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[Page 368]

It was in 1920, when the Bolsheviks were withdrawing from Poland. During the time that they had been in Goworowo, all the Zionist and social activities had been halted. And the library had stopped functioning. Whoever wanted to read a book had to travel all the way to Ruzshan. We, who were them among the young folk, took the initiative to reconstitute a library. We procured a legitimization from the regional office in Ostrolenke with no difficulty. We were also successful in assembling a few hundred books. But the hard part was finding a site. We were afraid to rent some kind of apartment because of the chicaneries of the very religious Jews. In the end we did rent an apartment from Avrom'ke the glazier on the “Long” street. We quickly put together an administration with Leybl Kersh as chairman, Etke Fridman as librarian, Yankev Zamlson as treasurer, and so on. Almost every evening we exchanged books. Two or three times a week Binyamin Ginzburg gave lectures on science topics there. We also presented theater exhibitions.

We carried on our activities for a long time in that manner, until a group of fanatic Jews went to the town Rov and told him that we were meeting together with men and women, and they must see that something be done, if it is not too late already.

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At first they took Avrom'ke the glazier to task about why he rented us the space. They even threatened to put him in official ostracization. But Avrom'ke had bound us with a contract, and we could not be released from it; but then they came up with an ingenious idea: on one wintry Friday afternoon, they took the doors off and the windows out of our library's apartment and put us out of business.

Sitting, from right to left: Yitskhak Kuperman, Yankev Gurka and Kalman Klepfish Standing: Zelig Hertsberg, Meyshe Dovid Malavani and Matisyahu Oyslender

The Rov was a shrewd Jew, and he quickly saw that he would get nowhere with us with anger. He ordered us through Avremele the beadle to come to him with a delegation from the management. We chose the following persons: Leyb Kersh, Meyshe Dovid Malavani, Kalman Klepfish, Yitskhak Kuperman and the writer of these lines. The Rov

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gave us to understand that we absolutely must not have boys and girls meeting together, and so on. We laid out our complaints, in short, and after a long transaction session arrived at a compromise: the females may come only to exchange books and not to stay there, and on Friday we must turn on the lamp before candle-lighting time. With that our conflict ended. We received our windows and doors back along with peace in Yisroel.

It is worth mentioning that both of the Rov's daughters themselves – Rokhl and Zelde – borrowed books from us.

This event unfolded in 1936. The time of the [Pro-Polish anti-Jewish “owszem” ] “Yes” movement, and the picketing of Jewish businesses was already a daily manifestation. Even in our shtetl the antisemitism was already out in the open.

I was working for Yoel'ke the baker. One Sunday night I am standing in his shop and I look out the window onto the market square. Suddenly I see a drunken hooligan, dressed in his Sunday best and haranguing some Jews. He even pulled out a knife and was measuring Jewish beards. The hooligan even warned that some friends were coming to help him, and they would stab all the Jews. It was easy to see that there would soon be an uproar in town, the streets were empty, and people were locked in their houses, sleeping.

The situation enraged me. I go out in the street and approach the scoundrel. It looks like this is Adam Shperling from Vurke, an incidental acquaintance of mine. When I made a remark about his behavior and told him, “If you are drunk, go sleep it off”, he only replied, “Mangy Jew” and swiped at me with the knife.

I had been right in the middle of my work, my hands smeared with rye dough and holding an empty flour sack. I did not ponder for long, and hearing the hooligan's response I “honored” him with the sack in the eyes, gave him a few blows with my hands thereby smearing his new suit, and then ran away. In great shame the scoundrel also disappeared immediately.

But that did not last and within half an hour he came back with a reinforcement of another five gentile ruffians. They came straight into Yosel'ke's shop looking for me, but, of course, I was not there. I had been off the street for a long time, being afraid of revenge. But it was worth it – reprimanding a hooligan!

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Hoshane-rabe at night in the shtetl. Up River Lane blows an unfriendly wind. Light shines out from the gaps in suke walls. Jews, some dressed in white, are having a bite to eat after evening prayers. They will soon hurry back to shul to recite tikun. It is a holiday mood mixed with sadness. Not a small thing! Hoshane-rabe can be compared to yon-kiper. Heaven splits open, and people lie there, awaiting the last stamp on their petition.

A pale moon is reflected in the little “Hirsh” River. Yankev Shleyme the blacksmith is outdoors to see if the moon makes a shadow of his tall, thin body. Something in the shadow he does not like. A bad sign: Who knows if he will get through the year in one piece…

Something makes a little splash in the stream. Yankev Shleyme shudders. He recalls what Beytsalel Yosl in the khumesh-group taught, that on Hoshane-rabe night the dead swim around by the light of the moon, in order to get salvation from their sins.

A white figure suddenly appears before his eyes. Yankev Shleyme's mind becomes very confused.

“A gut yon-tov Reb Yankev Shleyme! I am Mashe Leye the wife of the glazier, your neighbor. My husband wanted me to ask you if you could wake him at dawn to go pray. He is not feeling well.”

Yankev Shleyme had a hard time catching his breath:

“Good, yes, I will wake him soon.”

Before dawn, before the rooster had even crowed, Yankev Shleyme knocked on the neighbor's window. He was glowing with fever and could hardly stand up. Mashe Leye quickly dressed and left for the shul with Yankev Shleyme.

Darkness enveloped the shtetl. It was still very early. A farmer's wagon loaded with hay appeared on the market street. Yankev Shleyme wanted to buy it, and so did Mashe Leye. They began haggling. Yankev Shleyme became angry. A whole night without sleep, with empty dreams – he gave Mashe Leye a shove. Mashe Leye then grabbed a piece of wood from the wagon

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and hit Yankev Shleyme on the head with it. Yankev Shleyme's head spun around, and he fell over in a faint. Violence! People woke up. People ran over. Mashe Leye disappeared without a trace.

The children of both sides came running up. Then they started, unfortunately, slugging one another like the goyim. It was a miracle that the Rov arrived just then. He was on his way to shul, and he drove them apart.

But what! They fought for the whole of Hashone-rabe. First one side started it, then the other side. Faces bruised and beaten. Neighbors had no power to pull the opponents apart. Yankev Shleyme's heirs shouted, “Where is Mashe Leye?”

Evening approaches. Shmini-atseres is coming. River Lane forgets the story a little. It is a holiday after all. Hasidim still dance with the Torah, even into Shmini-atseres. Light shone through the windows. People heard kidish being made but did not see any light from Yankev Shleyme's; and Mashe-Leye's rooms were dark. It seems as though something is in the offing.

In the morning, early on Shmini-atseres, they found Mashe-Leye dead. Did she suffer apoplexy from aggravation – or, as some others said, they found signs of a beating on her body, and her tongue was badly bitten. A sign: Yankev Shleyme's sons promptly disappeared. People had seen them leaving for America. Sadness in the town. There was no feeling for Simkhes-teyre. Children told stories about the dead, about demons and ghosts.

A few days later, Yeshaye Yom-tov left his little son in his spice shop on River Lane, and she – Yeshaye Yom-tov's wife – was washing clothes in the pantry. Suddenly the boy screamed “ Shema Yisroel!” and fainted. When he came to, he told a fearful story. No more and no less – Mashe Leye came into the shop and looked at him with huge, inexpressive eyes.

Then they found other witnesses, adult people, who had seen a white figure with a strange wide hat, like a head of cabbage, strolling the streets at night. Fear descended onto the shtetl. People inspected their mezuzes. They started sending messengers to the cemetery to beg forgiveness from Mashe-Leye.

Yeshaye Yom-tov went to the Rov: “Rebi! Save us!” he yammered. “When night comes life is not a life…”

The Rov thought a little, and told him, “The next time that someone sees that figure, he must not fail, but grab it by the collar and look to see who it is.”

That same evening, a group of youths were walking on the “Broad” street.

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Suddenly, the white figure ran by. They remembered the Rov's words. They grasped one another's hands and ran after the figure.

Finally at Mud Street, out of breath, they grabbed the figure. Do you know who it was? Henrik the laborer, from Felix the gentile slaughterer's shop. He was enjoying playing a prank and scaring the little Jews.

Shmilke “Khizik” was not one of the big hotshots in town. Regarding livelihood, it was usually “narrow” with him. He was always a day short each week in being able to make Shabes. Indeed, his wife helped him to cover the “hole” in whatever way she could. In each season she sought some supplementary income. In winter she was busy plucking feathers and in summer with picking fruit. She got better revenue in the summer shav season. She would get up at dawn and walk a kilometer or two outside the town, gather shav leaves in a sack and then sell it door to door. Here I will tell of an episode from such a shav-gathering.

It was a summery day in about 1908. As usual, she, Shmilke's wife got up before dawn when it was still dark and went out on the road with an empty sack to gather shav. This time she chose the area near the Jewish cemetery – that was her idea. She walked bent over and gathered and gathered the sorrel leaves, and she did not notice how close she was creeping to the cemetery.

As you might recall, at the very entrance to the cemetery there were the two tall gravestones of Itsl Mints and his wife may they rest in peace. Shmilke's wife, seeing that she was now almost in the “good place”, wanted to quickly retreat, because one must not gather from that place. But in her great hurry and conscience-lessness, her head got a bit confused and then she evidently saw that the two white stones were moving, and that they were actually – corpses may God have mercy.

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She screamed out “Shema Yisroel” and started to run away. But her dress was caught on a small tree. She wanted to run forward but she could not, just as if the corpses were holding her back. She cried for help but go yell for help when there is no living soul around.

In short, she lost that whole sack of shav, and she dragged herself home neither dead alive. It took her some time to recover herself. Once she had rested a little, she told her husband the whole story. She also added that it was now clear to her why so many little children were dying in the town, because the corpses are walking freely around in the cemetery.

Shmilke, hearing this story from his dearest, ran to the current town Rov, the old Rov Botshan, and told him of the events with his wife. He begged him to make a great stir about it and to do something to halt the plague of children's deaths.

The Rov tried to calm him and made little of the whole story. He told him in the kindest way, that when someone dies and is buried, they cannot move any more and that the whole incident did not make any sense.

But Shmilke held his own. “Rebi”, he said “I myself saw my wife's torn dress, which resulted from struggling with the corpses. Maybe” he shouted, “that very corpse was a new-comer and does not know the old laws.”

This was, if I am not mistaken, after the First World War. The town was being gradually rebuilt, and also the small wooden study house was already finished.

Once on a Simkhes-teyre afternoon, I'm walking past the same study-house and hear the sound of a sobbing melody: “Happy is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked…”. The thing intrigues me, thinking, who can that be? I am not lazy, I go inside and see that Yisroel Hersh is sitting with a psalter and reading the chapter in that sad tune.

“Reb Yisroel Hersh,” I call out to him, “now on Simkhes-teyre when the world is rejoicing, merry, dancing in the streets, you are sitting here and reciting psalms, and even with such a mournful melody?”

“Yes,” he answers me, “don't you know then, that, especially now, the Master of the Universe is longing for some psalms?”

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A Personal “Demon”

This happened on one dark winter night in the early 1920s. It was certainly after midnight, and Binyumin Ginzburg was walking alone by the market and heard from a distance how someone was beating wash at the river.

If a simple Jew had heard that he would not have pondered over it but run off to the Rov, wakened him up, called a minyen of Jews and recited psalms. Because who could be beating laundry in the middle of the night, if not some demon, spirit or nogoodnik? But Binyumin was a worldly man of today, a conscious and enlightened young man to whom the thought of devils rarely occurred. He was generally, simply intrigued with what householder that could be, who had chosen the middle of the night to wash the laundry.

With no fear he walked in the direction that the sound of the pounding he was hearing. When he arrived at the place and looked hard into the darkness, he did not believe his eyes. Instead of a Jewess, as he had imagined, he saw a Jew with a big beard who was beating his wash on a stone with a “keyanke”.

“What is with you, Reb Meyshe?” Binyumin called out. “So late a night, you're sitting here doing your wash?”

“What do you want?” Reb Meyshe answered him. “Should I sit here in the middle of the day and wash along with all the women?”

An outing on the “Hirsh” River

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There was no Jewish shtetl in Poland without its town fool. Just as a town had its own untrained doctor, bathhouse attendant, night-watchman and midwife, so they had to find a town nutter, who belonged to the whole community and the public had to care for his subsistence.

Usually, the town fool was a half-idiot, a melancholic, or some wild creature who did harm to the residents. Goworowo was lucky. Her town fool was of course good-spirited, smiling, sang as he spoke, and was very useful by carrying water to people's houses, being responsible for himself and would do a favor for anyone.

Shleyme Akive Beserman was born in Goworowo of a fine respectable family. His father Reb Leybl, an honest Jew with a long white beard and a knowledge of the holy books was a teacher in town and a shofar-blower at the big shul. His brother Avieyzer was a rov in Kamarove. His other brother Tsadok was considered himself a philosopher, read literature and loved to discuss things.

As Shleyme Akive himself explained it, he fell from an attic as a child and since then his brain had been addled. His father dragged him around to all the doctors in the region. But nothing helped. It's possible that his supposition was correct. It could also be that he was born “touched in the head”. One thing is clear: His father used every means to help him. So Shleyme Akive was very devoted to his father. After the passing of his father (hSevet sav-reysh-ayin”giml) Shleyme Akiva once went to the cemetery and tried to dig him up out of the grave. He wanted to will him back into the home.

Shleyme Akive stood for conscription back in the Russia era, before the First World War. The military authorities suspected that he was a special kind of disability, so that he should have been freed from military service. Yet they did not release him but sent him to one of their hospitals for observation. After six months they finally did release him, and he came back

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to town well-fed, rested, happy and beaming with great joy.

Shleyme Akive poses for photographs during his work

Shleyme Akive was also a great master in eating. His stomach could accommodate loads of food – literally without limit. He did not know any satiety. In general, he was honest and never touched anyone's property. But food was different – here everything belonged to him. Woe to the Jewish wife who set the Shabes fish dish in the window to cool. Shleyme Akive would sneak it away and eat the entire kilo of fish and even two. Afterwards he just folded his hands behind him, self-assuredly strolled around the market square and sang to himself, “Aye wasn't Yente's fish delicious, a treat for the soul!”

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More than once the housewife discovered her misfortune only after hearing Shleyme Akive singing. Still, no one was angry with him. Everyone knew that if they left the fish on the windowsill without a guard, it automatically belonged to Shleyme Akive.

In his free hours, after delivering water to his clients, Shleyme Akive sat comfortably in the study-house by the oven, or in the Aleksander shtibl, napped a little or hummed a tune to himself. His good memory also served him in remembering the Jewish wordless melodies. He had a good talent for singing and remembered every song that the heard, like a real talent. It was enough to ask him, “What melody did Yisroel Leyb sing the “yetsue” to?” and he would answer right away and sing it. He often talked to himself, or carried out a whole, endless dispute with himself.

On Shabes he ate a good feast with Yeshaye Shmuel Nosn's. Afterwards he went around the houses and caught a bite of stuffed pastry, a little noodle pudding. Always a piece of khale was a good thing.

To do a favor for a person, or help someone carry a heavy parcel, Shleyme Akive was always ready, even in the middle of the night, and not, heaven forbid, for any reward. The townspeople loved him. If he got sick, everyone cared for him, he lacked nothing in the shtetl. Once a peasant, a vicious person from a nearby village, threw him down several steps and left him there unconscious. The whole shtetl then went “off its wheels”, want to punish the peasant. Porters and butchers “honored” him with a dead slug.

Shleyme Akive had his usual hostess in Khaye Zelde Klempner, the tinsmith's wife. That good woman kept him for the sake of the mitsve, gave him food, looked after him when he was sick, washed his clothes, and treated him as her own child. Thus he was very attached to her.

Shleyme Akive was murdered during the war years.

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It was rare to find a person in a shtetl who did not have a nickname in addition to his name and family name. The nicknames were given out in several categories, Most of them were according to the trade of the person in question. The family name was generally useless. It only served for the tax office and the letter-carrier. So people were called: Yoel'ke the baker, Velvl the clock-maker, Ayzik the butcher, Zaynvl the shoemaker, Yosl the harness-maker, Berish the peddler, Yankl carpenter, Leybke bath-house attendant, Yisroel Leyb teacher, Simion wheelwright, Avrom Yosl the blacksmith, Note the miller, Yisriske the ritual slaughterer, Aba wagon-driver, Mikhal the bender, Yankev Hirsh porridge-maker, Avrom Yitsik kvas-maker, Hershl candymaker, Bertshe tailor, Yosl Velvl the tinsmith, Khayim the tenant farmer, Dan the porter, Yosl hairdresser, Khaye the fisher, and so on. It also happened that the trade alone was still too little, and an “addition” was applied. Because it could happen that there would be two blacksmiths with the same name in town, people had to distinguish them: the cold blacksmith, or the cold tailor, the cold shoemaker, the cold glazier and so on. That meant a bad artisan, without talent, without taste – a simple botcher. A few were referred to by their titles, like Shaye the Councilman, Khayim the Magistrate.

There was a category of nicknaming according to one's ancestry. That did not have to be a man or man's name. Thus, some were called Khane Reytse's, Yankl the Zavelikhe's, Mendl Tsipe's and so on. The women after whose names the men were called, lived in a patriarchal style. So it was with the above-mentioned Reytse, a clever woman, to whom many people came for advice. Also popular were Yekhiel Monise's, Shaye Shmuel Nosn's, Avrom'ke Nosn Kalman's, Rokhl Shmuelke's, Bertshe Kalodzsher, Meyshe Hinde's and others.

The physical side of people could decide it, such as the big Mordkhe, the tall Shames, the little Avremele, the small Mayer'l, Avrem'l dew and rain, the locksmith, and others. Some, because of their small stature, were just called Aba'le, Itsele and the like.

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There were also those who had traveled in from other towns. They were named according to the town of their origin: Dovid Ostrover, Velvl the Radzshilover, Meyshe Pashker, Velvl the Brizshnier, Yudl Makover, Velvl the Vengrover, or the Tsherviner shoemaker, the Makover tailor, and so on.

The color of someone's face often played a role, for example, the yellow Ayzik, the black Avremele, the black Dvore and so on. We also had some regular kosher family-names like Gemora, Mishnayos and Tehilim.

A few women were called by the trade of their dead husbands. For example, Alte the carpenter'ke, Khaye Zelde the tinsmith'ke, Malke the capmaker'ke. Sore Gitl the blacksmith'ke, the chairman'ke and the like.

All these nicknames were to distinguish, not to elevate or put down. But there were nicknames that did indeed include a tone of insult. From a pure ethnographic- scientific standpoint they should be noted. Since I do not want to dishonor anyone here, what I have presented above will be sufficient, although the gallery is very large.

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