The residential buildings in the 19^th century shtetl consisted of one, or two-story wooden and mudbrick buildings, with a wooden superstructure set on a stone base or built entirely of stone. In Podila towns, the walls of basements and ground floors were made of limestone, plastered with a layer of clay and whitewashed. In the 18^th century roofs were covered with straw, and in the 19^th century tiles were mainly used. The first room in the house was located near the entrance and in Yiddish it was called “derech-zimmer” (passage room). Double-leaf doors decorated from the inside led to it. Usually a shop or a workshop was located here, so in the warm season the door was always open. Mezuzahs were nailed to the doors. The big room was called “a zol” (hall), followed by “alker” (bedroom). In the kitchen there was an “oyven” (stove), a cellar and a small pantry - a secret place where you could hide something. That is what a Jewish house looked like.

We lived in a large house with two other families. The house was built sometime in the early 19^th century. It was a typical two-story house with a balcony, but only on one side. We didn't have a balcony on our side of the house. I think that it may have been dismantled due to some circumstances or was not built at all, because there was a door to the presently, non-existent space. The Spektor family lived on one side of the second floor, and we lived on the other side. There were two brick basements with an exit for each apartment on the first floor. The Bunyak family lived on the other side of the first floor.

Jewish houses in the town were traditionally built with verandas and balconies which were intended for the holiday of Sukkot. The origin of the sukkah verandah is connected with the increased density of buildings. It was difficult to find a place suitable for living for the seven days of the holiday, and for it to be located separately, or even year after year in the same place. Verandas and balconies had their own roofs, thus emphasizing their independence as separate buildings. They were made of wood which made a contrast against the whitewashed walls of the house. The ceiling of the balcony was constructed from wooden boards imitating reed coverings. During the holiday, they were raised on special supports so that the stars could be seen from the sukkah and the hatches were slightly covered with reed stalks. In Podillia, sukkah have been built from reeds for many generations.

A prominent feature of the house was the balcony and almost all Jewish two-story houses in the town had a balcony. There was a cellar or a room under the houses in which people could live. During summer evenings, benches were brought out to the balcony. The women sat there, and as the old Jews said, “hopyn” (caught) fresh air. At the same time, they patched socks or just chatted. The topics of the balcony conversations were very diverse. One woman would talk about how she successfully bought a chicken, another about the geese she bought cheaply before Pesach. The conversation moved from geese to goose lard and cracklings, feathers, duvets and pillows. Another time it may have been about dinner, about successfully baked bread, and about many other such life events. The balcony was a meeting place for neighbors, men and women. Even on the steps of the balcony, some standing, others sitting, they discussed politics, the fate of Turkey and Greece, the Armenian conflict, Stolypin's actions, etc.

There was a bench outside the front of every house which was the holy place for the beginning of all celebrations and holidays. Sometimes, on summer evenings, the neighbors would gather at the benches to have a drink, a l'chaim together. It was here that you could hear the latest local and international news, play chess, dominoes and cards. From these benches, people went to register at the State Register of Statistics, and the happy ones from the maternity hospital returned here. Simple benches near the houses, made with different shapes, lengths and construction, became Benches with a capital letter.

Our house was clay with a wooden floor. It felt pleasantly cool even on a hot summer day, and cool from a freshly washed floor. In the center of the room we had an ancient massive sliding table with legs of different thickness in which there were hiding places. Of course there was nothing to hide. We could fit chairs around the table to seat twelve people. And who remembers the closets that were in every house? Closets had two doors with window insets, and perhaps a large mirror hanging on the door as well. We also had such a closet. It was light and unpolished, consisting of two compartments, one narrow with shelves, and the other wide, for storing suits and coats that hung on hangers. There were two pull-out drawers underneath. Everything in this closet was interesting for us, since children were not allowed in it. When the closet doors were open, the smells of cologne and naphthalene escaped into the room. There was also a niche in the house, from floor to ceiling, with wooden shelves, closed off with a fabric curtain. All sorts of goods were stored in these home-made pieces of built-in furniture: dishes, canned goods, products used in the house, etc.

My father was able to build a wooden shed on a small piece of land near our house. He also planted an apple and cherry tree on that land.

Our house had two rooms, a kitchen, a large corridor, and an entrance vestibule. There was an oyvn (oven) for baking bread in the kitchen and a place to sleep that was used as a utility room. The whitewashed oven was made of clay and brick.

The house in which we lived. The balcony is visible from the side of the street. B. Khmelnytskyi. The family of E. Spektor lived in this half, and I. Bunyak lived downstairs. Our half of the house is in the background - the farthest window on the left. On the left you can see the house in which Fischl Herman lived.

An old house, a forgotten dream…
The pre-evening light…
Everything, as before, in tune
But there is no one.
Inaudible footsteps
Lost track
In this silence…

Ester and my mother lit the Shabbat candles in our house every Friday evening. They placed their palms at the level of the flame, covered their eyes, and circled their palms as if washing their faces with the light. Then they recited the blessing in honor of lighting the candles. “Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu…”, their voices sounded in the silence. They filled a glass with wine, and recited the Kiddush prayer, and the bracha on the challah. After the blessing on the bread, they tore it and distributed a piece to all.

Pershotravneva Street, where Jews once lived. Now the houses are abandoned, 2000.

And what does a Jewish woman do at home on Friday? “Zi koht un bakt!” She cooks and bakes! For her relatives, to be happy together with the family.! “Est, trinct un zait freilech!” Eat, drink and be merry! Even more than the Jews kept the Sabbath, the Sabbath kept the Jews. This is the truth of the Jewish town, especially in the post-revolutionary period. “Earn for Saturday!” was an expression that could have been heard in our town. Saturday was a bright ray in the dim town life and holy for all generations. Everyone gathered together with their children and grandchildren. It was a day when people forgot their troubles and hoped and prayed to live to a ripe old age. So what is Shabbat? In memory of the creation of the world, the Torah commanded us to respect the seventh day of the week, to rest and abstain from work. For those who observe the Sabbath, the world literally freezes for 25 hours every week. Businesses remain closed, cars remain parked, the phone does not ring, the radio, TV and computer are turned off. On this day we pay more attention to our inner world, our family, friends, and our souls. Shabbat cannot be understood in the same way that the taste of a delicacy cannot be experienced without tasting it, which is why the most correct answer to the question of what Shabbat is - “Try it yourself at home!”.

In most cases, the two-story houses had a shop or store on the first floor and the owners themselves lived on the second floor. There were warehouses and pantries in the attic and basements. Advertising signs were hung on the portals and window frames. There were usually wooden or wrought-iron shop doors, windows and window portals, depending upon the financial circumstances of the owner.

There is a museum of Jewish life in Vinnytsia, which is the only place one can view the interior of a Jewish house in the olden days. If you want to remember those times, visit the museum where there are several types of exhibits on display in one room. There are Jewish objects, antique furniture and kitchen utensils of the 19^th century, men's and women's prayer books, traditional Jewish clothing from the early 20^th century, and more. Each of the items have their own unique history. Craftsmen's tools were used by the capable hands of professionals. Books and prayer books were read hundreds of times. Almost every family had a special buffet with compartments for dairy and meat dishes. There is an old Singer sewing machine, and on the shelf there are Jewish ritual items: tefillin, a bag with a tallis, a mezuzah, and old illustrated prayer books. I donated the prayer books that were used by my grandmother and her sister Esther to the museum. These were women's prayer books produced at the end of the 19^th century. Old radio receivers, around which Jews gathered to listen to Western radio stations are exhibited in the museum. There is a well preserved, well-worn coat from Kopaigorod, worn by Jews in the early 20^th century. The museum not only preserves historic artifacts of Jewish life, but also teaches us to not forget the traditions, customs, and the culture and history of our people.

During the interwar years there was another domestic museum: the Vinnytsia Historical and Household Museum, which displayed ritual and household items and also albums with photos of Jewish streets and buildings, most of which disappeared during the war years. These albums were prepared in 1927 at the same time as a small exhibition in which about 100 items from the synagogues were presented. The management of the museum, led by H. Brilling (1867–1942), set a goal of “collecting and preserving the perishing monuments which was necessary to save the material monuments of Jewish culture and Jewish folklore, going into the realm of history.” To carry out this important mission, the museum employees explored Podillia, where they registered architectural objects, collected antiques, and sketched ornaments. There were also exhibits from the life of the Jews of Kopaigorod.

According to the Bible, the Jews who settled in Egypt gradually became slaves of the Egyptians. Moses called upon the pharaoh to free the Jews. When Pharoah repeatedly refused, God released ten plagues upon the Egyptian people. Despite the death of livestock and crops, and sickness and darkness in his land, the pharaoh did not agree to free the slaves. Before the most terrible, tenth plague, during which every first-born male in Egypt died over one night, God commanded Moses that each Jewish family should slaughter a lamb and mark the entrance door with its blood so that the plague would leave them untouched. And on the night of the 14th of Nisan, the Lord passed by those marked houses. After that, Moses was able to lead the Jews out of Egypt and slavery. Since that time, Jews all over the world have celebrated Pesach, or Passover (as God skipped, or passed over Jewish homes) the holiday of the exodus from Egypt. It is also referred to as the birth of the concept of Jewish nationhood. Pesach (in Yiddish, Peysekh) is one of the main Jewish holidays, and it commemorates the liberation of the Jews from slavery in ancient Egypt. Pesach occurs in the spring, on the 14th day of the month of Nisan according to the Jewish lunar calendar. It is celebrated for seven days in Israel and eight days outside of Israel.

In celebrating Passover, our collective memories recall the experiences of our ancestors as if each one of us walks the entire way of the Exodus together with them. Our ancestors were in such a hurry to leave that the dough they prepared did not have time to rise, so their quick breads remained flat. Therefore, for eight days, Jews traditionally eat matzah instead of bread. The highlight of Pesach is the festive Seder, during which we tell the story of the exodus through many symbolic foods and blessings.

We baked matzah for ourselves in our homes for Pesach. Several neighbors gathered together to accomplish this special task. For example, the Rosenblit family used to come to our house. The door of the house remained closed so that strangers could not enter and see this illicit activity. My father was the main one at the stove. Everyone was involved in the process, including us, the children. We were instructed to draw lines with holes on the rolled out sheets of dough with the help of a “reidlach” (a wheel with small teeth from a wall clock). The matzah came out moderately baked, not overheated, and crispy.

We baked matzah in such an oven. Below the stove there was a cellar where potatoes were stored in the winter.

Despite the permits that allowed some matzah baking, the Soviet authorities constantly conducted anti-religious, “anti-Pesach campaigns” as they were called in the press. Suppressing Pesach, a most important Jewish holiday, was considered to be one of the most important tasks of anti-religious education. The majority of Jewish children continued to observe religious precepts and celebrate Pesach at home, except for those for whom it really threatened the career of the father, a party worker. These same children drew posters with anti-religious content with great joy and initiative in school, and exhibited brilliant skills in learning their atheistic lessons. Children at school said that they did not follow customs or celebrate holidays because that is what their parents taught them to say. But during a more careful survey, it turned out that almost all children were preparing for Passover.

Yitzhak Shohat, a resident of Rampa and a former Soviet officer, published an interesting letter in the Israeli magazine, Alef about Passover in Kopaigorod in 1944:

There are events that a person keeps in his memory until the end of the day. Such an event for me was the Passover Seder, which I held in 1944 in the Kopaigorod concentration camp, from which thousands of Jews from Bukovina were liberated by the advancing Soviet troops. Four days before the holiday, in March 1944, our 353^rd Stanislavsky Krasnoznamenny artillery regiment pushed back the German troops and captured the town of Kopaigorod, where the fascists had set up an extermination camp.

Thousands of Jews had been languishing in this camp for three years, and died from hunger and disease. It was April 7, 1944, when I came to the newly liberated prisoners of Kopaigorod. In front of me there were exhausted people, barely believing in the miracle of their liberation. And it was necessary to instill hope in them, to help them return to life. I decided to hold a Passover Seder with them. It must be said that for me, a Soviet officer, such a decision was fraught with great risk. I could pay very hard for it. But still, the thought of supporting the recent prisoners, reminding them of their Jewishness, was worth the risk!

The Jews from Bukovina called the place of their imprisonment a concentration camp, and local Jews, most of whom lived in their homes, called it the Kopaigorod ghetto. That is why I. Shohat called the concentration camp Kopaigorod, although in reality the concentration camp was at the beginning of the war at the Kopay station.

In the shtetl there was a “vosertruger” - a person who carried water. His name was Freiko Schneider. There has been an active water source in Kopaigorod since ancient times, located 500-700 meters from the houses. The inhabitants of the town carried water for themselves, and for those who could not, Freiko helped them, and was paid for his work. He carried two large buckets on a rocker all day, delivering water to residents. Freiko had poor eyesight and wore glasses with large lenses. When someone died Freiko also called people to the funeral, announcing the event loudly in Yiddish in the area of the Jewish houses. Later, when a water pipe was installed in the village, it wasn't necessary to carry water anymore. Some people liked to drink this spring water and they asked Freiko again to deliver it. Freiko had a wife, Golda, and a son, Shmil. When Shmil's parents died, he was left alone and worked as a porter in a silpo, village shop. Shmil liked to drink. He died in 1993 after falling out of a car. For a long time there was no monument on his grave, but the Kopaigorod Jews collected money and installed a monument on his grave.

Aron Fushman from Khotyn, who was in the Kopaigorod ghetto during the war, spoke about his experience with carrying water:

Five or six young men and I carried a 200-liter barrel of water twice a day. One of our guys died from this job. We were both loaders and horses. Water was taken from a spring located in the lowlands. We collected water in buckets from below, others poured it into a two-wheeled barrel, then harnessed it and dragged the water into the ghetto for the needs of the gendarmes. We poured the water we brought into various iron, enamel tanks for drinking, washing, cooking, and tanks and drove a second time. The gendarmes had a well in the yard, but they only wanted spring water.

In O. Braverman's story about his father's life during the war, there are also references to this water source:

As a slave, my father was used for all kinds of work. He was like a horse, harnessed to a cart on which a 150-liter barrel was installed. The road from the spring, from where he carried water, went uphill, which required colossal strength. At the very top, one of the local policemen often removed the cork from the barrel, the water flowed out and the policeman drove him back to the spring, shouting “Yankel, back!” . This could be repeated several times a day. If, on occasion, Dad saw this bastard after the war he would become furious. Only his self-control stopped him from taking revenge.

This is how people carried water home from the well

The spring water was cold in the summer. It was relatively warm in the winter and never froze. This spring was 200 meters from our house. I often went there to get water, sometimes on a rocker, and sometimes in my hands, having to stop on the way home because it was too hard to carry two buckets.

We loved winter and waited excitedly for it, but only if it snowed a lot. When it snowed, the whole street was filled with screams and joyful laughter of children, dressed warmly from head to toe in knitted woolen hats, coats or fur coats. A warm scarf was tied on top of the coat, which was tightly wrapped around the neck and tied on the back, covering the chest first. Mittens were attached with long rubber ropes so that parents didn't worry about cold hands and the mittens would not be lost. We wore felt boots, with or without galoshes, and warm pants.

There was a path that was covered with snow in winter that went from the front door of our house to the gate. Sometimes so much snow fell overnight that it reached the windowsill.

First father cleared away the snow. Later, when the path was covered again by more snow, my sister and I did the clearing, a job we really enjoyed. We diligently cleared the snow not only from the walls of the house, but also from the walls of the barn, so that they would not be wet. It was interesting, not difficult work, which we liked very much.

On winter evenings, when the house was heated, warm and cozy, the frost-encrusted window glass sparkled in the moonlight, I listened to music on the radio and fell asleep sweetly with the music in my head. The house had a free-standing ruby stove which heated two rooms and the kitchen. Time after time, father opened the metal door of the stove with a bang, throwing glowing coals into the red-hot interior. Moistened with a portion of water, the coals plunged into the fiery bed and hissed contentedly.

I really waited for such moments and tried to run to the stove and beg my father for the priceless right to throw in some coal myself. The action took place under the silent approval of my father. Inside the stove was a buzzing, crackling, red-hot red-yellow glow. Playful yellow-blue lights flashed inside the stove. Once hot, the coal often exploded, hitting the door from the inside with a loud click and sometimes throwing out several red-hot embers. The embers flew through the grates and fell into the soft ash of the blower, which was closed by separate small doors. Sometimes the embers fell on the floor near the stove, on which a piece of iron was nailed, and extinguished on it.

In the long winter evenings, we sat down at the table together and played cards. Our parents taught us to play the Jewish card game, Tablin, which required quick and smart moves.

I liked to look out of the window in the morning to see the snow-covered trees. Birds often flew to us, and we fed them. We made feeders, poured seeds and bread into them, and watched from the window as the birds happily pecked. When the frosts were quite severe and the crumbs froze, dad hung pieces of lard on a dart in the feeder for the little tits, woodpeckers, and voracious crows that often flew in.

There was a high hill near the house. Children from other streets came to our slide and we made sleds from anything that we had around. Everyone had homemade sleds of the most incredible designs. Not far from the slide, my friends and I made an ice rink by flooding the area with water. Not everyone had skates then, and those who didn't have them simply skated on their feet. The snow started to be wet enough to mold a little on days when the temperature outside was warm enough, so we built snow forts and played with snowballs. Everyone came home wet and tired, but satisfied. And when leaving school, we loved to cling to the back of a mass transport sled and ride while standing, holding on to it with our hands. It was dangerous, but we didn't think about the reality that you could fall and break an arm or a leg.

Behind these Jewish children you can see the narrow streets of Kopaigorod, late 1950's

Sledding on Kopaigorod hills

Fish were prepared for the winter consumption. The adults stretched out lines on which to dry fish, and the odor of fish permeated the streets. Everyone cooked fish. Garlic and onions were woven into wreaths for the winter. Potatoes were carefully piled in a corner of the cellar and were periodically checked to remove the roots that grew from them. It wasn't only food that was stocked for the winter. About two tons of coal were brought over, dumped near the house, and then carried in buckets to the barn, and the same was true for firewood. A whole carload of firewood was delivered to the house, then sawed, chopped and stacked neatly in the barn.

During the winters, people removed the carpets from their homes in order to clean them. Those involved in this task threw snow on the carpets, cleaned them with a brush, then threw them over a fence or some kind of crossbar, and beat them with a stick, knocking the snow and dust out of them. The streets were filled with these carpets and rugs on rug cleaning days. By passing this exhibition of carpets on the streets, one could find out which carpets and what colors were in this or that house. In the summer carpets were cleaned with a brush right in the house, soaking in a soapy solution. My back always hurt me after I helped clean carpets. Of course, not all Jews had carpets. “A shtib vus ot nish geot kover”, it was considered, “a urime shtib”. A house without carpets was considered a poor house. To get a good, large carpet at that time, you needed a lot of money.

The roof and chimney had to be prepared for winter. The roof was often covered with tiles, but some houses were covered only with thatch. For the latter, it was necessary to renew the roof in the summer so that the rains did not flood the house. The roof was insulated so if someone had things lying in the “boydem” (attic), they did not spoil.

It was also necessary to insulate the windows. This work started little by little in September. To do this, my mother bought several rolls of cotton wool from the pharmacy. She poured a layer of sawdust on the windowsill of newly cleaned windows, upon which she placed the cotton. It covered sawdust and could be decorated. Sawdust was needed to remove moisture from the window. We cut small pieces from the colored tinsel and then carefully and beautifully poured them on top of cotton wool for beauty. Then a second window frame was installed over this. The glass was checked, the tightness of its fit to the frame, and when necessary, it was fastened tightly to the frame with the help of putty and small nails. And in the spring, when it became warm outside, we removed the inner window frame, took out the raw sawdust from the winter, took out cotton wool and washed the windows. The wool was neatly rolled up, if it was not yet dark and dusty, and stored until the following autumn. Usually, even if we used the cotton wool from the previous year, we spread it right on the sawdust, and on top of that we used new, clean cotton wool. We changed the sawdust every year.

But what can I say. It was all difficult. Nothing came easily. Few people know about winterizing our windows this way now. Other windows, other times.

I clearly remember the smell of washed bed linen when it was brought into the house from the cold. Bent in half, bright white, like the first snow that has just fallen, but with a blue tint. The smell of frost immediately filled the whole house. Wherever there was room in the house, laundry was hung to dry. And everything was white, like a hospital room.

My mother called washing day a day of torture. We had to carry many buckets of water from the spring, heat buckets of water with the help of a kettle or cook laundry in a concoction of an alkaline solution and finely grated laundry soap, starch and bleach. Laundry was done in the yard in the summer. In winter it had to be done inside at home. The job of ironing is another topic, but it was very pleasant to sleep on such washed and ironed linens.

Winter in Kopaigorod was worrying, but also had a fascinating beauty. After it snowed all night long, everything was snow white in the morning and the Nemia River would be frozen. Majestic, giant, white, handsome swans swam in the small thaws that remained, their plaintive cooing could be heard around the river. Some incomprehensible circumstances forced them to stay here for the winter. It was interesting to watch these beautiful and proud birds and it was a sight beyond words. The swans perceived each handful of grain that was thrown into the water as a gift. They trustingly accepted human care, generosity, and kindness, and they gave us beauty and joy. Kopaigorod really looked like a winter fairy land: it was white, to the point of producing pain in the eyes. There was fresh snow and the gentle Nemia River with its white swans with curved necks.

Winter in Kopaigorod

Ancient Jewish laws established the responsibility of a father toward his son. The father is obliged to circumcise his son, teach him Torah, educate him to prepare for a profession, and see that he marries. The mother is also obliged to raise her children in the traditions of Judaism. In a certain sense, it is even easier for her to influence the child as she may spend more time at home with her children than the father, who may have work hours that keep him away. According to Jewish tradition, the husband and wife, father and mother, are the basis of the family. Children learn that their parents' attention to each other is foremost, and that the love of their parents knows no bounds. Children are so centrally important to the Jewish family.

The image of the Jewish mother, or the Yiddishe mama, has long been rooted in people's minds. The concept of the Yiddishe mama, denotes a mother of a high and almost unattainable attentiveness. A Jewish mother's highest concern is for the absolute care and virtue of her children.

The Jewish mother is always by your side. From the moment you are born, she breathes in unison with you. A Jewish mother lives to give, protect, and teach. That's why you wear a warm jacket when it's cold. That's why you eat another piece of food - of course for mom and dad. One knows that even if something terrible happens, the Jewish mother will come to fix everything. A Jewish mother knows exactly what her child needs. It doesn't matter if the child is five or fifty because she is the mother, and mom is always right.

Someday you will move to another house, to another city or even to another country. You will build your life away from your parents. You will make your own mistakes, look in the mirror and not recognize your former self. But on all the paths of life you will have an internal guide: “What would mom say?” And no matter how far fate throws you, when you are really good or really bad, happy or sad, you will first of all reach for the phone and say the magic words: “Mom, it's me.”

My mother was born on September 30, 1921 in Kopaigorod, the town in which she spent almost her entire life. I can dedicate many warm and insightful words in devotion to my mother. Words cannot describe what my heart feels when I think of my mother. Every child loves his or her mother, but once you are grown, you realize how good it is when mom is around, that she is alive. In Jewish families, elders are respected, and couples have a very strong bond between themselves and between their children. The children are priceless treasures! Every step of growth and progress of the child is observed. When the child reaches adulthood, he or she creates a new family, and loves and protects offspring in the same manner. Many cannot understand this wonder through time and generations.

Mother! I remember your warm, tender hands,
That I was fondled as a child…
And quietly whispered:
Sleep, fall asleep, my dear,
Nothing will happen to you.
Day after day, the years passed.
And you stayed
As young as you were.
So it seemed to me
My dear mother,
That years will never change you.
Old age comes by itself…
But for me,
You are still the same, dear.
I have been keeping the warmth of your hands all my life.
I always remember your voice.
And in moments of sadness
I hear your voice
And again there will be light in the soul…

A Jewish mother is very devoted to her children. When something bad happens, she is ready to give her heart for her children, she is ready to take on their illnesses and failures. The Yiddish phrase, Mir zol zayn far dayne beyndelekh (if only I could be the one to suffer instead of your little bones) illustrates a concept contained within our gene pool: the love of one's children and grandchildren and the desire to protect them from all harm at the cost of one's own health. May the memory of our mothers, grandmothers, simple Jewish women who had the gift of such love, be blessed. A new happiness is achieved when there are grandchildren. “In di mome shen gevorn a bubbe, a Yiddishe bubbe.” My mother was already on her way to becoming a Jewish grandmother.

When everything was changing in life and the whole world was turning upside down, “a klein kind”, “a eynykl”, a small child - a grandchild occupied the entire space of the grandmother's soul her thoughts and desires. All of her worries were connected to this tiny creature, so sweet and gentle, beloved and dear, so helpless, and who needed her more than anyone.

And the grandmother called him: my sweet, my dear, my little, my pretty, my life. She understood that she loved him even more than her child. After all, her children were adults who were able to take care of themselves, the Jewish grandmother reassured herself. It seems impossible, but it is. Mother, became a grandmother at a mature age, with new strength, with new power, immersed in a new love for a small, defenseless creature.

It was the same with my mother. When Galya's sister gave birth to her daughter Rimma, mother gave all of her strength and love to her granddaughter. All worries about the child fell on her shoulders. The baby's father was working, Yuchym was still studying at school, and Galina and her husband worked in a hospital. Finally, in the evenings, everyone was able to father at home. Then it became easy and fun. My father also loved his granddaughter very much. And later, my family and I came to visit my parents on vacation.

My mother's childhood was difficult. She grew up without a father, but her mother tried to fill the role of two parents. Mom was a sociable and capable child. She loved to sing Jewish songs, read books, and learned to play the guitar.

She studied at a Jewish school for seven years and then graduated from a Ukrainian high school. While at the Jewish school, she took an active part in the school's peace activities. This is evidenced by her sixth grade diploma, from the 1933-34 academic year, which we still have.

Before the war, my mother worked as a Russian language teacher at a school in the village of Lisove. In 1940, she graduated from a one-year pedagogical course for training teachers of Russian language and literature for secondary school.

From the start of the occupation, my mother lived in the concentration camp near the Kopay Station. From the fall of 1941 until her liberation in March 1944, she was in the ghetto.

Every day the guards sent my mother off to hard labor, and they beat her for any small offense. My mother said that many Jews were driven to work early in the mornings by the Romanians to build the road from the Nemerchi Station to the village of Nemerchi. The laborers experienced every kind of abuse at this construction site.

The laborers were forced to work from 3 AM until 10 PM. The workers were under the strict and constant supervision of the guards, and they were beaten for any perceived evasion of work. The executioner here was the magistrate, praetor Ion Vode himself and his supporters, commandant Migutsa and gendarme Bugai, who were responsible for many deaths. People were shot, many women and children fell ill because of the hard work, and people died from hunger, cold, and epidemics.

My mother married after the war ended. She worked at the post office where her father had worked and did not want to return to school. Later, as her children came along, she worked at home, caring for us. All of the worries about the children and many other things fell completely on her shoulders.

Certificate of Honor for Anyuta Koifman, 6th grade student of the Kopaigorod Jewish School, 1934

The above mentioned is signed and confirmed with a stamp.

Principal of the school    Kreymer
Assistant    Kernerman
Teachers
Secretary    Gorodetskaya

My father had strong hands, the hands of a master. He knew how to do everything in the household by himself. There wasn't anything he could not accomplish. I always helped him. In the evenings, when we were still small, my father sat me on one knee and my sister on the other. We huddled close to him, and he quietly told us various stories about Jewish life. Father also talked about his life, but very little about how he managed to survive during the occupation. It was hard for him to speak about this. We loved listening to him, and he told stories in a fun, interesting way, using Jewish proverbs. He had an excellent memory. He remembered all the names and places where this or that event took place. His stories were like a window into another world for us, unusual and interesting. Father told us many stories from the life of Herschel Ostropoler.

Ostropoler is a hero of Jewish folklore, a swindler and brawler in the spirit of Haji Nasreddin, the first in a constellation of Jewish wits. He was born near Balta, died in Medzhibozh. Ostropoler, a folk entertainer, entertained people with his funny anecdotes taken from life. Collections of stories and anecdotes about Ostropoler have been published in Yiddish, Hebrew, Russian, German, English and other languages.

Here, for example, is one of the stories about him.

Once Hershl went to a rich Jew and asked for the loan of a spoon. After a few days, he returned not one, but two spoons. The owner asked why he was returning two spoons, because he gave him only one. Hershl replied that the spoon got married. Another time Hershl asked to borrow a glass. They gave him a glass. A few days later, Hershl came and returned the glass with a small glass. What happened again, wondered the owner? It turns out that a glass gave birth to a small glass. The third time Hershl came to this man and asked to lend him a fur coat. They gave him a fur coat. After a week passed, Hershl had still not returned the coat.

The owner of the fur coat came to Hershl and asked: “Where is the fur coat?”

“The fur coat died,” says Hershl.

“But can a fur coat die?” asks the owner of the fur coat.

“If a spoon can get married, and a glass can give birth to a small glass, then why can't a fur coat die?”, answered Herschel Ostropoler.

This is how it happens with people who first borrow small money, return it, win the trust, and then borrow a lot of money, disappear, and “die like a fur coat.”

When we had a sore throat and a cough in the winter, dad prepared the most delicious medicine in the world. It was called gogol-mogol. He mixed a yolk in a large glass with hot milk, a teaspoon of homemade butter, a spoonful of fragrant honey, and a little baking soda.All this was whipped quickly and thoroughly, and we drank it before going to bed. After a few hours, we really did feel better.

My brother was born in 1956. He was named Yuchym (Chaim in Hebrew) in memory of our grandmother Haika. My sister and I helped my mother a lot during that period. We played with Yuchym and took him for walks. One time I was helping my father build a new shed with a chicken coop, and Yuchym was hanging out next to us. When we finished working, we went into the house, and did not realize that Yuchym was hiding in the chicken coop. He was about four years old at the time. I went outside and called my brother to come home to eat, but he was nowhere to be found. During a search for him someone randomly looked into the chicken coop, and there he was, sitting quietly. When my brother grew up he helped my parents a lot with chores as I did not live in Kopaigorod at that time, and Galina had her own family. I will never forget the warm touch of my parents' hands and their gentle look. These memories live in my heart to this day.

Two bazaars - a large and a small one - were among the outstanding places of the town. The bazaar is a place where at that time you could find out all the news and meet each other. The small bazaar was located in the center of the village, and the large one was farther away towards the hospital. The small bazaar was in business every day; the big one was open only on Sundays. I remember how many people were in the bazaars on market days. It was an extraordinary sight! People came to the big bazaar from other surrounding villages, as well as from Bar and Zhmerynka. Meat, lard, poultry, dairy products, the famous Kopaigorod homemade sausage and industrial goods were sold here. Both Jews and Ukrainians managed the bazaar at different times. Melnyk Yakov, an interesting and extraordinary person, managed the bazaar in the late 1930's.

My mother liked to go to the bazaar. She was in her element there. She would quietly leave the house early in the morning on market days while everyone was still asleep. Within half an hour she bought fresh sour cream, butter, and cheese, which were the ingredients for our homemade breakfasts.

It was interesting to watch my mother while she shopped. She knew how to estimate, bargain, deftly knock down prices and finally buy what she wanted. It was a game to her. She liked the whole process which always ended in her favor. She knew how to buy the best at the cheapest price. I admired her skills, and she was certainly satisfied and proud of herself. The most interesting thing to me was that the sales woman agreed to my mother's price proposals, yielding to her, as she always started asking related questions, which put the sellers in a dead end.

Many of the Jewish households kept chickens, including my family. In order to distinguish their chickens from all of the others, everyone painted the top chicken feathers with a particular color paint. In the evening, as the sun set, one could hear people calling their chickens all over town: “Tsip-y-p”, followed by the penetrating “Tip-tip-ti-i-p”, or the gentle “Tsypa-tsypa”. The multi-colored herds ran toward their homes, but in all different directions. Although we kept chickens, ours seemed to take a long time to grow, so each Sunday my mother bought a live chicken at the bazaar to cook for Shabbat. The live chicken was brought to the shoikhet (Kosher butcher), to properly kill and gut it. The feathers were never thrown away; they were collected to make pillows.

I will never forget how my mother bought live chickens. As the saleswoman held a chicken in her hands, with the feet and wings bound, my mother would grab the chicken by the feet, examine it, and blow under its tail. This is how she determined whether a chicken was healthy or able to lay eggs. My mother never bought an old bird. She did not like hard meat that had to be cooked for a long time.

Sometimes there were interesting interactions at the bazaar. For example, Dora is buying a chicken and bargaining with a peasant woman. At the same moment Dina approaches and is also interested in the same chicken. Then a dispute arises between them. Dora asks Dina to leave and not disturb her. After all, she has been bargaining for this chicken for a long time. They speak in Yiddish so that others do not understand. Yes, Kopaigorod was a place where people came not only to buy and sell, but also to chat. Here you could see Rebbe Srul buying something for Shabbat. There, Golda, choosing an onion and exclaiming: “Just look at this onion! It's not a bow, it's excitement!” Golda prying off a piece of husk, and throwing onions at the seller if she found a damaged one, at the same time managing to sneak some onions into her bag and pay only for those she chose. My mother told me that when my grandmother Hayka went to buy onions during the war, the storekeeper told her: “Onions are for us, and bullets are for you, Jews.”

While the owner of the fruit counter was busy serving a customer, everyone else around tasted the products and gave it to the children to sample. If the owner was angry with this, the customers told him that they buy fruit only for children. They wanted the children to try the produce, otherwise they would be throwing away their money if the children didn't like it.

Manya sold aprons that she made herself at the bazaar, for one ruble each. When customers complained that it was too expensive she replied: “Would you like me to give it to you for free? You will excuse me, but your request is in vain. I cannot grant you such a gift.”

Beef and pork was sold at the bazaar. If a Jew wanted to buy pork it was done secretly so that another Jew would not see and then tell others he was eating pork.

Jews often settled right next to the bazaar, since early times in Kopaigorod history. Many Jews traded, but there were also craftsmen who also benefited from being near the bazaar. The life of a Jew was hard. It didn't matter what your business was, it was necessary to be at the bazaar in order to have an income to feed one's family. We can say that in those days the bazaar was the center of Jewish life, probably even more so than the synagogue.

The fairs in Kopaigorod at the beginning of the 20^th century were extraordinary events that the town offered to local residents who were not too spoiled by fancy entertainment, and even to such cities as Vinnytsia, Kamianets-Podilskyi or Mogilev-Podilskyi. At the fairs, one could see sellers quarreling with buyers, chickens screaming as if they had been slaughtered, although they had not yet been touched by the shoikhet's hand, dogs barking, beggars begging, horses snorting and beating their hooves inappropriately. There were shouts that cannot be described, all the voices intermingled, all the smells mingled: horse dung, unwashed beggars, the perfume of young ladies, blood-soaked meat carcasses, fragrant bouquets of flowers, raw skin, fruit, home-cooked fish and meat, pumpkins of various sizes, watermelons, from which one couldn't step away All senses worked here: touch, smell, sight. And add to that, the carousel rides and the “Illusion” cinematograph!

So, the fair in Kopaigorod was very noisy, with a large number of stalls where iron products, agricultural products, stock, livestock, etc. were traded. People sold products and goods that they produced themselves, and products that they knew how to take from nature. Some residents of the town knew how to sew coats and boots from treated sheep skins. The peasants also sold these and other goods at fairs. These fairs and auctions held in Kopaigorod contributed to its economic development and the enrichment of city residents.

In Kopaigorod, at the bazaar, one could hear the urban slang of Vinnytsia, a town speech in which Yiddish was interwoven with Ukrainian and Russian, creating a kind of everyday slang that everyone knew well and that existed since the time of the already disappeared pre-revolutionary strip of settlement. These multi-voiced pictures of the town bazaar could become interesting subjects for a movie or a theater production.

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Updated 19 Dec 2023 by JH