that the deed was done. My acceptance into the military was not nothing – Category “A”.

Of course, my father traveled straight to the “fixer” with a “willow branch” and many complainants about being led astray and so on. But go talk to the wall, it was all over. In short: it remained that the money was still on deposit and that he would “fix” me as a “nadlitshbovi”, that is, that I would not have to serve but remain a contingent. Also good!

But I did not go around as a happy fellow for long. A few months later I received a call-up notice from the military to present myself at the 81^st Regiment in Grodne. I turned the notice on all sides, perhaps there was a mistake I thought, but no. It was all written in detail. Even the exact date and hour when I had to be in the barracks. My father went again to the “fixer” in Ostrolenke, and this time with a bigger “willow branch”! But you can protest, but it won't do any good, because a third scheme with new illusions could not be considered now. There was no alternative than to take the money back and keep quiet about it.

My father could not let this go by quietly, and he began to investigate what had happened. It appeared that that “fixer” had collected a number of 100-dollar “deposits” for each military commission. Someone was often freed from service because of some weak physical condition – and he kept the whole sum in his pocket. If there was a “patient” who was not freed, he still tried his luck to “fix” him as a “nadlitshbovi”, because keeping some as a contingent was also not an unusual occurrence. So, he also kept the deposit in such a case. And if the person was not released, neither here nor here, he gave back the deposited money. It was said that after each commission there always remained a good number of “clients” who were released or were over the number needed.

Possibly with a smaller number of “patients” he could share with the doctors and release only those who really did have some questionable condition, but with someone like me, without the smallest flaw, and especially in these times, he had to “work with his own hands”, without partners, and drew a fine livelihood from it – because what did he have to risk?

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As opposed to not taking any deposits! And if he had to give some “unsuccessful” clients their money back, he was certainly an honest person!

And I? I served the whole one and a half years in the Grodne 81st Regiment, like a…fool.

The “pranks” that we played in the shtetl in our childhood caused people many concerns but were of many flavors. Our “gang” ferreted out with our sharp little noses the weaknesses of this or that householder, found the “blister” where the shoe pinched, and tried with all our might to make the sparks fly.

So, for example, we found out that Yisroel-Shepsl got a special pleasure from reciting kadish after praying in the study-house. Therefore he remained sitting in the shul at night after the mayriv service until the last prayers and “knocked back” another kadish.

Yisroel-Shepsl was a Jew of 70 years, thin and tall, a long, drawn face with a small, thin nose, adorned with a sparse grey beard. In his young years he had worked as a shoemaker, making boots and selling them at the fairs. As he got old, his hands began to tremble and his eyes to tear, and he gave up his trade and sat in the study-house the whole day – in the summer in the large entrance hall, and winter by the big, caulked ovens, at which he warmed his old, aching bones. He sat languishing all day, without a sign of life, not moving a limb, only when the cantor for minke-mayriv started the oleynu did he become lively at all, stand up to his whole height, stretch out his quavering throat and pronounce “yisgadol v'yiskadeysh” with must enjoyment.

We, the little gang, used to while away the long winter nights in the study-house, supposedly to study a little Talmud; in reality, though, as soon as the last householder left the study-house we began celebrating our “indolent fun” – smoking cigarettes, jumping over the tables, or

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lifting a bench with our teeth. Yisroel-Shepsl stayed late at the shul. He did not hurry home to his cold, deteriorated little house. Better to sit by the warm oven in the study-house and nap.

As soon as we saw the Yisroel Shepsl was sleeping, one of us would stand behind his shoulders and shout, “v'ne'emar, v'haye es ha'shem, l'melekh al kol ha'orets…ha'shem eykhod”. And then someone else would call out “Rebi Yisroel-Shepsl! A kadish!” Yisroel-Shepsl stood up, stretched out his long neck and swayed deeply: “yisgadel v'yiskadeysh”, and we crumpled into laughter. Until he went to sleep again, and we would repeat the whole scene.

We kept up that “business” until one time, in the middle of such a “kadish”, Khayim-Leyb the ritual slaughterer came into shul. When he saw how Yisroel-Shepsl was cranking out a kadish and we were rolling with laughter, he made a very big fuss: “You insolent rascals!” he shouted, “God in heaven, worthless!” He threatened to tell the Rov about this. Then we left old Yisroel-Shepsl in peace.

The joke on old Yekl the butcher was more serious. He was also a Jew of 70 years, small, thin, skin and bones. He was the founder of a dynasty of butchers who provided the town with kosher meat. The old Reb Yekl in his younger years possessed a lot of energy and led the town by its nose. In his old age his children and grandchildren had taken over that business and he was a regular figure at the study-house – he sat by the oven and recited psalms, smoking his big pipe.

Although he was old and weak, people were still afraid to start up with him. First of all, no one had forgotten his former power, even though no trace of that strength was left. But secondly, his “mouth-piece” still functioned with the same steam as before. He could still deliver a stream of curses, and one never knew where a door would open…. He was a special master in that trade. So our gang did not like that so much.

But one evening when we were puffing away on cigarettes, he gave us a tongue lashing and threatened to tell our parents about us. We decided to buy him off with a portion of tobacco. Each day we had to bring some LO-YAKHRUTS tobacco for his pipe, so he would keep our secret. But we could not sate him. He was a passionate smoker and consumed a lot of tobacco. And his appetite seemed to grow with eating, becoming more and more. Our small change could not suffice to satisfy him and leave anything left for us. We decided, therefore, to wean him off of smoking. But how? We

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thought up a plan: We mixed a little gunpower from the caps for children's toy rifles into his portion of tobacco, and gave it to him to smoke. We just sat back at a distance to see what would happen.

Yekl filled his pipe generously, lit it, and sat himself grandly by the oven, putting out large clouds of smoke from his mouth. He was so much enjoying the aromatic tobacco that he closed his eyes and lost himself in old memories, twirling the end of his moustache with great pleasure.

Suddenly – BANG! A shot was heard that, in the acoustics of the shul, resounded like the boom of a canon. The pipe went flying way far to the Torah ark, and the old Yekl, poor thing, sprang up from the table in terror.

Anyhow, he shot off a few curses to the address of the Polish government and its tobacco monopoly, in case some help may be forthcoming.

When we finally recovered from laughing, we asked him with innocent faces, “Reb Yekl, what happened?”

“A black year on the Polish state for selling such tobacco. Tfoo on them! I was almost killed, heaven forbid! As they should be killed on some fine moonlit night.” That was Yekl's response.

In short, our plan was totally effective. After several “explosions” Yekl stopped smoking.

The case of the false alarm could really have led to serious consequences. We did, indeed, protect ourselves for a long time, not telling anyone the secret of who had been the initiators of that “prank”.

It was in the last years before the Second World War. Poland was earnestly preparing for a war and broadened its war industry. The population was taught how to protect themselves during an air-attack. Our town planned for such an air-attack by the enemy and the mayor had big placards nailed up, on which it was announced with giant letters that the attack would be carried out on the coming Monday. To that end a piece of iron would be hung on a pole in the market square. “When you hear the gong” the placard continued, “the population must quickly hide in their houses, and remain there until the signal comes that all is calm.”

The promised “alarm” in the town called up great observation. A whole week prior, little gatherings of people stood in the market and debated about the big “air-attack” to come on Monday. Some acted as strategists for Poland and for Austria, pronounced their ideas about the 42-milimeter canon that the “Kraut thief” had, and how the aeroplane-mechanics would work in the air. In the trade unions, in shul and in the ritual bath, everywhere, that was the topic of the day.

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And it was evening and it was morning, and Monday the “day of judgement” arrived. Since the placards did not state the time of the alarm, everyone got up very early. The men went to shul to pray with the first minyen – whatever happened, one should at least have finished their prayers; and the women ran quickly to buy baked goods and milk, so they would have something to grab for the tummies of the little children.

As we savored the tumult over the alarm, a wild thought occurred to us: we could hurry up the alarm and carry it out ourselves – said and done! One member of our gang brought a bell from his father's iron mongery; another went with him upstairs to the women's shul, and we all stood in different corners in the study-house downstairs. The plan was that as soon as the bell rang, we would run to the door from all sides and make a lot of noise.

Soon the cantor began the “loud shmone-esre” , and right after the kedushe, the bell suddenly rang and echoed. We took off running through shul like poisoned mice and made a terrible commotion. In the great confusion no one noticed that the bell-ringing was coming from the women's shul. Everyone was certain that the alarm was from outdoors. The congregation began quickly putting away their tfiln, pulling off their taleysim, and shoving their way to the door. Some leapt through the windows with their taleysim still on their shoulders and raced in panic through the market to their houses.

When the people in the market saw the panic and the wild running, they quickly closed their shutters, closed their doors and ran away. Women shouted hysterically, ”Gevald!” “Where are the children?” “Vey iz mir!” “Where is Shprintse?” “Where is Dvore – someone save her!”

The gentiles who lived around the periphery also followed the example of the Jews – closed their doors and shutters and went down to the cellar. Eyewitnesses reported that they themselves saw the police commandant run like an unyoked ox to seek protection from the air-attack.

The opera was discovered after a whole hour of lying in the cellars. No airplane came, and no one heard the announcing alarm. People became impatient, sticking just their noses outdoors, then pushing out their bodies to look into the sky – nothing there!

Only later did people realize that it had been the work of pranksters. The police commandant almost had apoplexy because of the annoyance. He offered a large cash reward for revealing the “criminal”.

To our great joy, no one besides us ever knew who had made the false alarm.

(“Der amerikaner”, 8 November 1957.)

Avreml was from boyhood considered a genius. His father, a fine, respected proprietor in the town, took pride in his accomplished son, and always related the pinnacles of wisdom and novel interpretations by his little man, to his friends. He hoped, the father, that his son would become a great rov among Jews and did not stint with money for tuition fees. Avreml's teachers were also at a loss for enough words to praise their genius of a pupil. But they were silent about prankish jokester part that the little genius had.

Small of stature with red little cheeks and small sharp eyes that restlessly moved around, Avreml roamed the streets of the shtetl, walking with his head swaying, thinking up ways to play a trick on someone”. One Peysakh at the seyder, when the rov opened the door for Eliahu the Prophet, he stretched his hand with a long walking stick through the open door. One late Friday night, he stood at old Avrom-Yosl's window and imitated the voice of his cow. The old Avrom-Yosl, nebekh, got up from bed in his underclothes and went outside the house to look for his “lakishke” who meanwhile was sleeping quietly in her stall.

After he was bar-mitsve his father sent him to study in the Lomzshe Yeshive. There, he thought, his old dream would be realized, that Avreml would become a great scholar, he would make a rabbinic marriage match, and he would have a son who was a great rov in Yisroel.

What happened was quite different. Avreml's restless essence did not allow him to sit in a yeshive, it drew him out to the streets. There he met some friends. He read newspapers and books and became a … Zionist.

The yeshive was too small for him. The director looked at him askance. After a short while Avreml came back home to Goworowo. Supposedly he had already learned a lot from the rov, but his head was just not intended for study. So meanwhile he just thought about whom and how to play such a prank that the whole town would talk about it.

Avreml did not “work” alone. He had a whole gang

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of rascals who revered him and obediently carried out his plans. The “general headquarters” were located in the Vurke shtibl where he ostensibly went to study.

There all the “pranks” were invented, the plans worked out and the “assignments” distributed. When everything was “right and ready” they learned a little more.

Avreml always had his alibis ready. He was never caught red-handed, although everyone knew that the “little dew and rain” (what people called him because of his small stature) was the cause of all the trouble. Even the suffering “victims” themselves forgave him in the end for his dirty tricks, because everyone valued his fine learning, knowing that a genius had a clever mind, and one cannot have a lot of resentment for him.

His father tried to have an effect on him with goodness and with anger, but nothing helped. Avreml was truly enchanted with the matters at hand. He became very active in the Zionist Organization and worked for the “Keren-kayemet l'yisroel”.

During that time his “pranks” were mostly political. He had taken on the grievance that certain “Kana'im” had disrupted the Zionist work in the town, and so would take out his “revenge” on them.

One of the big “Kana'im” who fought passionately with the Zionists was Iser the miller. There was a case when Iser was hosting a wedding in his house and as the usual case members came to collect for the K.K.L.; he tore up the “flowers”, snatched the blue-and-white charity box and literally drove the collectors away.

Iser was a sharp Ger hasid with a thick, wide, red beard, with thick grown-together eyebrows that half-covered his eyes and gave an angry appearance to his countenance. He was a taciturn Jews, not looking audaciously in anyone's eyes, but was very stubborn and a “boiler” when he was enraged. Woe to those who made him mad. Iser lived outside the town, up on the “Probostvo”, where, together with his brother Note, he had a big steam-operated mill and large warehouses full of grain. They were very rich. Iser had already-grown children, among them a daughter who was now being presented to marriage brokers.

Avreml could not pass quietly over the chicaneries that he and his gang were ripening for the Zionists' opponents. He decided to pour out all his wrath on Iser, especially for destroying the “flower”-collecting by the K.K.L. It should be remembered by his grandchildren.

Avreml took revenge on him in the following way: He had a large rabbinic wedding cards printed, in which it was stated that he, Iser, thanks to the beloved Creator, had lived to see the marriage of his daughter the maiden (the name here), with her chosen one, the

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preeminent (the name of the ”haftore” here). The wedding – the printed card went on to state – “would take place God willing in a good and auspicious hour on Friday, Torah portion [not revealed in text] some certain day in Nisn. All friends and acquaintances are invited to come and rejoice on the simkhe and with God's help at their children's wedding may he, Iser, reciprocate them with the same.”

That Friday was to fall on the eve of shabes ha'gadol in Passover, the first of April of the early 1930s. Avreml sent the wedding cards to all the many branches of the family all over the country.

Besides that, Avreml sent letters to the famous wedding musicians in Vishkove and Ostrolenke, and to two well-known wedding entertainers that they not forget to come to celebrate the afternoon of the wedding, for which they would be lavishly rewarded. The entire action was held in strict secrecy from the townspeople.

That Friday (the First of April) turned out to be a beautiful spring day. A clear blue sky spread over the shtetl. The sun kindly warmed the houses around the market square and drew the people in them out onto the street. Along the wooden walks in front of the shops, the shopkeepers sat and warmed their chilled bones after a hard winter. The dogs laid stretched out lazily on their backs near the butcher shops. A cheerless quiet flowed over the shtetl.

Suddenly, from Bridge Street came pounding in with a clatter, two wagons with the famous Vishkove orchestra and went straight through the square to “Tifle” Street. Before there was even time to start to chew on that wild event, the sound of music came from Ostrolenke Street. That was the Ostrolenke orchestra, already playing on their instruments, sailing smoothly into town. Nothing much! Iser the miller was marrying off a daughter.

Soon after all that came the carts and “gumkes” from the train station, crammed with guests dressed to the nines, wives in silk, fur-lined coats holding children by the hand; men in long heavy coats, fur hats and round hats, and merry young men who had already drunk a l'khayim on the train.

“Mazl tov!” they shouted to the town Jews who stood in little groups around the square.

The crowd opened their mouths, shrugged their shoulders, having no inkling what was going on.

Seeing that everything was traveling toward “Tifle” Street, the crowd set out in that direction. Now they could see that the whole parade was going into Iser the miller's yard. Iser stood with his arms spread out, his red beard disheveled, not knowing what to do; here he was surrounded with joy, with his relatives and friends, kissing them, and then shouting and angry with the musicians, “What the hell do you want from me?”

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“What kind of visitation is this on me?” And the shouted loudly, “Mazl tov, in-law! God-willing to all your children!”

Anyhow, all the guests had to remain with Iser for Shabes, because there was now no way to travel back. And he had to settle with the musicians, and the town of Goworowo had a merry simkhe.

Reb Iser promised his grandchildren – as of now – not to pester the Zionists anymore.

(“Der amerikaner”, Number 24, 24 June 1957.)

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