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Four men from Hrubieszow in the Czar's army
Memories
	The family of Arn Bentshes, 1911 From right: Khayim Lerer, Ben-Tziyon, Arn, Avrom (on Arn's knees), Arn's wife (holding baby), Leya. Tamar, Shprintsa, Malia (in chair)

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Barukh Yanover

Hrubieszow was the county seat for many towns in the vicinity. It was a Polish town, with a Polish Catholic population, but the rural surroundings were mixed. The villages in the south and west were Polish Catholics, whereas the villages in the north and east were populated by Eastern Orthodox Ukrainians.

The Jewish community numbered about ten thousand, and was constantly rising, either thanks to natural increase or to Jews from nearby towns who moved to the county town, where they had better chances for a good livelihood. The vast majority of the Jews were Hasidim belonging to several sects, who prayed in small synagogues (shtibls) named for the rebbe who led the particular sect. There were shtibls for the Hasids of Belz, Husiatyn, Radzin, etc. Most of the shtibls were frequented by young men, aged 14-19, who studied constantly. On winter evenings, after the evening prayer, many congregants stayed on in the shtibl, studying Talmud or Mishna. Those whose religious learning was not sufficiently advanced held discussions about politics, town affairs, or shtibl matters. There was also a grand synagogue and two houses of study, where relatively uneducated Jews prayed; these included artisans, cart-drivers, and porters.

Children studied in the traditional cheder. At age 3, a boy was taken to the young childrens' cheder, where he spent about two years. Once he could read the siddur, he transferred to a more advanced cheder, in which he studied Torah with Rashi's commentary. In the next stage, he began studying Talmud in a higher-level cheder. Finally, at age 11-12 he transferred to studying Talmud with the commentaries of tosfos and poskim.^[1] When the boy was 13-14, his basic studies in cheders were concluded. If he had the interest and the talent, he went on studying independently in the shtibl up to age 18-19, the age of marriage. If the parents saw that their son was not inclined towards studies, he was apprenticed in a shop or another commercial business or in an artisans' workshop in order to learn the ways of the world. Secular studies included Russian reading and writing, and the four basic areas of arithmetic: addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. These were taught, by a private tutor, for one or two hours a day.

The soil in and around Hrubieszow is fertile, and produces much more crops than are needed locally. These surpluses were sent by Jews to the large cities, and stored in granaries owned by Jews in the outskirts and the centers of these cities. Peasants would bring their ripe grain to these granaries, and the Jewish merchant would sell it to city merchants. Wheat and rye were also sold to flour mills in the vicinity. The high-quality flour was sold in the cities, and the plain flour was marketed to the local population.

In those days (the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries) the railroad had not yet reached Hrubieszow. There was no motorized transportation in the large cities, either. All the produce, including milk, eggs, and fowl, was sent on carts to the railroad station in Chełm, about 70 kilometers away. The carts returned laden with kerosene, salt, salted herrings, and other foodstuffs, as well as items of clothing and building supplies, all of which were needed by towns and villages alike.

The dray carts were tall and heavy, and were drawn by four powerful “lion” horses. When the driver climbed up onto his seat in these carts, his glance would rove beyond the rooftops on either side of the street. There were lighter passenger carriages as well, with padded seats and springs that jostled the travelers unpleasantly. There were hundreds of Jewish cart-drivers, who had close working relations. Loading and unloading merchandise was the job of strong Jewish porters, who could carry heavy loads on their backs and transport them with ease.

The commercial quarter of the town consisted of two sections. The shops in the modern section had doors and display windows. The shopkeeper sat behind a table, across from two or three chairs for important customers. These were clerks of the local authority, officers of the military regiment stationed in the town, Polish nobles, landowners, and, finally, the urban population, Jews and Christians. Conversations between owner and customer were polite and courteous, as was appropriate for cultured people.

The older section, in which shops supplied the needs of the peasants, was quite different. The entire front of the shop was open, the owner sat outside before the shop, and sought customers among the passers-by. If he noticed a peasant acquaintance, he would hurry towards him and cajole him into coming in. The shops were arranged in rows, according to their type of merchandise. Some rows dealt in food and notions, and leather boots; there was a long street with workshops and ready-made clothing for peasants.

A peasant who needed an overcoat, or a pair of work boots, would come to the shop with an entourage from his village - his advisers. He would haggle indifferently and prolong the negotiations, swearing and clapping his hands loudly; he would leave angrily and return hesitant and indifferent. Finally, when his advisers told him in a whisper that the price could not be lowered any further, he would buy what he needed, throw the “acquisition” over his shoulders, and run to his cart as if from a fire.

Chełm was the gateway to the material world of commerce, whereas Zamość was the route to the world of knowledge and visionaries. Zamość, which was also about 70 kilometers away, had the reputation of connection with the Haskala tradition.^[2] It was the birthplace of Alexander Tsederbaum, the editor of HaMelits, as well as of Y. L. Peretz. The Haskala scholar Ya'akov Rayfman lived in nearby Szczebreszin.^[3] Zamość was the home of a group of Maskilim, who championed progress. The Maskilim from Hasidic Hrubieszow, who sought to change their lives, looked to Maskilic Zamość for inspiration and guidance. The Jewish girls of Zamość were famous for their beauty and good taste. When a young woman from Zamość came to visit our town, everyone would admire her looks and elegant costume. The Hasidim frowned on the reverence for Zamość, which they considered a town of faithless people. They used the ancient system of Gematria to equate the city's name with “heretic.”^[4]

The Jewish community lived on a low hill overlooking the church square. Most of its members were working people: cart-drivers, porters, water-carriers, and peddlers; simple, hard-working Jews, whose cheder education amounted to elementary knowledge of the prayer book and the biblical book of King David's Psalms.

Every morning, at dawn, the residents would rise to their day's work, asking each other, “Can you see me?” If the answer was affirmative, it indicated that dawn was breaking. They would then wrap themselves in their tallis and tfillin and quickly recite the morning prayer, like faithful Jews do even when they are short of time.

The alley across the way was populated by Christians, whose livelihood depended on Jews: the men were wood-choppers and water-carriers; the women did laundry for the Jewish women and kept the fires alight on Shabbat. The space between the neighborhoods was a narrow valley that was owned by no one. It was abandoned territory, where slop and garbage buckets were emptied, and trash such as rusted sheet metal, broken barrels, and other junk accumulated. For most of the year, the valley was a stinking swamp of stagnant water. On dark autumn nights, the wild yowling

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of cats could be heard, accompanied by the barking of dogs and the grunting of pigs, and the babies of the Jewish neighborhood would hide their faces in their mothers' bosoms. Children called the area “the valley of the demons,” in a variation on the biblical “Valley of Siddim.”^[5]

The Jewish neighborhood was proud of three of its residents: Yoyne the tailor, a small, quick, elderly man, with smiling eyes and a noble face framed by a neatly combed white beard. Jews would gather in the synagogue's anteroom (known as Reb Yoyne's anteroom), where Reb Yoyne would teach the weekly portion. The anteroom, though large, could not accommodate the crowd. People climbed onto the windowsills, craning their necks to hear Reb Yoyne's words. He was well known as a popular interpreter and a wonderful allegorist. All the strange things that happened so long ago in the biblical Ur of the Chaldeans or Kadesh Barne'a became clear and familiar thanks to Reb Yoyne's explanations.^[6] Working Jews, who labored from dawn to dusk, found respite for their tired bodies by listening to the teachings of Reb Yoyne the tailor.

The second figure was Reb Moyshe, the proprietor of the olive-press. He was middle-aged and broad-boned, with a severe, lined face. The residents were proud of him, and called him “Moyshe, our olive-press owner.” He pressed olives all day in his press, and at nightfall would go to his small room and study. He was renowned as a great scholar, and an authority on the verdicts enumerated in Choshen Mishpat.^[7] The old men of the neighborhood would stand below Reb Moyshe's window at night and listen to his voice as he studied; they believed it was conducive to a good night's sleep. Reb Moyshe was the sole legal authority in the neighborhood. Women seeking a decision on matters of permission or prohibition, or conformance to the laws of kosher food, brought the question to Moyshe the olive-press owner, and would follow his decision. If a quarrel broke out in the neighborhood, the antagonists came to Reb Moyshe, lay their claims before him, and accepted his decision.

Last but not least, there was Reb Tuviya, the father of Shalom Vayner (may his memory be for a blessing). He was tall, with a long silvery beard, deeply sorrowful eyes, and an aura of nobility in all his movements. As a young man, he had been an artisan, like all the other residents of the neighborhood. However, at night he would delve deeply into books of Kabbalah and Hasidism. He became renowned as a pious Hasid who was familiar with mysticism. The rebbe of Husiatyn later brought him to his home and court, as a permanent resident. Reb Tuviya spent all year with the Rebbe of Husiatyn, and returned home to spend Passover with his family. He would sit in the shtibl immersed in a book of Kabbala, with columns of smoke rising from his pipe and his legs crossed at the knee. The shtibl Hasids respected him greatly, rising when he entered and remaining standing until he sat down. After the evening prayer, they would gather around his table to hear his Hasidic tales. Reb Tuviya's time at home led the Hasids to examine their consciences. They were spiritually elevated in his presence, and became more honest and dedicated to one another.

This was Reb Tuviya's custom during the week. On Friday nights, however, he would stay at home, surrounded by his neighbors and old friends, and regale them with his tales of Hasidic leaders. As our friend Shalom told us once on the Shabbat before Passover, all the men in the neighborhood would be coming to welcome his father. Three of us, aged 8-10, decided to meet at the edge of the fence around the house, which fence separated the property from the garden of the church priest. When we came at the appointed time, Shalom brought us into their home. It was a large, whitewashed room, with warped floorboards. Reb Tuviya was sitting at the head of the table, telling his neighbors stories of Hasidic leaders. He told of the sufferings of Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi in prison, and of the miracle that occurred when the anti-Semitic prison commander himself opened the prison doors and told the rabbi, “Gospodin Rabbi, you are free to go!”^[8]

Reb Tuviya recounted the incident calmly, and his listeners hung on his every word, deeply engaged in the event. When Reb Tuviya came to a sad part of the story, the audience would sigh; and when he described the redemption, they would rejoice. When he had completed the story of Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, his listeners would beg him, “Tuviya, tell us another story.”

And Reb Tuviya would agree, and tell them about the Grandfather of Shpola, Rabbi Barukh of Medzhybizh, the grandson of the Ba'al Shem Tov (may his memory be for a blessing).^[9] He would talk on and on, and his audience would listen raptly until the lamp ran out of oil and the wick flickered. Only then did they leave and go to their homes. On these occasions, Tuviya became a different person. With a smile on his face, he would converse with simple Jews as with his equals. They would awkwardly call him “Tuviya,” address him familiarly, and hug him affectionately as though he was one of their own.

To the right of the main road to Chelm, behind the old shops, a broad plain stretched up to the meager houses of the workers' neighborhood on the one hand, and the priest's pine-shadowed garden on the other. The plain was called “the church square,” after the Orthodox Christian church at its end. This square was large and open, and served as a parking area for the carts of the peasants in the vicinity. On market days, the raucous din of neighing horses and drunken screams could be heard. On Christian holidays, the square became a gathering place for the Christian faithful, who marched festively and bare-headed to the church, accompanied by the ringing of the bells.

The entire spacious square was owned by the Christian Orthodox church, and no Jews lived there, except for one Jewish house that had stood at its center for generations. It was an old building, and had been slated for demolition more than once. But its Hasidic residents apparently saved it from that fate, though they were not allowed to make any repairs or reinforcements. Thus, a lone, ancient Jewish house stood in the heart of a large square that was saturated with depravity and wickedness; stood crumbling, and yet stayed upright, was condemned for demolition and yet existed. This steadfastness symbolized the persistence of the Jews among the nations.

The old house consisted of four rooms, inhabited by four residents, brothers and sisters who were members of the same family. One of them, Aharon Rayz, the proprietor of a kitchenware shop, was an honest, unassuming Jew, who worked hard to sustain his family and followed the traditional route: from home to shop, and back again. The other residents were unusual, and are described below.

The oddest one was a tall, middle-aged man, with yellow hair, named Yudl Daytsh. He had deep-set, sunken eyes, and an irritable face; he was clean-shaven, with a stiff mustache, and a gleaming bald spot. He was called “Yudl the Shaven.” He made a living by mixing different kinds of tobacco and preparing fine cigarettes, which he would sell without paying the government excise tax. This was a crime, yet high-ranking officials would visit him and buy his cigarettes. Thanks to his exalted acquaintances, Yudl was considered close to the authorities, and the town residents took care not to offend him.

His habits were strange. He wore no head covering, shaved his beard, and was unmarried. He washed his own laundry, cooked his own food, cleaned his own pots, and did the housework that is traditionally done by women. The neighborhood children were curious. When Yudl Daytsh went to the market to buy produce, with his bald head, pointy mustache, and wicker basket, the children would gather around him and stare as though he were some primeval creature. Yudl would insert Russian phrases into his speech, especially the sentence “eto zakonnoje trebowanie” (“It's a legal requirement”).^[10]

He did not go to synagogue on weekdays, but on Shabbat he went to the shtibl of the Radoszyce Hasids, One Saturday, the synagogue managers decided

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not to have him participate in the Torah readings. This infuriated him. He banged the table and shouted eto zakonnoje trebowanie! They were frightened of legal repercussions, and immediately assigned him a fine portion to read.^[11]

His brother, Leybish Daytsh, was similar in character yet different in way of life. Leybish, the third resident in the house, was thin to the point of emaciation, had a pointed yellow beard, and his forehead was a lattice of blue veins. His expression was both frightened and angry. Leybish was quick to anger, and a fervent and zealous adherent of the Rebbe of Husiatyn. His gait was hurried, he prayed loudly, and spoke forcefully. People in the synagogue were offended by his very breath. He was especially alarming to children, and they were careful not to stand too close to him. His wife died young, and left six small children, whom he had to support and raise. He made a meager living from a notions shop. He was embittered by his everyday struggles and the difficulties of raising children.

Leybish Daytsh was a scholar. He would sit with a volume of Talmud in the shtibl with his cap tilted back and his shirtsleeves pushed up, his upper body spread across the table, and his face as red as though he was doing battle. The pages of the Talmud volume would become hopelessly crumpled. One of his children, a six-year-old boy, was weak and had ear problems. Our friend Shalom told us that he had witnessed Leybish caring tenderly for his child, preparing a steam bath for him and cleaning the affected ear with cotton wool; all the while, he was talking to the child tenderly, whispering, “I would do anything to make you well, my dear son!” Shalom, Reb Tuviya's son – or, as we called him, Tuviya's Shalom –who had not known much fatherly love, appreciated and admired Leybish Daytsh's fatherly care. From then on, we did not judge the man when he was upset, because we knew that he had suffered much and that his life was hard.

The fourth resident, the brother-in-law of the Daytsh brothers, Yitskhak Hudis, had a completely different personality. Yitskhak Hudis was pleasant, with a short beard and warm eyes radiating intelligence and kindness. He was a scholar, a sincere leader of prayer in the synagogue, and close to the Rebbe of Husiatyn. His wife, Gitl Hudis, baked fine rye bread for her regular customers. He took care of the simple tasks such as carrying water from the nearby stream, keeping the oven going, kneading the dough, and the like. Yitskhak and his wife baked only three days a week. When the customers begged them to bake daily, he would answer, “A Jew needs to study a book occasionally. Man does not live by bread alone!”

Emissaries from the Rebbe of Husiatyn would come occasionally, and collect contributions (known as ma'amadot) to support the Rebbe's court. Other important visitors would come, such as descendants of the Rebbe of Ruzhyn (the “grandchildren”). They came for donations to support their households, and would stay with Yitskhak Hudis, who was famous for his hospitality. When an important guest would come, the Hasids would gather at Hudis's house for conversation, and would be invited to a meal “in order to say the blessing after the meal in a group of ten.”^[12] The guest would contribute a Hasidic bit of religious lore, or a tale. The group would sing heartwarming Hasidic songs, and the neighborhood children would gather to enjoy the beautiful tunes.

Shalom Vayner was a frequent guest of Yitskhak Hudis's. The intelligent, childless man and the sensitive boy longing for a fatherly touch loved each other deeply. On holidays, Yitskhak Hudis would lead the prayers in the shtibl, and Shalom Vayner accompanied him in a deep voice. On Yom Kippur, when Yitskhak Hudis was prayer leader and reached the phrase in the “Aleinu” prayer, “we bend our knees and bow in worship,” he would fall down all at once and his bony body would thud on the wooden floor.^[13] Shalom's face would then grow pale. In later years, when Shalom Vayner had learned Hebrew and became fluent, he would say that he first learned the prayers and liturgical poems from the praying of Yitskhak Hudis, whose style and phrasing rendered the texts clear and comprehensible. Hudis's modest way of life influenced Shalom Vayner, who learned to lessen his needs, seek inner meanings, and appreciate the qualities of ordinary people.

Occasionally, ordinary guests would visit the shtibl. These were Hasids who had come upon hard times and needed charity. They would leave their homes for a few months and travel through cities and towns, where they were aided by friendly Husiatyn Hasids. They would eventually return to their homes with enough money to repay some of their debts and sustain their families for some time. These guests slept in the shtibl and ate at the Hasids' homes on different days in turn. The community members would collect a certain sum of money for them and send them back home. However, there were also dishonest guests, whose goal it was to spend as much time as possible at each location and enjoy free meals; these would devise various schemes in order to stay away longer from their homes.

One of these guests was a short, red-bearded man named Nakhumtse. Every year, he would walk to the rebbe of Husiatyn, and would spend time en route in each town that had a Husiatyn shtibl, eat at the expense of the Hasids, and take his time leaving. He spent ten months of the year wandering, one month at the rebbe's court, and one month at his home. At the height of winter every year, he would come to our town, his hands shoved inside his sleeves. When he arrived at the shtibl, he did not want to take his hands out of his sleeves to open the door, but waited until someone –from outside or inside – came and opened the door to let him in. Until then, he would pace back and forth, groaning and coughing, in the hope that someone inside would hear, take pity on him, and open the door.

One of his feet was painful. He would wrap it in many pieces of cloth, and beg people not to hurt his sore foot. Once, when he was about to leave the town, someone “hurt” his foot, and the pains, naturally, intensified. He thus “had to” postpone his departure until he felt better. At night, before he went to his bed in the shtibl, he carefully removed the wrappings on his foot and placed them under his head. In the early morning, before the Jews came to pray, he quickly wrapped the foot up, so that no one ever saw the actual foot.

One morning, when Nakhumtse was supposed to leave and go on his way, the congregants arrived and saw him lying down, groaning. He told them that he had lost his memory and could not remember which foot needed care; therefore, he was lying down and hoping for divine mercy. Everyone listened, rummaged in their memories, and remembered; but there was no consensus. Some said that the left foot was afflicted, while others said that it was the right foot. Some chose the right and some chose the left. In the meantime, the owner of the leg was lying in a sacred place, had not washed his hands and said the blessing, and no reference to God could be made in his presence.^[14] The only recourse was to call for Yudl the Melamed, who was a faithful student and a follower of Dr. Rapoport, and was considered an expert on medicine. He came with his secret bag, and took out tools: tiny hammers that gleamed inside glass tubes, and other such instruments that make their owners seem important. After completing his preparations, he would tap and listen, spread a salve and sniff, while Nakhumtse was lying spread-eagled, moaning in resignation. Following the tapping and the salves, the expert announced that it was the left foot that was ailing. Nakhumtse's eyes brightened, his memory returned, and he remembered that his left foot had troubled him all his life. Yudl Melamed bandaged the left leg expertly.

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However, the entire process had been so debilitating that Nakhumtse had to postpone his departure until he felt stronger.

The jokesters of the shtibl said that any loaf of bread that Nakhumtse eyed immediately lost some of its weight, as he would nibble at it with his eyes. The shtibl custom was that the veteran Hasids gathered every Saturday night for Melaveh-Malka, the final meal seeing out Shabbat.^[15] One Saturday night, the young men of the shtibl decided to hold their own Melaveh-Malka. Nakhumtse was staying in town, and first joined the table of the Hasids. He received his portion of fish, white challah and a glass of brandy. He consumed those quickly, and hurried to the table of the young men for second helpings. Unfortunately for him, he arrived late, after the portions had been allocated. As he stood there, watching the diners enviously, he noticed the head of a salted herring on Shalom Vayner's plate. Nakhumtse began to circle Shalom, saying, “Is that fish from Kerch? The herrings of Kerch are very fat, the best in the world.”^[16] Seeing that no one was paying him any attention, he lowered his voice and said, plaintively, “Shalom, Shalom, do me a favor and give me one eye of your fish head.” In response, Shalom held out his plate and said, “Pluck out both eyes.” Nakhumtse looked at the delicacy before him, the aroma of salt and fat overcame him, and he snatched the herring head from the plate, running away to the corridor like a cat with its prey. Ever since then, Nakhumtse was called “the snatcher.”

As mentioned, Hrubieszow was ruled by the Russian monarchy. Husiatyn, on the other hand, belonged to the empire of Emperor Franz Josef, long may he live.^[17] Those who wanted to travel to Husiatyn needed a travel document, but obtaining one was not easy. There were cases when passports were issued in the name of Polish landowners, who were allowed to cross over because their properties extended on the other side of the border. However, obtaining such a passport required considerable sums as bribes; only few Hasids could afford it. Most crossed the border at night, guided by professional smugglers who were called “border thieves.” Sometimes the smugglers, who were paid in advance, abandoned the Hasids between the borderlines. For all these reasons, only about twenty of the eighty people who comprised the congregation of the shtibl travelled to see the Rebbe in Husiatyn. The others were considered Husiatyn Hasids but could not travel. Many of them attended prayers only on Shabbat, and were derisively called “subbotniks”.^[18] The Hasids who traveled to stay with the Rebbe were considered the cream of society, supported the shtibl, and guaranteed the supply of kerosene for light and wood for heat during the winter. The Hasids disapproved of those who did not travel to the Rebbe, and hinted that they were not worthy of praying in the shtibl.

The status of those who did not travel to the Rebbe was quite dismal. Especially miserable were those who had no money or property, and seemingly sustained their families by miracles. They could not contribute to the shtibl's maintenance. Shalom Vayner was aware of this, and established a travel society. Each member contributed a small weekly sum to the society's fund, and those who read Torah portions promised to contribute. Over the course of a year, enough money accumulated to allow five people to travel. An annual lottery enabled five people to travel to Husiatyn at the society's expense. The lottery was held on Lag B'Omer.^[19] That evening, the society members gathered at the house of Yitskhak Hudis. The host placed brandy bottles on the table and his wife treated the guests to sponge cake and honey cake that she had baked. The group raised a l'chaim toast, and set up the lottery. Once it was over, the five winners were placed at the head of the table and greeted with cries of joy that were heard throughout the neighborhood. The women of the neighborhood gathered at the open windows of the house. A small keg of beer was brought, the beer was pumped into a brass pitcher, and then poured into glasses.

Yoyne Miler's family From right: Dvoyre, Yoyne, Tsipoyre, Eliezer, and Yitskhok Shtiglits

And Yudl Daytsh sings a Russian song expressing Jewish longing for the much-praised city of Jerusalem. The song has many stanzas, each ending in “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, glorious city.” His voice expressed a sense of loss and longing, and drew the listeners in. Leybish Daysh rose, placed his arm on his brother's shoulders, and the brothers – one in a skullcap and the “shaven one” in a velvet hat – began a Hasidic dance, with closed eyes and linked arms. Their steps were audible, as well as the quiet humming of Yudl, who repeated the final phrase in a sad tone. The atmosphere turned toward melancholy. Heads were lowered and all hearts were flooded with longing for salvation and redemption. The elderly Mendel Holtzer looked up to heaven and his lips repeated “kind Father.” The women of the neighborhood, who crowded at the windows, wiped their tears with the edges of their headscarves as they watched the “shaven one” dance, and whispered, “A Jewish soul, after all.”

The glasses remained empty and desolate; no one was interested in drinking, and the party took on a tone of mourning.

One of the participants was Mikha'el Gayerman. He had a yellowish beard, knew his scholarly books, was an enthusiastic Hasid, and enjoyed drinking in company. He would always say,

“A Jew should drink his wine in the company of his fellows, say the l'chaim blessing, relish a Hasidic tune, and enjoy the mitzvah of drinking with the taste of paradise. But he who drinks alone, in his small corner, will end up talking to himself and lying in the gutter like a drunkard.”

Mikha'el Gayerman was nearsighted, and would shade his eyes for a long look at what was before him. He made his living by selling boots at fairs; after years of negotiations in the marketplace, he had become used to speaking loudly. Now, he sensed the change of atmosphere. He shaded his eyes, saw that the guests' heads were lowered, their faces dejected, and the women stood at the windows with tear-filled eyes. He immediately jumped up on his chair and addressed the crowd in a loud voice:

“Hasids of Husiatyn! Tell me, is today Tish'a B'Av? Are we gathered here for a funeral?

And the crowd would shout out, “It's Lag B'Omer, and we're here for the lottery of the Travel Society.”

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They immediately broke into a joyful Hasidic dance. The room was happy once again, and the glasses were refilled with beer. This was the Travel Society's annual lottery. Shalom Vayner's initiative helped to increase the prestige of the simple Jews of the shtibl. They appreciated him, and when the time came and Shalom Vayner left the Husiatyn Hasids, the members of the Travel Society protected him.^[20]

Of all the Hasidic sects represented in Hrubieszow, only the followers of Turisk and Kuzmir hosted their leaders in our town. Every summer, the leaders would visit the town, taking turns. Their followers made elaborate preparations. The shtibl was whitewashed, inside and out, the wooden sidewalk leading to the door was raised and leveled, and the local Hasids were assigned as hosts to the many Hasids from smaller towns in the vicinity who visited their rebbes. This duty was known as eshel – the acronym for akhila, shetiya, linah.^[21] The richest member of the shtibl, the elderly Hirsh Valdman, placed his four-room house with all its contents at the disposal of the rebbe; he and his wife moved into their son's home. When the rebbe was approaching, the Hasids left the town and walked as far as the Shabbat limit.^[22] They greeted the rebbe and accompanied him into the town with song and dance. On those evenings, the shtibl was festive. The large lamps were lit, and the space was crowded. On Shabbat the rebbe would head the Shabbat table, speak about the weekly portion, expand on the weekly Torah portion, and offer examples of gamatria.^[23] The rebbe's visits were times of heightened spiritual awareness and profound joy.

The Turisk shtibl was near the shtibl of the Husiatyn Hasids, and the Turisk Hasids grew very arrogant and euphoric with all the preparations. They described the imposing appearance of the Rebbe of Turisk in great detail and repeated his gamatria theory. One was proud because the Rebbe had pinched his cheek lovingly, and another recounted that the rebbe had quizzed him on his studies. They flaunted their superiority, and we stood there feeling worthless. Our rebbe lived on the other side of the border, and was never seen or heard from. Our shtibl seemed to be in mourning, the wooden sidewalk had deteriorated, the walls were dusty, and flakes of whitewash were falling from the ceiling. Two minyans of Hasids would come to pray on weekday evenings. One of the tables had a sooty kerosene lamp hanging over it, and pale young men who seemed old sat at volumes of Talmud and read in a melancholy cadence. Sad Jews sat in the dark at a rundown table, lost in their despairing thoughts. At the very same time, the Turisk shtibl across the way was brightly lit and cheerful. As if this were not enough, the annoying boys came up with their boasting tales to tease and humiliate us.

One evening, as we were sitting sadly in silence, the cocky boys of Turisk came over and overwhelmed us with their bragging. We all grimaced. It was the last straw. Shalom Vayner started in:

“Who are you proud of? A beggar rebbe, who trudges from one town to the next and begs for charity? Take the rebbe of Husiatyn: he stays in his own home and town, and his followers steal across borders, wander around for weeks far from their homes, only in order to see their rebbe in the flesh. The rebbe of Husiatyn can be proud of the fact that he doesn't beg at his followers' homes.”

The young Turisk Hasids grew silent, and never patronized us again.

The congregations of Hrubieszow's synagogues had the habit of holding the evening prayer on the second night of a holiday after the stars were visible. The rationale was that according to Jewish law, the second day of the holiday equaled a weekday. As Jewish law prohibited doing work on a holiday for the purpose of a weekday, the second night's meal could only be cooked on that night, no earlier. It would be hours before the festive meal would be ready. There was no need to hold the evening service early, and it was a good chance to do some studying in a sacred book.

Mikha'el Gayerman's family From right: Yehuda, Avraham, Mikha'el, Barukh, Roza, Mother, and Sara

One of the latter was an unassuming man, a member of the Travel Society, who made his living selling earthenware pots. His father died when he was young and he, as the eldest, had to sustain his mother and younger brothers. He had had to break off his cheder studies before gaining reading proficiency. On this second evening of the holiday, he was sitting at the table with a Hebrew volume printed in Rashi font.^[25] As the hours dragged on, he gathered his courage and banged on the table loudly, as though reminding his fellows that it was time for the evening service. He thought no one would identify the perpetrator, but everyone stared at him, surprised and irritated. Mikha'el Gayerman, the synagogue manager, shaded his eyes, looked at him and scolded, “What's your hurry? Have you finished the entire Torah?”

The others returned to their books, and the poor pot seller blushed. He buried his face in his hands and remained sitting silently until the books were closed and the evening service began. The members of the Travel Society were angered: insulting someone in public was inexcusable, and even more so during a holiday. The more irritable members wanted to reprimand the offending member. The group was in danger of splitting; but as it was late in the evening, the members scattered to their homes, and the incident faded with time.

Time passed, and the holiday came around again. On the second evening, people sat at the tables in the shtibl and studied happily. The members of the Travel Society, headed by Shalom Vayner, gathered around a table and opened their books. After some time, Shalom said, “Would you like me to tell you a story about Reb Nakhumtse?”

They immediately closed their books and turned towards him to listen. Shalom recounted how Nakhumtse crossed the border on his way to see the rebbe while carrying a passport in the name of Franek Katolicki, a Polish man who owned an estate in the border region. When he came to the town of Uhnów, an Austrian gendarme stopped him. Nakhumtse held out his passport with trembling hands and imploring eyes. The gendarme looked at Nakhumtse, read the name in the passport, and asked in German,

[Columns 479-480]

“Wie ist ihr name?” (“What is your name?”)^[26]

As it happened, Nakhumtse forgot his “name,” and all his efforts to remember were in vain. Realizing that he was in great danger, he called out to heaven, Shema Yisra'el!^[27]

Shalom continued his tale, and the listeners were riveted to hear that the gendarme took Shema Yisra'el for Nakhumtse's name, placed his gold-rimmed spectacles on his nose, studied the passport carefully, and read the name “Franek Katolicki” out loud. The gendarme sprang up, turned to Nakhumtse angrily, saying, “Shema Yisra'el? Nicht wahr! (Shema Yisra'el? That's not true”). When Nakhumtse heard those words, he fell to the ground, shook all over spasmodically, crying out weakly, “Help, Jews, what sacrilege!”

The tale spun on, with more and more people listening. It was time for the evening service. The synagogue manager, Mikha'el Gayerman, shut his book, banged on the table, and announced gravely, “It's time for the evening service.” Shalom Vayner interrupted his tale, and said, “What's your hurry? Have you finished the entire Torah?”

He continued his account, describing how all the Jews of the town came and looked after Nakhumtse, reviving him. The tale seemed endless; the synagogue manager became irate, but Shalom Vayner was backed by the entire Travel Society membership. Woe to anyone who would offend him! At this point, Yitskhak Hudis came up, tapped Shalom Vayner on the shoulder, and said, “The children will fall asleep, the wine won't be blessed, and the holiday meal won't be eaten, all for the sake of the story about Nakhumtse. It's not worth it. Goodbye.”

The storyteller stopped his tale, the Travel Society members were satisfied, and Yitskhak Hudis led the holiday evening service. The synagogue-goers decided to hold the evening prayer immediately after dark. Those who wanted to study the sacred texts could do so afterwards, while anyone who wanted to leave was free to go without disturbing the study of the others.

Japan's declaration of war on Russia in 1904 came as a complete surprise. The Russian army was considered invincible, whereas the Japanese were a completely unknown quantity. The Hasids wondered: how did the little “Japanchik” get the gall to attack huge Russia? Interest in events in Manchuria increased. The names of Dalny, Liaoyang, and Mukden^[28] were widely heard, as though they were names of towns in our vicinity.

One member of the congregation in the Husiatyn shtibl was Efrayim Firsht, a man of over fifty, short, with gold-rimmed spectacles, a well-trimmed beard, and a measured gait, who gave the impression of importance. He was the proprietor of a modern cosmetics shop, which was patronized by the Russian officers.

When the war broke out, Efrayim Firsht took out a subscription to HaTsfira. On Friday evenings, after the evening service, he would sit down in his seat at the prestigious eastern wall of the synagogue, and explain the battlefield situation in Manchuria to the congregation.^[29] He based his explanations on Nachum Sokolov's Divrey Ha-Yamim articles rather than on the information he gleaned from the Russian officers who were his customers.^[30] Efrayim Firsht was pro-Russian, and presented incontrovertible evidence that the Russians would win the war, and that all the retreats commanded by General Kuropatkin were strategic.^[31] The Hasids listened to Efrayim Firsht and did not dare to contradict him, knowing that he relied on the great man Sokolov. However, they secretly dreamed of Russia's defeat, and considered all of Firsht's explanations unreasonable.

His house was nicely furnished. The finest street in Hrubieszow was Pańska: it was paved, the buildings along it were surrounded by gardens, and its residents were officials of the Russian authorities and the few Polish intellectuals. On Saturdays, the street was thronged with Jewish strollers going to the municipal park at its end and the grove of birches behind the bridge. Here, in a quiet corner near the handsome street, Efrayim Firsht constructed a small house. He planted flowers and lawns around the house, and worked in his garden after finishing his day's work at the shop, enjoying the flowers and their fragrance.

He was childless, and raised his three nephews whose father – his brother – had died. They called him “uncle,” and he was known to all as the uncle; the three orphans were known as cousins. Efrayim Firsht was even-tempered, gave charity readily, more than the other wealthy members of the shtibl.

He also purchased books of modern Hebrew literature, had them beautifully bound, and kept them in glass-fronted bookcases. However, the books were largely decorative, as Efrayim Firsht could not understand all the contents, and refused to lend them to others. The “uncle” was rigid on that point, explaining that people do not usually take good care of borrowed books. It's also possible that the Hasids did not allow him to open his bookcases to the young men of the shtibl, as it might cause them to stray from religion. The young men could not understand why “uncle” would not allow them to read his books. Regulations in the shtibl were different: the bookcases were open to all. Anyone who wanted to study could remove a book. The young men resented this, and Efrayim Firsht tried to placate them by lending his issues of HaTsfira to Shalom Vayner. He even gave Shalom some lessons, to help him read. During one of these sessions, he explained that a Hebrew newspaper was not meant for women or uneducated men, and Shalom should read it seriously and not for entertainment. A HaTsfira article should be studied carefully. A reader might come across an unclear sentence, which he could not understand by any means, but it was not the fault of the editor.

Of course, a writer as intelligent as Sokolov was capable of explaining everything very well. Whose fault is it, then? It's the censor who wouldn't let the editor write what he wanted to, and the text was hard to understand because of him. Thus, for example, we read that Baron Ginzburg, a rich, learned, and well-respected Jewish resident of St. Petersburg was making efforts to convince the Czar to grant the Jews seven rights. There are no details of these seven rights. Sokolov was certainly capable of providing details. But, he says, it is the fault of the censor. The gullible “uncle” reads in HaTsfira about the efforts of the St. Petersburg Jews to grant the Jews equal rights, and understands that these are specific rights but that the censor apparently prohibits their publication.

Efrayim Firsht's explanatory classes occurred more and more often, and Shalom Vayner's impatience increased accordingly. Several young men who had the means subscribed to HaZeman, which then published in Vilna both the daily and the monthly editions.^[32] Both newspapers – daily and monthly – were read out loud to the subscribers and explained by Shalom Vayner. These were Vayner's first steps in the dissemination of Hebrew language and literature. He did his best to provide a broad background for the events recounted in the newspaper, in order to encourage the “brainy” young men towards independent thinking. It was a deep, thorough reading, which left quite an impression. Two examples follow.

At that time the Social-Revolutionary movement flourished in Czarist Russia, especially among students. A news item in HaZeman reported that a student had shot and killed the Czar's uncle, the Governor General of Moscow, Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovitch.^[33] The assassin was arrested on the spot. HaZeman continued to publish details of the assassin's life, studies, background, etc. Among other items, the newspaper announced that the murdered man's wife had visited the prison where her husband's assassin was being held, and had a conversation with him. The conversation was not described, but the reporter said that the assassin had wept. We read it, and learned that this was an inner conflict between the dictates of conscience, which was disgusted by bloodshed, and the realization that revolt against oppressive rule by any means possible – including assassination – was vital.

[Columns 481-482]

According to this view, the significance of the shot fired in Moscow went beyond the personal and became a tragic symbol of the revolutionary generation, whose path was simultaneously bloodstained and conscience-stricken.

The second example is an article by M. L. Lilienblum that appeared in HaZeman, “Fragments of an Old Man's Ideas.”^[34] The elderly writer argued with the young ideologues who were seeking religious or economic justification for their Zionism. He quoted Nietzsche's well-known aphorism, “If a temple is to be erected, a temple must be destroyed.” Reading the article, the young men learned about the development of social movements. They were taught that every new social movement or worldview must begin by taking over public opinion. It carries out an ideological assault on the dominant conventional ideologies and worldviews. This is what Nietszche meant by “destroying a temple.” The new movement is aided by social elements that are comfortable with rebellion; as the Mishna says, “To a slave, a life of licentiousness is preferable.”^[35] But when the new ideology requires efforts and sacrifice on the part of its believers, in order to lay the foundation for its new world, when “the temple is to be erected,” these rebels drop out one by one. Thus, we often see a popular movement that had exhibited its power while fighting convention, or “destroying a temple,” revealed as popularly weak when nearing its objective of “erecting a temple.”

Reading HaZeman, and the resulting conversations, broadened the ideological horizons of the young men and enriched their knowledge. The Hasids saw that the young men were reading HaZeman with great interest, and thought that this was like Efrayim Firsht's readings in HaTsfira, aimed at understanding the progress of the war in Manchuria, and understanding its secret strategies. But when the young men subscribed to HaShiloach and began to study the articles of Ahad Ha-Am and Berdichevski, and repeated ideas such as “Jews were not made for Judaism; rather, Judaism was created for Jews,”^[36] the Hasids realized that the danger was extreme. They then forbade the young men to read secular books, and their zealots even prohibited study of the Jewish prophets.^[37] They carried on a series of polemics with the young “backsliders.” On one of these occasions, Shalom Vayner turned to the Hasidic fanatics and said, “Your prohibition of free thought is not in the spirit of the Torah. In fact, the Ten Commandments that Moses gave the people of Israel at Mt. Sinai do not include the commandment ‘Thou shalt not think.’ ”

One year, on the eve of Sukkot, an announcement appeared on the shtibl door, saying that Shalom Vayner was opening a modern cheder, in which all the subjects would be studied according to the “Hebrew-in-Hebrew” method.^[38] The congregation read it and wondered, “What does ‘modern cheder’ mean? Does the cheder in which we and our ancestors studied need modernization? This is a dangerous change.” The fanatics were furious: “Idolatry! Who dared to place such an announcement in our synagogue?”

But the damage was done. The announcement was on the door, and could not be removed and torn up because of the holiday. The first modern cheder in Hrubieszow opened just after Sukkot. Its first pupils were children who had attended several cheders and had not become integrated into any of them. The first task of the young teacher was to convince the students of their own abilities, and that if they dedicated themselves to studying they would do just as well as others of their age.

The school day at the modern cheder began with singing or public reading. They read and sang chapters of Psalms, as well as medieval and modern Hebrew poems. The songs became known throughout the town, and the pupils of cheders asked the others to teach them the fascinating new songs.

These innovations helped the modern cheder to develop a good reputation. The number of pupils increased, and another teacher was needed. Shalom Vayner called on his younger brother, Avraham Dov (may his memory be for a blessing), who was a gentle, poetic person (he was killed by a stray bullet at the end of World War I). The brothers saw teaching young children as their vocation. Together, they continued to teach Hebrew and Hebrew literature to the young men in the shtibls.

In 1908, Shalom Vayner was invited to head the Hebrew Kadima school in Zamość. Many in our town were delighted and sad simultaneously. It was gratifying to know that Zamość, the city of intellectuals, was inviting a teacher from Hrubieszow, who had begun his studies in a shtibl, to teach its young people. At the same time, it was difficult to part from a friend. The day he left town, we were all in mourning. Shalom Vayner promised that he would keep in touch from Zamość.

And he did keep his promise. He wrote us long letters in which he discussed all the topics then current in our Hebrew culture. Occasionally, he would come to our town to spend Shabbat with his brother, the teacher. His friends and students would then gather, read a Hebrew poem or story together, discuss a current issue, and usually conclude by singing a Hebrew song that strengthened our sense of comradeship. When Shalom Vayner was in town, his brother's house became a center of attraction for everyone.

Once, a conversation that began in good spirits suddenly turned towards buried childhood sufferings, and caused us distress and depression. This was in 1912 or 1913, when Shalom Vayner came to visit and some thirty people, close friends as well as acquaintances, gathered in his brother's home. Those present included members of the Bund, and former students of the modern cheder who had kept in touch with their Hebrew teacher. Almost everyone knew Hebrew. One of the group suggested reading a Hebrew poem.

A beloved member of the group, the young and sensitive Ya'akov Royter, rose and gave a beautiful reading of the poem “On the Slaughter” by Hayyim Nahman Bialik.^[39] Yet the listeners did not seem to be moved; he finished his reading and the audience was disappointed. This reading was followed by the reading of Zusman Segalovitsh's Yiddish work “Reyzele, the Slaughterer's Daughter”; the reader was a member of the Bund.^[40]

The group immediately came alive and listened intently until the end, which was met with general applause. Our fellow enthusiasts for Hebrew culture were disappointed: one of us had just read aloud one of Bialik's “poems of wrath” and the listeners were unmoved, whereas an undistinguished work in Yiddish aroused enthusiasm. Shalom Vayner remarked,

“We have seen that the reading from Segalovitsh was more successful than the reading from Bialik. This was due to two reasons: 1) Hebrew is not alive for us. We did not grow up with its idioms and rhythms. We believe that only when the nation lives a natural life in the Land of Israel will its Hebrew language be a living language. 2) The content of Bialik's poem is profound and exalted. It is a despairing cry of pain at our terrible conditions in exile. Understanding the poem in all its sublimeness requires the listener to be in a state of perception that is rare. We can only influence the listener when we read matters related to our daily life, such as the popular tale by Segalovitsh that we have just heard.” Vayner then opened an issue of the HaShachar youth magazine, which was then being published in Warsaw.^[41] He asked the group to copy the following poem:

“In the bustle of day and the silence of night,
I hear the sounds of weeping.
All grows still and silent
At the melancholy tones.

Woe to the son who was forced
To leave his father's home.
In vain he seeks
Both fatherly pity and fatherly fury.^[42]”

He then rose and read the poem out loud, quietly, as if reading to himself. It was like a sorrowful prayer. When he came to the lines “In vain he seeks / both fatherly pity and fatherly fury” he seemed to be searching for something that was lost to him forever, and his expression was forlorn.

When he finished reading, a deathly silence came over the room. Vayner sat down, rested his head in his hands, and sank deep into thought. These were thoughts of a young Hebrew man living a life of loneliness and poverty, who was longing for love and for his distant father. He was thinking of Friday night meals that were devoid of holiness, in the absence of a father to bless the wine and the table. His heart bore a deep wound that had not healed, and the poem reawakened the pain.

Translator's Footnotes:

1. The tosfos are Talmudic commentaries by rabbis of the 12^th to the mid-15^th centuries. Poskim refers to responsa regarding religious law from 1600 to the present-day. Return
2. The Haskalah, sometimes known as the Jewish Enlightenment, was an intellectual movement among the Jews of Central and Eastern Europe. Return
3. Alexander Tsederbaum (1816-1893) was the editor and publisher of Ha-Melitz, the first Hebrew periodical issued in Russia and of the pioneering Yiddish journal Kol Mevasser. Yitskhak Leib Peretz (1852-1915) the pre-eminent European Jewish cultural figure of the time, was a Yiddish and Hebrew poet, writer, essayist, and dramatist. Jacob Rayfmann (1818–1895) was a scholar and writer. Return
4. Gamatria is a Jewish form of numerology in which the letters of the Hebrew alphabet are substituted with corresponding numbers. Return
5. Genesis 14:3, mentions the “Valley of Siddim” as the site of a major battle. The biblical Hebrew “Siddim” resembles the biblical shedim (Deuteronomy 32, 17), translated as “demons.” Return
6. These place names figure in the books of Genesis and Numbers. Return
7. Choshen Mishpat, the last part of a 14^th-century compilation of Jewish law, deals with laws of finance, financial responsibility, damages (personal and financial) and legal procedure. Return
8. Shneur Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812) was an influential rabbi and the founder of Chabad Hasidism. Gospodin is a Russian honorific. Return
9. The “Grandfather of Shpola,” Arye Leyb of Shpola (1725-1812) was a Hasidic Rebbe and was known as a popular miracle-worker and faith healer based in Shpola, Ukraine. Rebbe Borukh of Medzhybizh (1753–1811) was the grandson of the Ba'al Shem Tov (Rabbi Yisro'el ben Eliezer, 1698-1760), the founder of Hasidism. Return
10. The Russian phrase is presented in Polish transliteration. Return
11. Some Torah readings are considered more prestigious and desirable than others, depending on their content and location. Return
12. The blessing can be said individually, but when said in a group of ten (minyan) the name of God is included at the beginning. Return
13. The Aleinu prayer is recited several times a day in community prayer. The original Hebrew of the phrase transliterates as va'anachnu kor`im, umishtachavim umodim. Return
14. Jews do a ritual hand-washing and say a special blessing at the beginning of the day. Return
15. Melaveh-Malka translates literally as “accompanying the queen,” and stems from the tradition that the Sabbath is personified as a queen that comes to visit. Return
16. I was not able to identify the place name. Return
17. Emperor Franz Josef ruled the Austro-Hungarian empire from 1848 to 1916, and was considered favorable towards the Jews. Return
18. Subbotniks (“Sabbatarians”) is a common name for adherents of Russian religious movements that split from Eastern Orthodoxy in the late 18^th century. The majority were converts to Rabbinic or Karaite Judaism. Return
19. Lag B'Omer is a minor religious holiday that is celebrated between Passover and Shavuot. Return
20. The reference here is unclear. Return
21. The Hebrew phrase translates as “food, drink, lodging.” Return
22. The Shabbat limit refers to the eruv, a symbolic boundary created with a string of wire typically hung from a series of utility poles or other structures. The eruv creates a safe space for Orthodox Jews to carry certain items they otherwise would be forbidden to carry while outside the home on the Sabbath Return
23. Gamatria is a numerological system in which Hebrew letters correspond to numbers. This system was developed by practitioners of Kabbalah (derived from Greek influence) and became a tool for interpreting biblical texts. Return
24. The pre Yom Kippur expiation ritual during which some Jews would twirl roosters around their heads. Return
25. Rashi is a Hebrew typeface for the Hebrew alphabet based on 15^th-century Sephardic semi-cursive handwriting. It is named for the 11th-century rabbinic commentator Rashi, whose works are customarily printed in this typeface. Return
26. The “German” is transliterated from the Yiddish representation. Return
27. Shema Yisra'el (Hear, O' Israel) is a prayer recited several times daily, and in times of grave distress. Return
28. Towns in China impacted by the conflict. Return
29. The seats along the east-facing wall of the synagogue are reserved for the rabbi and other dignitaries. Return
30. Nachum Sokolov (1859 – 1936) was a Zionist leader, author, translator, and a pioneer of Hebrew journalism. Divrey Ha-Yamim, loosely translated as “History,” was the heading of his daily column in Ha-Tsfira. Return
31. Alexey Kuropatkin (1848-1925) commanded the Russian troops in Manchuria in 1904-1905. Return
32. HaZeman was the only Hebrew daily newspaper in tsarist Russia to appear regularly during 1903-1915. The frequency of its publication depended on conditions. Return
33. Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich (1857-1905) was the uncle of Czar Nikolai II and an extremely influential, very conservative, figure. Return
34. Moshe Leyb Lilienblum (1843-1910) was a Jewish freethinker, influential scholar, and author who espoused national independence for the Jews in Palestine as the solution to their problems. Return
35. Mishna Gittin 13. Return
36. Ahad Ha-Am (“one of the people”), the pseudonym of Asher Ginzberg (1856-1927) was a Hebrew essayist, and one of the foremost pre-state Zionist thinkers. He is known as the founder of cultural Zionism. Micha Yosef Berdichevski (1865-1921) wrote in Yiddish, Hebrew, and German and successfully expressed the ambivalence of the ambivalent attitude of contemporaneous Jews towards the traditional Jewish world, and the secular European culture. I was not able to identify the source of this quote. Return
37. The Bible was expected to be studied through the mediation of the Mishna and the Talmud. Return
38. This pedagogical method was developed at the turn of the 20^th century. Return
39. Bialik (1873-1934) is considered the pre-eminent Hebrew poet of the late 19^th and early 20^th century. His long poem “On the Slaughter” (Al HaShechita) was a milestone in Hebrew letters. It was written in response to the Kishinev pogrom of 1903, and expresses the deep anguish of Jews at the time. It was the first of several works by Bialik that expressed the shock and pain that ensued after the pogroms at the turn of the century. Return
40. This is the Yiddish story “Reyzele dem shoykhets.” Return
41. HaShachar was a Hebrew monthly first published in Vienna (1868-1884) and later in Warsaw. Return
42. I was not able to identify this poem or the writer. Return

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