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[Columns 535-535]
Translated by Yael Chaver
On the night that begins Yom Kippur, when the Jews are tired after eating too many kapores and half-dazed from candle fumes, and are deep in sleep, the Shabbat-goy remained in the synagogue to keep watch over the hundreds of memorial candles and make sure that no fires broke out.[1]
But the Jews were wrong. Levke, the Shabbat-goy, slept just as soundly as the Jews after their heart-rending prayers. Suddenly, a tall wax memorial candle began bending over due to the heat of the surrounding candles, and dripped hot wax on the hay that covered the floor. Flames engulfed everything, and tendrils of fire coiled out of the windows onto the roof of the women's section. By the time the large copper bell roused the sleeping Jews, and the entire town began searching for the Shabbat-goy, - but he had long since left the land of the living.
The Jews stood there helplessly. Who would dare to desecrate the holiday, God forbid? White doves suddenly arrived, and began quenching the fire with their white wings.[2] But it was too late–the fire had taken everything, except for the brass chandeliers and the large Hanukkah lamp. It was rumored that the soles of the Shabbat-goy's boots had also survived. The brass objects were quickly hidden away, in the hope that once the new synagogue was built, with God's help, everything would be set up properly.
The Jews did not wait long. Life without a synagogue was unheard of. The synagogue managers and some well-to-do Jews started the project. A tax was levied on everyone and everything in the community, including onions and garlic. The money collected was given to the richest Jew in town for safekeeping. Non-Jews began bringing massive oak trees from the Skryhiczyn forest, which had a reputation for good construction materials. Smoke began to come out of the large chimney of the brickworks, so that the bricks would be ready on schedule. All day long, cart drivers and lime carriers kept moving their wagons of lime and bricks towards the synagogue.
Jewish painters and carpenters, who were numerous in Hrubieszow, rolled up their sleeves and set to work. The wall rose from day to day, and the town was privileged to dedicate the new synagogue precisely on the first day of Hanukkah.[3] Large brick cellars were built under the foundation, as a refuge in time of need. But Jewish farmers such as Noyekh Zelner, Moyshe Pashzane, Toybe the Vedinkorn, and Yankl Ranet were the main users of the cellars, where they stored their large barrels of pickled cucumbers and apples for kvass.[4] On the eve of Passover, after the last remnants of leavened bread had been burned, Noyekh Zelner would tuck his coattails into his belt, and stride with two shining new cans – dedicated for Passover use – full of apple kvass, with a shine that could awaken the dead.
Two large doors led into the large hall of the new synagogue. The porters' anteroom was on the right, and the tailors' anteroom on the left.[5] One entered the synagogue down a few stairs, so as to fulfill the verse, “From the depths I cry out to you, Lord.”[6] On the left was a space where the Torah scrolls were kept in large wooden boxes, after reading and participating in the Simchat Torah dances.
When everything was ready, the Jews brought in the best artistic painter, who had decorated three synagogues. His conditions were a daily payment of 25 rubles, and no requirement to wear a head covering while at work. The Jews had no choice but to agree, and the paintbrush began its labor, depicting, as the verse says, “Each kind of bird and … each kind of clean livestock.”[7] Each creature had its own color and was in its own place, a real work of art. There is the “great eagle” with its two outstretched wings, ready to pounce on me any minute and snatch the cap off my head; and here is the hawk (‘Sperber” in German), holding in its beak a chick just snatched from its mother.[8] It is impossible to count all the animals and birds depicted there; they seemed to be more numerous than the animals of Noah's Ark.
On the other hand, the fabulous sacred creatures that decorated the reading desk are engraved in my memory.[9] The front bore the dragon, coiled up like the rebbe's holiday sash on the reading desk (excuse the comparison), I did not really fear the dragon, to whom I was introduced by my teacher Traytl the melamed (may he rest in peace).[10] It is a lazy creature, who lounges in the sand and warms itself in the sun's heat that exceeds 140 degrees, just like the rebbe's cat on the box of hot coals. If anyone treads carelessly, the dragon just nudges the sole of his foot; in the words of the verse, “a serpent by the road…that bites the horse's heels,” because it's too lazy to raise its head up. Obviously, it won't dare to leap all the way from the reading desk to harm me; so I'm not worried about it.
The wild ox, with its two curved shofar-like horns, was above the dragon, waiting for the Messiah.[11] What choice did it have? I was a bit worried over it: am I its business? Is it my business? It would be a long time until the Messiah held the feast.
The bear was on the left-hand side. Luckily, it was facing east. You could tiptoe up close and it wouldn't notice. But it wouldn't be terrible if it did notice you, God forbid, because you know that the bear has to turn its body around in order to take a good look, and by the time that happens you'll already be gone.
The artist placed the lion on the right-hand side. Its head was slightly turned, and its lolling tongue evoked the warm blood of the lambs it had just killed. Everyone was terrified, especially the small boys like me, as though the lion was roaring, “Rascals, stay far away.”
And all the work was finished.[12] Everything was finished by the first candle of Hanukkah. Jews from the entire vicinity gathered: from Kryłów, Laszczew, Tyszowce, Horodło, and ordinary Jews. The synagogue was tightly packed.
[Columns 537-538]
At the dedication, the Rebbe of Turisk (may his merit protect us) was honored with lighting the first candle. But the synagogue managers were at a complete loss. The sun was low in the sky, when the sexton and two porters went to the cemetery in order to dig out the chandelier and the Hanukkah lamp that had been buried there after the fire. There was no word from them. The sun had set, and the entire community was wondering what had happened.
The sound of faraway Hasidic song could now be heard; the Hasids were singing and dancing as they accompanied their rebbe to the synagogue. Moyshe Khayim the artist was dancing along on two stilts, holding a Torah scroll. He always entertained at Jewish parties, as well as the newly married couple at weddings.
The sexton burst in like a thunderclap, with the sad news that there had been a theft and only the wooden box was there. Naturally, this news quickly reached the rebbe. He instantly told the manager, “Hurry and bring me a large drill.” Berl the wheelwright immediately ran home and brought the large drill that he used to make large openings in the wheels.
“Berl,” said the rebbe (peace be upon him), “take the drill and start making holes in the door.” Berl looked at the shiny new door and thought that the rebbe might have made a mistake. Plucking up his courage, he asked “In the new door?” “Yes,” said the rebbe in a decisive tone, “In the new door.”
With all his strength, Berl drove the drill into the door. The crowd started to surge towards it. Everyone was wondering what he was planning.
Yankl the thief, of whom people would say, “he skillfully opens the gates,” was in the crowd.[13] He didn't think that this had any connection with him. But when Berl the wheelwright started drilling into the door, he, Yankl the thief, heard a humming in his head. He thought, “Is it because I've had too much to drink for the holiday?” But the more Berl drilled, the stronger the pain grew, and fiery circles swirled before his eyes.
“Oh,” he said, “that's not the brandy.”
He also felt that each time Berl took a break, his pain lessened. Well, he thought, it must have something to do with him, Yankl the thief. He let out a wail,
“Holy rebbe, stop – you've drilled almost all the way through my head. I'll give it all back, and I swear that I'll never steal from Jews again.” The synagogue manager and other Jews accompanied him to the old cemetery, and dug out all the brass objects from under a tombstone.
The Jews had a double celebration, and sang the old, familiar psalm “A song for the dedication of the temple.”[14]
They say that when Yankl the thief was on his deathbed, he assembled his entire family and ordered them not to steal from Jews.
We know that they fulfilled his order: Jews were not those whom his oldest grandson, Khone Volik, robbed.
Translator's Footnotes:
Translated by Yael Chaver
In the large house of study, we, the students of Reb Zerakhl, sat on long benches along the long, narrow table, studying Talmud and swaying so much that our heads collided. We also chatted, which our teacher rarely noticed.
Reb Zerakhl sat at the head, with his snuffbox nearby. It was made of horn – maybe even the horns of the red heifer?[2] The box had a wooden cover, with a leather strap. He would open the box with a single pull on the strap, insert two thin fingers and removed some snuff, which he crammed into his hairy nostrils. This was followed by a sneeze so loud that the stove shook. He held a small whip with twelve lashes, with which he struck his students, the descendants of Jacob and of the twelve tribes.
The sun peeked through dusty windows and glanced at the High Holiday prayerbooks, and the texts for the eve of Shavuot, that were laid out for us on the table. Each prayerbook served three students.
Reb Zerakhl sat at the table and wiped the cracked lenses of his black-rimmed glasses with his red neckerchief. “Well,” he shouted, “it's time to start, you rascals.”
He recited the opening to the Akdamus liturgical poem, and began practicing it with us in the special melody.[3] We chanted each Aramaic phrase and its Yiddish translation: Akdamus, “before I begin”; milin, “to say the Ten Commandements”; sharayut shuta, “I request permission to speak.” The melody reminds me of the river with the pond. I stop looking at the prayerbook and switch to the window. I see the pond near Berl the wheelwright's, in all its glory. The burdock plant sends up its pointed tips, like swords; they serve as Shavuot decorations in homes. I can smell their wonderful fragrance now, as though I were at Berl the wheelwright's pond. White pond flowers are also in bloom, like cups surrounded by broad, thick leaves. Tiny green frogs hop on the leaves, singing God's praises.[4]
All my thoughts revolved around the pond, and I wasn't listening to the chant of Reb Me'ir the cantor. Suddenly, I felt a heavy lashing, accompanied by a shout: “You, the one back there, why are you sitting in the corner and looking at the window? Nothing is written there. The devil take you, what are you dreaming of? Tell me!”
[Columns 539-540]
“Start over again, you lazy guys! Non-Jews!” And he would launch into his introduction: … “There was a cantor named Reb Me'ir, who envied the angels for praising God with song while we Jews did not. So he wrote the Akdamus, in Aramaic, so that the angels wouldn't understand it.” He cracked his whip and shouted:
“Repeat out loud after me, you bastards: akdamus– before I start; milin – to recite the Ten Commandments; ve-sharayos – I request permission; shuta – to speak”, etc.
Now my heretical thoughts stirred. Why would Reb Me'ir the cantor fear the angels? Besides, can the angels not understand Aramaic? I thought I would ask the rebbe. I was still debating whether to ask him, when I heard his holy voice again: “What? Asleep again? May eighty-eight devils take you! You will be a scholar, no matter what!” We continued studying in groups of three, like the troika of horses in the cart of Leyb the twisted.
If I remember correctly, the day was very hot, as though heaven was scattering hot coals. Soon after finishing our studies, we did not go to the general studies teacher, Yankl Garb, but straight down to the river. There were no burdocks in the river. As we were still in the Omer-counting period, we did not stay at the river for long, but went directly to the lake near Palatshke's orchard.[5] The pond looked like a large round pan, almost entirely covered with green dots that looked like green poppy seeds. The water in the middle of the lake was as pure as the sun beaming out of a cloudy sky. Burdocks and white water flowers grew at the edge of the pond.
Half-naked Jewish fish sellers stood near the small bridge by the tall poplars, pulling fish out of the large, perforated boxes that served as traps, and placed them in baskets. We thought they couldn't see us, so we set out on our mission. Getting into the pond wasn't easy, as the bank was steep. We were not scared, but trusted in the Talmudic phrase, “Those en route to perform a commandment are not susceptible to harm.”[6]
This is how you pick greenery for Shavuot is this: one guy takes off his boots and his pants, and gets into the water. Another holds his coattails, like the reins of a horse, so that he won't slip into the water. For security, a third person holds the coattails of the second. The team consisted of the group that studied the prayerbook together.
Just after he pulled out the first burdock, the one who was in the water slipped and pulled us in as well. All three of us started to flounder around among the burdocks. The fish sellers noticed this, left their fish, and pulled us out of the water. One of them was Yosl the fisher, who was a Turisk Hasid. When he saw me he let out a shout: “Look who's here, folks! Motl the scribe's pride and joy is one of the non-Jewish kids.” He took me by the hand, brought me home, and handed me over to my father.
That year, my eve of Shavuot was transformed into the eve of Tisha B'Av.
Translator's Footnotes:
Translated by Yael Chaver
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Passover is a fine time, God liberated the Jews from Egypt, He decorated Pharaoh with plagues, And led us across the sea. Refrain: Oh, how nice and good it is to be a Jew.
Shavuot is also a pleasure,
Rosh Hashanah is the time to sound the shoyfer
Yom Kippur is also not bad
Sukkot is such a pleasure,
Hoshane-Rabe is halfway through,
Simkhes-toyre is also great, |
Translator's Footnotes:
by Yehoshu'a Zomer, New York
Translated by Yael Chaver
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First of all, I'd like to inform our fellow natives of Hrubieszow that the original, and correct, name of the town is HoRov Shuv, a combination of the two words ‘many’ and ‘slaughterer’. Our elders used to be proud of the town's Hebrew name of the town; and I think that writing the name otherwise, such as Hrubieszow or Robashov, is a corruption.[1]
Fine Customs
I remember the small boys who studied in the four cheders. The melamed's assistant would take us into the synagogue every Friday evening, lead us to the reading desk, and say together with us: “Blessed is he and blessed is his name!” That was a fine custom.
There were four sextons in the synagogue: Perets, Alter, Abish, and Leybish (Kopel's son). The last two were also active in the municipality. The chief sexton was Perets. He would rap on the wooden shutters every day at dawn and every Friday night before the candle-lighting, calling people to prayer. He was the rabbi's messenger, calling people to synagogue events, helping to cook the fish, and setting up the tables and benches. Money was deducted from wedding presents as fees for the rabbis, the cantors, and the sextons.[2]
There were two sextons in the two anteroom synagogues. Yekutiel Soyfer was the sexton in the tailors' synagogue, and Zishe the porter was the sexton in the synagogue of Yoyne the preacher. The tailor's synagogue was empty most of the time, except for Shabbat. But people began praying in Yoyne's synagogue at dawn; there were minyans until midday.
The Synagogue, and Stories My Father (may he rest in peace) Told Me
It took twelve years to build the synagogue, which was one of the largest and most beautiful in the vicinity. It cost a few thousand rubles. Why did it take so long? And where did the Jews get the money to build it?
My father, Moyshe Eliezer, the flour merchant (may he rest in peace) said that over half of the sum came from government contributions. How did that happen? Every year, the municipality leased out estates. I think it was called Szlachtowa.[3] They announced an auction, and leased it for 600 rubles. The lease-holder then charged for each animal that was brought for slaughtering, as well as for pigs. The Jews decided that no more than 300 rubles would be paid for the estate. Whoever leased it would contribute the other 300 rubles to construction of the synagogue. This continued for ten years, and no one informed the authorities!
There was also considerable income from fees for synagogue seating.
The rich Jews had to pay a tax for the synagogue fund. This continued for twelve years, until the necessary sum was raised.
In addition to the synagogue, the town had the following four houses of study: the Rabbi's house of study, the large house of study, the porters' house of study, and the small house of study. In the latter, the prayers followed the Sephardic version of prayers, and young men studied there.[4] There were also ten small synagogues associated with Hasidic groups: Belz, Husiatyn, Tomaszów, Turisk, Kuzmir, Radoszice, Kock, Radzyn, at Zalmanyu's, and at Zundl the butcher's.
They say that ten Jews would gather almost every evening for midnight prayers at the porters' house of study. Some of them lived in the nearby villages of Wolicze, Gvozdiv, and Grodek. They were discussed as though they were lamed-vovniks.[5] People spoke of someone who wanted to come in to see them and listen, but became paralyzed the moment he opened the anteroom door. People said that the minyan wanted to bring the Messiah, but the Ba'al Shem Tov himself drove them away. They said that unripe apples should not be picked, as it was not yet time…
Another Terrible Incident
Reb Yokif the butcher, an old man nearing ninety, told me that about 55 years ago a Jewish fisherman lived in Horodok. Reb Yokif knew him. He would make sure that the Hrubieszow minyan (or the “hidden ones,” as they were called) were supplied with fish for Shabbat. He would place the first few fish that he caught at the beginning of the week into a special water container. If he caught larger, better fish later in the week, he would sell the earlier catch and place the new ones in the container. He would do this until Friday, when he would bring the fish to the homes of the minyan members.
Once, the following happened.
It was winter, and fish were hard to catch, but he was able to catch a few. He chose the best one and marked it, placing it in the water container for the “hidden ones.”
There happened to be an important Christian holiday that week. The rich non-Jewish landowners wanted to buy fish for the holiday, but couldn't find any. Reb Yokif was approached by a Jewish fisherman from town who wanted to buy the fish in the container. He was ready to pay a lot of money for that fish, because he had promised the landowner to bring at least one proper fish for the holiday.
Our fisherman stubbornly refused. The fisherman from town was even more stubborn, and kept talking – until he convinced our fisherman to do it. He agreed to sell the special catch – but the moment he took the fish out of the container, it slipped out of his hand and leaped into the water!
The fisherman was left without a fish for the “hidden ones” and without money, with only with heartache.
He went fishing again early on Friday morning, and caught the very same fish that he had marked! He was overjoyed, and happily brought the fish to the “hidden ones” for Shabbat.
[Columns 543-544]
Many Ritual Slaughterers
Before my time, there were three slaughterers: Reb Fayvish, Reb Volvish, and Reb Shmu'el. When Reb Fayvish grew old and gave up slaughtering, his son Srule became the slaughterer. However, the Rebbe of Turisk removed him from office, saying that Srule was not observant enough.
He was followed by Aryeh, Reb Fayvish's grandson. But the town did not accept him, and he became an itinerant slaughterer in the villages. Reb Fayvish and Reb Volvish were good prayer leaders. Reb Volvish died while praying on Yom Kippur.
It so happened that a slaughterer came from Kobryn, supported by the Turisk Hasids. He slaughtered only for them, and was not allowed into the general slaughterhouse. He eventually became a village slaughterer.
Next, the Belz Hasids brought a slaughterer from Frampol named Reb Khayim. This gave rise to a major dispute: no one, except the Belz Hasids, was willing to consume anything that he had slaughtered. It was several years before Khayim was allowed into the slaughterhouse; this happened only when the Belz Hasids gained influence.
When Reb Volvish died, the Kuzmir Hasids brought in his son-in-law, Reb Yoysef Mendl of Jarczew, who was a good slaughterer as well as a good prayer leader. After this death, his son Dovtshe succeeded to the position. Reb Khayim was succeeded by his son-in-law, Reb Volf-Ber of Frampol.
After the death of Reb Shmu'el, the Husiatyn Hasids brought in Reb Itshe, Mendl's son. He was followed as slaughterer by his son-in-law Yudele. Reb Volf-Ber was succeeded by Srolke, Reb Khayim's son.
Later, the Turisk Hasids hired my father's brother Yitskhok-Leyb of Galicia (he was termed the Austro-Hungarian slaughterer). The butchers really liked that slaughterer, because of his upright moral character.
This may make it easier to understand why our town was known as ‘ho-rov shuv’, in other words, “many slaughterers.”
The Cemetery
The cemetery was in the town. It was rare for a cemetery to be in the middle of town, as it was in Hrubieszow. In addition to being the resting place of “the minyan,” it contained the grave of the Hasidic leader, Reb Eliezer of Ustyla, who had died suddenly in Hrubieszow.
We should mention the events of May 10, 1918. The rabbi of Turisk, Yankev Leybele (may his righteous memory be for a blessing), died suddenly in the ritual bath, on Friday. I came to the funeral in Hrubieszow. This event was greeted with great excitement; everyone talked about it as though it was wondrous.
His four sons were Hasidic leaders: Reb Moyshele of Lublin, Reb Dovidl of Żarków, Reb Nokhemtshe of Warsaw, and Reb Velvele of Kovel (may God avenge their blood – all were murdered by Hitler). Each would come every year for the anniversary of his father's death, and arrive a week early to take his turn leading the musaf prayer.[6] Reb Moyshe prayed in the Turisk small synagogue, Reb Dovidl in the Tomaszów small synagogue, Reb Nokhemtshe in the Rabbi's house of study, and Reb Velvele in the Radoszyce small synagogue. They came every year on the first day of Elul, said the mourning prayer and visited their fathers' graves.[7]
A Disgusting Case of Denunciation
Although the cemetery was in town, the way to it ran through a Christian street. The Christians who lived there were not pleased; they could not tolerate the cries of the Jews. In addition, the cemetery was too small. The community secretly bought a bit of land from a neighbor (expanding the cemetery was prohibited). The municipality demanded that a new cemetery be set up far from town, on the pasture. The Jews did not consent.
As it happened, the cemetery fence collapsed, and a new one had to be built. The authorities would not permit it, and the cemetery remained unfenced; pigs roamed among the graves. A few Jews quietly went to work at the cemetery and began repairing the fence. Someone denounced them, and a policeman showed up. The Jews quickly vanished, and were not caught.
Who had informed on the Jews? Some people said that it was the Christians of the neighborhood, whereas others said that it was the members of the community council; still others said that it was the government-appointed rabbi. Rumor was that one of the denouncer later met a hideous death: he began excreting his feces through his mouth, as punishment for his false accusation.
The denunciation led to arrests. Many Jews were arrested on Friday afternoon, and only a few were released. Some were taken to Lublin, and others were taken to prison in Janówa. However, none of the Jews who secretly repaired the fence were arrested. Thus, the accusation and evidence were clearly false. Those arrested were accused of having rebelled against the authorities and incited to revolution… The main witnesses were the council members and the government-appointed rabbi.
After they had spent a year in chains, the arrestees were brought to Hrubieszow, before the district court, which had come from Lublin for this purpose. The prisoners were brought in chains. As if this was not enough for the false witnesses and enemies, one of the community council accusers pretended to be sick, and the trial did not take place. The accused men were taken back in chains to their prisons, where they were held for seven more months. They were then brought in chains. The trial lasted several days.
Every morning, a policeman led the prisoners from the jail to the court. Passers-by were driven off the sidewalk and into the street. Only one of the arrestees was freed – Gedaliah. The others were sentenced to 1-2 years of service at forced labor under military discipline. I remember only a few of their names: Mordekhai Hersh Shtrom, Avremel Moyshe, son of Eli (Frimer), Yekele Beder (Fayer), and Arn Demer.
Klezmer Groups
There were two klezmer groups in the town: Dovid Klezmer and his band (4 – 8 musicians), and Ayzik Klezmer. The latter was more observant than Dovid. Dovid's two musicians, Fishl and Noyekh, once performed for the Russian Tsar. Dovid's group included the badkhn, Reb Khayim (Krempatsch), and Ayzik's badkhn was Reb Dovid Yudl.[8] Both badkhns were masters of amusing rhyme, and would cheer up the crowd.
[Columns 545-546]
But the badkhns were not on good terms with each other, though both prayed in the Rabbi's study house. Each made jokes, nutrikns and numerological calculations at the expense of the other.[9] Dovid is construed as “poverty in front, poverty in the rear, and pain in between.” Khayim is construed as “disease in front, pain in the rear, and double suffering in between.”
Local Jokes and Wisecracks
Near the Paheriyer Bridge, at the riverbank, a few poles were visible.[10] People said that the poles had once supported a small soap factory owned by Zabłocki, the clever Christian merchant who wanted to export soap to Germany without paying tolls at the border.
What could he do? Well, since the Bug River separates Hrubieszow and Horodok, and lumber rafts were sent to Germany down the river, he agreed with the raft drivers that he would attach boxes of soap under the rafts, and the soap would reach Germany without paying border taxes.
The trip took several weeks. The boxes were securely tied to the rafts, yet they arrived in Danzig empty. It was very simple: the water had dissolved all the soap… That was the origin of the phrase, “…He earned as much money as Zabłocki with the soap.” The Polish version was even more popular: “ Zarobił jak Zabłocki na mydle.”[11]
Snow in Tammuz[12]
The Jewish property owners in Hrubieszow did not participate in municipal public works such as road repair or clearing snow. They paid the municipality a special tax that was used to hire workers for these tasks.
The Christian property owners did not pay the tax. Whenever such jobs had to be done, they went and did them. The municipality rarely had to hire special workers, as the work was carried out by the property owners.
One year, the winter was extremely severe and the town was covered in very deep snow. The municipality called for the Jewish property owners to come and clear the snow from the alleys and streets. The Jews refused to go; after all, they were paying a special tax for this purpose; let the municipality use that money to hire workers for this purpose. The city actually hired workers, but required the Jewish property owners to pay for them. The Jews sent a complaint to the county office in Lublin. The answer from Lublin came in Tammuz: The Jews were in the right, and the municipality should immediately send workers to clear the snow.
A Sexton's Response
Zishe served in the Russian army for 25 years. When he came back, he had forgotten all his Yiddish, and completely forgot how to pray. My grandfather Eliezer Melshenker (may he rest in peace) began to teach him the Hebrew alphabet once again. He learned that, and became an artisan. As an old man, he became a sexton. Some time later, Avremele Shper asked him whether he made enough of a livelihood. He answered: “Livelihood – hardly. But I have so many kedushas and brokhes, knock on wood, that they're all upside down.”[13]
The Tale of a Murder
It was 65 years ago. A regiment of infantry was stationed in Hrubieszow. There were no barracks at the time, and they were lodged with the Christians of the town and the surrounding villages. In the middle of the night, a murder took place. A Christian man and his wife were murdered, and their daughter was badly wounded. Their house was burned down, and their money was taken. The injured daughter could not speak; she only gestured towards a military cap, and died soon afterwards.
Two soldiers, who were already under suspicion, were arrested, as well as a Jewish soldier who had been on watch that night. They were held for several weeks, but no evidence was found. The town authorities, however, were convinced that the arrestees were guilty.
The town authorities asked the military command to withdraw the regiment from Hrubieszow, though they were supposed to be stationed there for several months. A cable arrived ordering the soldiers to leave the town within 24 hours.
At that time, there was an order that the regiment's commanding colonel had to receive confirmation from the municipality that the soldiers had been well-behaved and that there were no complaints. The municipality would not issue such confirmation, until the regiment agreed to the following conditions. When all 18 squadrons were assembled on the market square, the municipality asked for the ninth company to stay, and for all the soldiers to undergo inspection, especially the three suspects.
I was one of several boys who stood in the market square watching it all. The result was that the three soldiers had their rifles confiscated, and they were taken into a building. The Jew was found to have five rubles; he proved that someone had sent him the money. The two Russians possessed much money, hidden in a loaf of bread, and sewn under their epaulets. All were arrested. Some time later, we heard that the Jew had been released and that he was completely exonerated. The Russians were sentenced to lifelong hard labor.
[Boxed text at bottom of page:]
Dr. Shloyme Yankev Kalmanzon was born in 1722 in Hrubieszow. He became famous in Warsaw for his campaign for equal rights and reforms to Jewish life.[14]
Translator's Footnotes:
by Yankev Mayl, New York
Translated by Yael Chaver
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You ask, what of our home town has engraved itself in my memory?
First, Panska Street, the elegant street for strolls. The pleasure that God arranged for us young folks on Shabbat afternoons can hardly be described. The street was wide, clean, long, and had a fine sidewalk. There were gardens and orchards on either side. Any talk of a stroll in Hrubieszow always referred to Panska Street. You would meet all the young people there: young men with long coats, and girls with cinched waists and capes, as was then the style. When the Enlightenment arrived, the young men carried Hebrew newspapers and the apprentices held the Yiddish newspapers Haynt and Moment.
The Bund's members also gathered on Panska Street. After dark, they would go to Yankev-Meir's soda stall or to Shoul Abeles's, where they would drink a glass of seltzer flavored with syrup, sweeter than honey; it was even better when accompanied by a sugar plum -- a real taste of heaven.
I cannot forget the Hrubieszow synagogue. The first image you saw was of an elephant. The Western Wall, the wild ox, and the leviathan were depicted near the reading stand. A bit further on, a gazelle was pictured, with the Hebrew words “fleet as a gazelle;”[1] the next wall was decorated with a lion, and the words, “brave as a lion;” the third side had a leopard, with the phrase “strong as a leopard;” and the fourth side pictured a flying eagle, with the inscription “swift as an eagle.” I would look at the eagle with its feet and talons, and think that being caught in those talons would not be a pleasure at all.[2] The artist was from Istanbul.
I also loved to look at the gorgeous brass chandeliers that were suspended on chains from the high ceiling, and thought that they were the most beautiful lamps I had ever seen. Fridays at dusk were lovely: all the chandeliers were illuminated, and Mordkhe the cantor (may he rest in peace) started chanting Lekha dodi.[3] I believe that even the staunchest non-believer had a moment of spiritual pleasure at that moment.
Like all the towns in the vicinity, Hrubieszow was superstitious. People would say that they saw candles burning in the synagogue in the middle of the night and heard the sound of prayers. There was even a legend that Reb Zalmenyu was called up to read from the Torah, if he passed by the synagogue at night. He had to go in and say the blessing on the Torah, and emerged unhurt. It was said that a Jew such as Reb Zalmenyu, who was descended on his father's side from Rabbi Shlome Rokeakh, the Belz Rebbe, and on his mother's side from Rabbi Yankev Yitskhok, the Seer of Lublin, would come to no harm, thanks to his lineage.[4]
Well, you can imagine that when I was a small boy, I would usually go to the river and spend whole days swimming. One Friday I had swum all day, and went to Friday night prayers. However, I was so tired that I fell asleep under the children's reading stand. When I woke up it was almost 2 a.m. The synagogue was dark, except for a memorial candle. Trembling, I made my way to the door and crept out. I encountered Mordkhe Eyfer, who told me that the entire town was searching for me at the river. For several days, I could not speak. They called Shloyme the healer, who gave me medicine; I regained the power of speech a few days later.
A few other reminiscences are hardly respectable. If a young man from a different town came to work in Hrubieszow, he had to pay off the gang members. A guy who went strolling with a girl also had to pay off the gang, or be beaten up.
There were two klezmer bands in town. One specialized in playing for weddings. The other consisted of two brothers, Noyekh and Fishl, both of whom had graduated from the St. Petersburg conservatory of music. They usually played for rich people. Any bride who had arranged for the brothers to play at her wedding was overjoyed. Their band included a trombone player named Binyomin Kol, and another who played in the Russian regiment. The upshot was that every Jewish party culminated in bloodshed due to the competition between the bands. Finally, Noyekh and his brother Fishl left for America.
I would be wrong not to mention Avrom Eli the lame. He was famous as a badkhn throughout Lublin province, and made merry at Jewish weddings. Once, he organized a troupe to perform ‘The Selling of Joseph’, an occasion I will never forget.[5] True, the ticket cost me three groschen, but it was worthwhile.
Now, there are no more Jews in our town. Our great synagogue stands empty, dark, and boarded up.
Let's hope for a world that is freer and more beautiful, where baseless hatred will not be the rule.
| 790 Jews lived in Hrubieszow in 1765, in 135 houses. |
Translator's Footnotes:
by Nosn Hodes (Natan Hadas) Herzliya, Israel
Translated by Yael Chaver
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Standing: second – Moyshe Lungl; third – Arn Yehude Vaynberg Seated: fourth – Binyomin Shprul; sixth – Yasha Pachter |
After Sukkot, when the peasants had already planted the winter grain seeds, and the harvest was safely stored in the barns, they would bring some of their riches to town–naturally, for good prices. The peasant would heap his wagon with grain, and perch his family on top. This included his son, who had turned 21 and had to appear before the medical committee for conscription. The villages were almost empty–everyone went to town. On the roads, people were galloping, chasing each other and showing off their prowess.
The 21-year-olds sat in their own wagons, playing harmonicas and singing as they came into town. The town soon filled with wagons and horses, and became very crowded. Many parents did not send their children to cheder on such days, for fear of the recruits.
Jews enjoyed such days, though they dreaded them as well. On the one hand, they eagerly awaited the large fairs, for which they prepared colorful wares and anticipated fine returns; on the other hand, they were terrified of the new recruits. At those times, the authorities looked elsewhere; “Let the young men now rise, and play before us,” and did not intervene when Jews were attacked here and there, or when Jewish stalls with fruit or baked goods were robbed.[1] Not a single policeman showed up in answer to Jewish screams for help.
It was a day of reckoning, when one person might come home with a purse full of money, and another would be beaten up as well as robbed on his way home. However, aid came from an unexpected source, as stated in the Book of Esther: “help and deliverance will arrive for the Jews from someplace else.”[2]
Every year, the Jewish recruits who could give as good as they got joined forces: these included butchers, porters, wagon drivers, and artisans, who sanctified the name of God in public. They stopped working and enjoyed themselves before entering Fonye's service.[3] They would gather in one of the small synagogues every evening. All those born in that year had to participate in the fun, and could only avoid it by paying a ransom. The small synagogues had to contribute; however, they did not dare to tax the houses of study, because the congregations consisted of unlearned Jews rather than Hasids, who did not fear the recruits. However, if a small synagogue refused to pay up, it was destroyed that same night. They broke into different cellars every night, and stole bottles of cherry brandy and jars full of jam.
By day, they welcomed the wild recruits from the villages who would attack Jews, especially on their way back from the draft lottery. At such times, they abandoned all restraint, and rampaged through the market. When Jews heard those sounds, they would lock their businesses; the boldest peeked out through the keyhole and waited for the storm to pass.
When the marauders attacked the Jewish stalls, robbing and beating, and the cries were heard throughout town, the gang of Jewish recruits would gather. A life or death battle would then begin, with the Jews always having the upper hand.
That was the work of the guys who were preparing to serve the Tsar “with my sword and my bow.”[4] Some of them, however, were those referred to in the verse “Jacob was content to stay at home among the tents.”[5] They prepared to serve the Tsar by suffering in various ways, such as fasting, piercing their ears, straining their hearts, causing hernias, or diminishing their height by sleeping in a confining bed where they could not stretch out their legs. There were also some who suddenly decided that they had one finger too many on hand or foot.[6]
During the days of reckoning, when the inspection committee was working, people used all the traditional methods – lighting candles, praying at graves, fasting, pledging donations, obtaining a blessing from the rebbe – in order to avoid falling into the clutches of non-Jews. Those who were found capable of serving were taken under close watch to the house of study or to a small synagogue, where they were held for a few days. Afterwards, they were taken to the large synagogue to swear allegiance to the Tsar. Parents and relatives accompanied them with heart-rending cries. Poems were written about this; I remember part of one.[7]
“They take me to the synagogue to swear me in.
My parents weep the whole time.
Fonye, Fonye, thief, Fonye, you are a thief.
Good-bye, my dear father,
You're thanking God that you're rid of me.
Fonye, Fonye…Good-bye, my dear mother,
I will miss you, like bread and butter.
Good-bye, my dear brother,
You're the one who made the fuss.
Good-bye, my dear bride,
I will miss you more than any of the others.”
Translator's Footnotes:
by Shalom Vayner (may his memory be for a blessing)
Translated by Yael Chaver
The Jewish community in my hometown, which included many hard-working people who spent their time providing for their livelihood, was divided into distinct classes, with different customs and even separate synagogues. The differences between them were so ingrained that they would not visit each other or come to the same events.
My parents lived in the lowest-class neighborhood. This was accidental, as they had never been a part of that class, professionally or economically. Their home was at the very edge of that neighborhood; the merchants' area began next door. The Jews who lived in my parents' neighborhood served as my model for the Jews who were impressed into hard labor in ancient times: they were porters, drivers of various carts, water-carriers of all kinds, beginning with those who carried yokes and on to those who moved water in covered wagons, rag dealers and peddlers. They were joined by the different genres of thieves, various types of beggars, fortune-tellers and soothsayers, card-players and dice-throwers, quack doctors and healers, brewers of abortion potions, and many others who did not belong to any known profession.
Three angels had taken up residence in that quarter: the angel of death, the angel of poverty, and the angel of population increase. They carried out their missions more than faithfully, and were not in each other's way. Not a day went by without a wedding, a betrothal, or a circumcision; or without Zanvel the gravedigger removing human remains from a house. They each had separate domains: the angel of death took the young ones, the angel of multiplications dealt with the adults, and the angel of poverty commanded them both.
The angel of poverty appeared in all his grandeur, filth, and disease. Slime and muck – physical as well as spiritual – reigned supreme, as the area was populated by the dregs of humanity. Curses and yells, swear words and wails were constantly heard, day and night, on weekdays and on Shabbat. Only on holidays, especially the spring and summer festivals, would the loud laughter of the dissolute be heard. The police had a permanent presence there, and a resident would occasionally be taken to the police station for some crime. Every year, a number of people would be sent to Siberia or other places of exile. However, the number of residents, as well as the criminals, never decreased. The moment the previous ones left, new ones would immediately crop up.
The sights of the neighborhood: mud and sewage, which never dried up, not even during the hottest summer days; heaps of garbage and human and animal excrement, surrounded by den-like houses, with two or three couples in each room. They did not look human, but rather like flesh-and-blood golems, rag-wrapped in winter and bare grimy bodies in summer. Each head was covered in leprosy and boils, or completely bald. Hair was rare, among women as well as men.
The residents had been forgotten by God as well as by men. They were completely ignorant and uncivilized. Many did not even know how to pray, and barely spoke. Any word they did say was accompanied by a curse or evil grimace that aroused disgust. No person or institution tried to rescue them from their miserable situation. Their sons did not go to the Talmud Torah, but instead roamed freely in the market, snatching fruit and vegetables from the sellers. They would eat some of the stolen produce and take the rest home to their parents. Many of them were used by thieves, especially on market days, when their small size and great agility enabled them to steal money from pockets and purses.
The neighborhood was naturally separated from the other parts of town by geography as well. It lay in a valley surrounded by hills. Its inhabitants were ostracized by the other residents of the town, like a special tribe that was only vaguely related to the Jewish people or to the other Jews of the town. Their superstitions went beyond the ravings of the sick. The cart-drivers did not lock their barns at night, because Shimon the tall, who was killed years earlier by a horse that he had wanted to poison, rose from his grave every night to visit the barns. Woe be to the man who locked his barn – he would certainly not find his horses alive the next morning.
No one wanted to live in the tiny room of Leya the prostitute after she died at the hands of a drunken adulterer; people believed that she came into the room every night to continue her lewd acts. They reported that the room was illuminated by a strange light every night, and that sounds of drunkenness and cries of depraved passion were heard until dawn.
My pious mother, who loved and had compassion for every living being, was the only person who often came to help these poor souls; she would share her bread and the goods brought from the village by my grandfather, as well as the few pennies she earned. If one of the residents became sick or was taken by the police, she would visit homes to beg money in order to help the needy person or his family members. She was the only person willing to help them. Even my father would stay away from them, as though they were dangerous.
When we first came to live in the neighborhood, some of the residents came to our house, trying to enlist my father's help in their quarrels, or in a question concerning dietary rules. But my father always said, “I am neither a judge nor a rabbinic judge; I do not decide cases of Jewish law or judge people.” They did not come to our house any longer, except for the women who would come to my mother for the charity she collected. Yet they did not resent Father for his superior attitude. On the contrary, they feared and respected him. If they were quarreling on the street and cursing violently, they would immediately scatter when Father appeared. When they addressed him, their language also became clean.
To this day, I remember the fight between the brothers Moyshe and Itshi Pelts, the main water-carriers who used covered wagons, and the worst ruffians in the neighborhood who intimidated even the most aggressive thieves. They came to blows, and the brothers used the spurs of their wagons to crush their opponents, while their wives stood screaming for help.
Suddenly, my father appeared. They dropped the spurs, while my father sent them a penetrating look and said, “Is this how Jews fight? Don't you fear God?” The brothers grew pale and stood panting, unable to speak. They disappeared, and their wives called out, “Long live Reb Tuviya, forever!”
I made many friends among the children of the neighborhood. When I was lonely and harassed, they asked me who my enemies were, and promised to take revenge. The most characteristic of this group were Yosef Pelts, the son of the above-mentioned Itshi, and Binyamin with the hernia. The former was later sent to Siberia for setting fire to one of the peasant houses in revenge, and the latter is now a drummer in the Hrubieszow band. Yosef Pelts never came back from Siberia; his fate is unknown. However, he looked and behaved like a criminal even in those early years. His flaxen mop of hair stood up like the comb of a rooster, and his catlike eyes were completely devoid of feeling – indicating that the course of his life was set. I joined this group because I was lonely, but I was not attracted to them. I was secretly
[Columns 553-554]
disgusted by their words, deeds, and capricious behavior. I was repulsed by their appearance, yet did not stay away from them.
My connections with this group aroused attention, especially on the part of my uncle, Yaakov Moshe. He often admonished my mother for letting me hang out with the children of these unsavory characters, but she never scolded me about it. On the contrary: every time I came home to take some food for them, she would give me generous portions and say, “Give the food to these hungry children, whom God has ignored.” I brought anything I could, and they gulped it down like ravenous wolves, with loud, wild laughter. Their laughter and depraved exploits were marvelous at first, and they became famous first for their wrestling; but were later known for scandals of the most depraved type, the memory of which still makes me tremble.
Thanks to some mysterious force, I was able to ward them off and keep my distance, but now I was once again lonely and free to wonder about God and his rule, which I was doubting. However, they would not let me go. They became very attached to me, and when I did not come out to them on time they would seek me at home. My uncle, Yankev Moyshe, often took his stick to them and forbade them to set foot in our house.
“What are you doing here, rascals?” But they would not leave. Secretly, so that my uncle Yankev Moyshe would not notice, they would sneak into our house. Now, rather than me feeding them delicacies from my home, they would bring me apples and pears they had picked in the orchard. I would not touch these, not because they were stolen but because I was picky and did not want to touch this fruit or the food they would carry in secret places on their bodies under their big shirts. But they would not let me refuse.
I remember that once I went out to them, while they were in the middle ground between our quarter and the Christian neighborhood. Their pockets were stuffed full of fruit they had stolen on that very rewarding day. Their faces were flushed and sweaty after their hard work and successful haul. When they saw me, they rushed up and began offering me apples, identifying each variety by name and praising their taste, to tempt me.
At that moment, however, I was deep in the thoughts that constantly plagued me, and was not interested in them or in their apples. I did come out to hand them their food, but they refused to take it, begging me to taste at least one apple. When I refused, Yosef Pelts grew angry and said, “Do you think we are beggars? We take your gifts only because of our deep friendship. We consider you our friend, and you must therefore take what we offer you. Otherwise, it would mean that you think of us as beggars, not friends.” But Binyamin with the hernia cut him off: “Yosef, don't be such a wise guy!”
Fall and winter came around and the days turned gray, freezing, and short, while the nights were long, dark, and tiresome. I felt bored again. Even my mother's trove of stories was running low. Once again, I had nothing to occupy my restless soul, and I grew sad. But the devil, who was anxious to trap me, found a different topic for me. He replaced my summer temptations with Yosef Pelts and his friends with those of our neighbor, Reb Matityahu the cigarette maker. I don't know which was morally and spiritually worse – spending time in Mates's house or with the rascals in our neighborhood.
This Mates was either a bachelor or a married man who had not forgotten his bachelor days. He rented the third apartment in our house, after my father left (if Father were at home, he would not have rented him the apartment for any money). His home was a meeting place for all the bored idlers of the town. The sons of wealthy families as well as independent young men gathered there to play cards, have a drink, and dally with Mates's young wife and the other unmarried women who came there for that purpose. I won't use dirty language and call the place a brothel. It was a place of entertainment for lively young men and women of means, and so perhaps even worse than a brothel.
The most vocal person – and the liveliest – in the group that met nightly at Mates's home was Yellow Yudl or, as he was also known, Yudl the liar. His family was wealthy, and most of its members were pious and scholarly. Yudl, however, never wanted to take on the burdens of study and piety, or the cares of making a living, but rather preferred to idle around and wear European-style fashionable clothing, and visit taverns and one of the brothels in the town. His chief occupation was making love to women.
His parents tried to marry him off in order to calm his evil inclinations, and set him on the right path. However, he divorced his wife and reverted to his bachelor ways. His family turned away from him, but he was so aggressive that he persuaded them to give him a small room in their large house. He made a living as a pimp, providing the officers of the cavalry unit in town with high-class Jewish girls who yearned for a lustful, dissolute life. In his spare time, he would bring wealthy young men and their women, or independent young men such as letter-writers and accountants (there were not many in town), to a tavern for drinks and romantic trysts. That winter, the tavern was in the house of his father, Mates, who ran the business for additional income.
I was innocent, and unaware of the character of this social group. Mates was fond of me. Whenever he meets me in Hrubiesow, which I visit from time to time, he is as glad to see me as though I were his son, and would generously offer me a place to stay in his house, even though I would be in the way.
Yellow Yudl, on the other hand, could not stand me. One night he confronted me, shouting, “What do you want here, with your calf's eyes?” He promptly took me by the nape and threw me out of the house. At that time, I didn't know enough to thank him for his action; but later, as I grew older and became more experienced and knowledgeable, I would laugh whenever I remembered Yellow Yudl and his insult, and say to myself, “I really should go and thank that creature for removing me from that den of iniquity.” Naturally, I never entered that house again.
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Standing: Aharon Brener, Y. H. Eydelshteyn, Miriam Vaynfeld, Sarah Hey, Perl Shteyn, David Brand Seated: Shimshon Cohen, Itshe Brener, Dov Shtokhamer, Ya'akov Cohen Bottom: Unknown; Shtokhamer |
by Natan Hadas, Herzliya, Israel
Translated by Yael Chaver
Winter was over and spring had arrived. The streets and alleys were mud-free, the dirt roads were dusty, and the lilacs were fragrant. Groups of people went out for hikes far from town, to the fresh air of the birch forest at the edge of town. May 1 posters had just arrived from the capital; they called for mass demonstrations in the streets on International Workers' Day, which was approaching.
That year, May 1 was on Shabbat. Naturally, the occasion could not be rescheduled. The posters were distributed the previous evening to our activists, who pasted them on telephone and electric poles, as well as on stores and houses of study.
I felt that I, too, had to take part. I could not stand at a distance and watch others carry out revolutionary activity; I was deeply envious. So I picked up one of the posters, thinking that I would do something that would outdo the others. The devil, may his name be blotted out, tempted me, and said, “They are putting up posters outdoors; but you will put them up indoors, inside the house of study. They are working on a weekday; but you will work on Shabbat. You will outdo them.”
I must say that I liked the idea. And why did the devil pick on me? Was it because I was a regular at the house of study, and the son of a scribe of sacred texts? I wanted to practice the words of the sages: “My son, if the evil inclination encounters you, tempt it to the house of study.”[1] Therefore, immediately after the end of the Shabbat dinner, I left the house secretly and went directly to the Turisk small synagogue (shtiebel), on Synagogue Street, as many of you probably remember. The door was padlocked, and I climbed the fence, dropped into the yard, and entered through an open window.
A towel hung to the right of the front door, where people dried their hands after using the restroom and while saying the Asher Yatsar blessing.[2] While doing so, they would read the announcements approved by the rabbi, such as repairing the eruv, remodeling the ritual bath, collecting charity for Passover food, etc.[3] I quickly glued the poster, hurried back home and went to bed. Before I fell asleep, I said the usual prayer entrusting my soul to God while I slept, and shut my eyes as though nothing had happened, innocent as a lamb.
It was a sleepless night, because of my brave act, a “small thing,” as though I had stopped the flow of the Jordan River, or taken the Bastille. Lying there, I awaited the cock's crow, and the sound of David Ben-David's voice, which carried over great distances when he called the Jews to rise on Shabbat and holidays, and go to the synagogue to recite Psalms.
“Get up to worship the Creator, wake up, get up, stand up, report for worship, for that is the purpose of your life.” Raising his cane, he would sometimes rap on the shutter, saying, “Ay, ay, Reb Motl, it's late, late, late!” And Reb Motl would wake up, neither asleep nor awake, rub his eyes and say, “Ay, ay, it's so good to sleep now, ay, ay, this evil inclination.” Then he would suddenly leap out of his warm bed, celebrating his victory over the evil inclination, dress, and go to the Turisk small synagogue.
I got up as well and followed him, entered and sat at the table of Meytshele Fu. I began chanting the beginning of Tractate Brakhot in the Talmudic melody: “From what time does one begin to recite Shema in the evening?”[4] My head was turned towards the door, and I checked the poster occasionally, to see whether anyone had noticed it.
Some of the early morning synagogue-goers were the oldest members of the community, whose eyesight was poor, and hardly noticed the poster. Later, when the Talmud students arrived as well as the ordinary Jews who noticed everything in the synagogue, my trap began to work. They crowded around the poster, one started reading out loud, the next continued, and the third hurried to finish the reading. Eventually, they were all aware of its content. The poster began with these phrases, in the spirit of the times: “Proletarians of the world, unite! This is the holiday of all workers of the world, in the country and the cities. On this day, the worker flexes his strength, to make manifest the phrase ‘The will of your strong hand will stop all the wheels of the world.’”[5] There was more: opposition to exploitation, to war, and support of work for the Jewish masses. The poster ended with the words “Buy the Zionist shekel.”[6]
One of those who crowded around the poster was Meytshele Fi-Fu-Fa. The reason for this nickname was as follows. On one long winter night, Yosef F. and his gang broke into all the fabric shops, beginning with that of Aharon Bilgorayer, and all the way to the shop of Bashe the vinegar-maker. They left nothing behind, not even a needle and thread, hid some of the stolen goods in the cemetery, and some in the bath-house attic.
The next day, the police searched, and found the stolen goods in their caches. They were able to arrest all the thieves, including Note the Gravedigger, and Meytshl Fu, who was one of the bath-house lease-holders. The last two men had not participated in the deed, but the town's residents were left without bath-house attendant or grave-digger, which meant that they could not cleanse the bodies of the deceased or bury them. Having no choice, the Angel of Death returned his sword to its scabbard and roamed idly.
The gravedigger was eventually released, and Meytshele Fu was sentenced to a long period of exile. When he returned, he wasn't the same Meytshl but as if from a different world. He would walk around talking to himself, blurting out ‘fu-fu’ after each word, calling out the name of everyone he saw, often for no reason, and tag on fu at the end. It was the same during prayers: he added fu-fu after each phrase. It was dangerous to mock him.
Yet Meytshele was not a nobody. He owned a house, and traded in animal skins of goats and rams, pig bristles, and skins of every household animal – kosher or not. He also traded in the skins of wild animals. During World War I, he smuggled his goods to the big city, defying the occupying authorities. He was active in every event in the synagogue, even though he was not a Talmudic scholar who enjoyed debating, never having progressed beyond chanting the prayers and Psalms. He therefore envied scholars, and rejoiced whenever one of those was caught in a transgression. The following event can serve as an example.
One of the regulars in the Turisk small synagogue was Moyshele Shvartser (Grinboym). He was the most distinguished of the group, had been ordained as a rabbi, and all the Hasids wished that their children would turn out like Moyshele.
One fine day, he was found with heretical books. Furthermore, he had been inciting others to sin, like the biblical Jeroboam.[7] This became a topic of conversation and argument among congregation members. The extremists demanded that he be placed under herem, ostracized, and set as an example of the biblical verse “You shall purge the evil from among you.”[8] The more moderate people, such as Moshe Ekshteyn, Yitschak Naymark, and Nakhumtshe Shtivlkremer demanded a less extreme approach, which would not completely expel him. Apparently, the extremists prevailed.
One Shabbat, after the morning prayers were over, one of the extremists mounted the lectern and demanded that the Torah reading be halted until the “one-whose-name-must-be-blotted-out” left the building. Moshe knew that this meant him, and did not stir. The congregants began searching for the “one-whose-name-must-be-blotted-out,” and cries of “throw him out” were heard. Yelling, they surrounded him in a circle, which crowded through the doorway. Meytshele Fu was first and foremost among them.
Now that you've been introduced to Meytshele Fu, let's return to the poster. Meytshele was not an early riser, but he happened to rise early on that Shabbat. When he arrived at the synagogue, he began reading the poster as soon as he had wrapped himself in his tallis. When he got to “Proletarians,” he had trouble pronouncing the word, Fui-fa. Everyone burst out laughing; he grew more and more annoyed and his stutter grew more pronounced.
At that moment, a mysterious hand reached down from heaven and ripped up the sinful poster. People said that it was Meytshele's hand. That was the end of the poster.
Translator's Footnotes:
by Shemaryahu Mints, Tel Aviv, Israel
Translated by Yael Chaver
The home of my father, Hirshele Mints, was in the center of the Jewish neighborhood in Hrubieszow, near the house of study, the small synagogues, the homes of the melameds, the ritual slaughterers, and all the other religious functionaries. The house was across the street from the three broad entrances to the large synagogue, and the two anterooms of the artisans' houses of study were also visible. The home's windows provided a view of the residents thronging to the synagogues, especially on Shabbat and holidays.
The low house of Yudele the melamed was near our house; he helped Dr. Rapoport, a melamed of small children, as well as a medic who treated the town's children. His only neighbor was Shammai the righteous. This was an impressive-looking man, who was busy ruminating about the Creation and spoke little. Every Friday at 12 noon, he would stop talking and say only isolated words in Hebrew, such as “Nu… nu… knife…salt…” Once Shabbat was over, he would return to his normal way of talking.
Khantshe the baker lived next door to Yudele the melamed. Her house was well-maintained, and even the run-down fence was saved. The house echoed with the voices of Khantshe's sons and daughters, as they kneaded the dough or took the baked loaves out of the oven. The air around her house was fragrant with aromas of fresh baked goods or a well-done cholent.[1] Every Friday in the late afternoon, when the town's Jews were heading towards the synagogues, Khantshe's sons came out to clear away the empty flour sacks and the tree branches left over from the week's work, and prepare themselves to welcome the Shabbat.
The home of Moyshele the rabbinic judge was always neat, with a garden patch nearby. When he was studying Talmud, or arguing with opposing parties, his voice would carry over to our house. Often, a woman would pass by with a pot, or a ritually slaughtered chicken, on her way to pose her query to the rabbinical judge. The important men of the town, as well as merchants, came and went around the judge's house. Reb Moyshele the rabbinic judge was the second man in town to wear a well-made shtreimel that suited his long white coat and stockings.[2]
The Rabbi's house of study was only a few paces away from the home of that elegant young man. Our “seats” were at the eastern wall, opposite the cantor.[3] Across the street, close to our house, was the small synagogue of the Wlodowka Hasids, as well as that of Reb Naftali Shapira (known as “the son of the rabbi's wife”). Other small synagogues were those of the Turisk, Tomaszów, Radzyn, and Husiatyn Hasidic sects, and the large house of study. Behind our house, in the large bog, were the homes of the ritual slaughterer Itshe Mendl Engelsberg, Reb Yehoshuele the rabbinic judge, the Kobrin ritual slaughterer, Yudl Shtokhamer, and other important homeowners. Vove Dantsis lived quite close to us; after the great fire (during World War I) his house was rebuilt in more modern style, setting off our more traditional house.
Our house had two entrances. It was sometimes called Reb Hirshele's house of travels; one could enter the house through the front entrance with horse and wagon, turn around inside and come out through the back entrance. In later years, the gate for horses and wagons was closed off (probably in deference to the presence of the large synagogue), and a wide door was created for the entrance and exit of people only. The back gate remained unchanged, and was opened for market days and receptions.
Hirshele's lumber business expanded, especially in the fall. Piles of wood were set up all along the walls and on the lot. On rainy days, three woodcutters would be working in the broad corridor inside the house. Once they had completed their job, a square hatch would be opened in the ceiling, and stacks of wood would be hurled into the attic. One or two of them would go up to the attic and arrange the piles near the walls of the storerooms.
Our apartment was the largest, and the finest, in the building (the other apartments were rented out); it consisted of two large rooms, one of which was divided by a screen, separating the kitchen and stove from the residence. The furniture was antiquated, and was probably inherited from previous generations. One special piece was the wooden “coffer” (trunk) that contained the silverware, banking certificates, certificates of deposits, and any other valuable or rare objects. The trunk stood in the room, covered with a colorful cloth. It would be opened on the eve of Hanukkah, for the Hanukkah lamp with its two lions and eight branches. On holidays, the silver goblets and flatware would be taken out. The trunk also contained jewelry, pledges from people who had come to argue their cases, and bridal dowries. Reb Hirshele would place his silken coat over the bags of money and the jewelry, cover that with the Shabbat and holiday tablecloths, and lock the trunk with a large padlock.
The regular visitors to our house included the important people of the community: Reb Moshe Shapira, the town treasurer for many years; Reb Shlomo Regl, the flour-mill owner; Reb Mendl Shtikh, the rich merchant; and the congregation of the Rabbi's synagogue. They gathered mainly on Saturday night. While waiting for the concluding Shabbat meal, they would argue over the “pledges,” about rabbinical legal decisions, and about world politics. There were heated arguments over community issues. All the community property was listed in the government rolls as belonging to Reb Hirshele Mints. He was therefore personally forced to pay all the taxes. During these debates, he would suggest that other householders take part in paying the community's taxes. But the arguments usually ended with no change. After the last Shabbat meal, the blessings were said, everyone congratulated the wonderful cooking, and promised to return – God willing – the following Saturday night.
Our house was very busy on the eves of Shabbat and holidays, when it filled up with beds, cabinets, straw sacks, tables, and benches. It was also bustling when dishes were being prepared for a kosher Passover.[4] Up until the very beginning of the holiday, the entrances to the house were full of neighbors and their possessions. All this changed once the holiday began.
Before Sukkot, Reb Hirshele invited all his neighbors to the attic, and gave them instructions on cleaning the sukkah, which was pre-constructed and stored there. All the objects, secular and religious, that had accumulated all year round needed to be removed. Once that process was completed, he would pull open the quick-release knots, to open the two parts of the main roof. The attic would be flooded with light and sunshine, the neighbors would bring fresh, fragrant branches to cover the sukkah's top, as well as various decorations, and prepare the sukkah for the holiday.
Years after Reb Hirshele died, his home was still renowned, and the neighbors did not move away. They kept up the same customs in Reb Hirshele Mints's travel house up until the outbreak of World War II.
At the end of the war, none of the residents were left. May these remarks serve as an eternal remembrance!
| Until 1664, the Rabbi of Hrubieszow was Khayim, the son of Shmuel Halevi Hurvits. |
Translator's Footnotes:
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Hrubieszów, Poland
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