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These are fragments from a handwritten diary by our eminent fellow townsman, Mr. Yakov Ilitowitz, who described from his wonderful memory, personalities, families and happenings from the old and modern Lida. He also describes his experiences in the Second World War under the Soviet rule, earlier in Lida, and later, as an exile in the Far East (shown in “B'Zchus” as an ardent Zionist and in addition a merchant that is called a “Borshoi”). In our historical research, we extracted a lot from this rich informative material, but because of the goal and program of our book, we couldn't print it in full, and we have to be satisfied with a small portion thereof.

Lida has a long history of hundreds of years. The Jewish population does also. The castle in Lida was built, as history shows, more than 600 years ago under the Lithuanian King Gedimin. The old Lida synagogue, which burned down 75 years ago, existed, as they used to tell, about 300 years. Among the children, there were many legends concerning the castle, which they certainly had heard from their parents. They used to say that under the two old trees on the castle hill, were buried a king and a queen. They also told that in the castle were buried big treasures, but one mustn't dig for them because the treasures ere cursed. Those who tried to dig them up were pulled down into the earth…

From olden times, Lida had three central streets: Vilna Street, Kaminke Street and Crooked Street (Krume Street) (later changed to Suwalke Street, 3rd of May Street, and Mayer Moskowitz Street under the Polish rule). Where does the name Crooked Street come from? This is hard to understand. It seems backwards since the street from the market all the way to the farm is really a straight one. After the big fire, a new street, Sadove Street, was carved from the Synagogue Square to Kaminke Street. On the whole site there used to be a big fruit garden that belonged to the pharmacist, a Christian. Behind a fence of small wooden blocks, stood the pharmacists' apothecary and his house. After the fire, the pharmacist lost the garden, and sold building lots to Jews. The pharmacist bought out the Pole Stavinsky and she moved to Vilna Street. Later she sold to Bergman (Stara Pharmacy).

In the center of the city was the large marketplace, and in the middle a deep well, from which the residents of the marketplace and from the surrounding streets used to draw water. Before the fire, almost all the houses in the marketplace were wood. After the fire they built brick houses. The first houses in the marketplace were taverns, the principal things for the peasants who used to come to sell their farm products.

The owners of the taverns were the most respected people in the city. In olden times the tavern of Moshe Elazar was well known. He was a relative of the old Rabbi Mordecai Meltzer. Later, Bere Moshe Baran, a Jew with a big influence in Congregation matters, himself not a scholar, at least wanted to keep the company of rabbis. His son-in-law, Rosovsky, was indeed the son of the well known Svianke rabbi, a scholar and an enlightened man, who sat in the store, which his father-in-law had given him, and looked in a book or a religious text. In the same house, there was later a Sklad Pharmacy of Bere Moshe's son, Yakov. There was a tavern owner named Mayer. He was a short Jew, with a small beard. Most of the time he sat in the Bais Midrash, not so much out of piety, but because his three daughters ran his tavern.

Not far from him was the tavern of Hirshe Mordecai NEchoms, a talented and energetic Jew. In a corner of the marketplace – on Crooked Street was the tavern of David-Yudel Kamenietsky, a brother of Yashe Elie the Judge. He was a tall, lean Jew, with a handsome beard and a stately appearance. Besides keeping a tavern he was also from time to time a wood merchant. In another place was the tavern-restaurant “Zayod”, which was established in the fifty years before the last century by Isaac Lande, from the Vilna scholars (who did not want to be rabbis). In our times, the owner was Isaac Lande, a third generation later than the other Isaac. In his wife's name, Liebe Lande, was a guest house. A “Zayod” with a stall for the horse of the wagon drivers, later also a hall for celebrations, and even later a stage for theatrical performances.

A little further on a side, near the Red Street (Krasni Pereolok), was the tavern of Etel Nathum Leib's, the wife of Notte Lande (a grandson of the aforementioned Isaac Lande). The wife was the tavern keeper, and her husband, Notte, from time to time worked part-time. In the market days he sold glasses, before Succoth he dealt in esrogs and lulavs, and the rest of the time he sat in the Bais Midrash, occupied with the Talmud and Torah and the like.

There was a tavern keeper on the marketplace, Chaim Pinkus. No one knew him by and beer, Passover he would make wine from raisins (the skilled master in his employ was Mayer, who used to “squeeze honey” for my father, Jeremiah Ilitowitz, i.e. separating the honey from the wax). There were three kinds of wine: a pot for under half a ruble, , for a ruble and for 75 kopeks. According to the price, Chaim would order to be poured: from vat number one, from vat number two, or from vat number three. But conjecture was that all three sorts were from one vat, which stood in the cellar…. Thus, at any rate, the wine-maker Mayer confided in my father his big secret.

Besides taverns there were other establishments on the marketplace. For instance, Mottye Chaim Ber's (Rabinowitz), whose house with the courtyard stretched up to Red Street. A very pious Jew, he used to pray with so much religious fervor, that he never prayed in public.

A neighbor of Mottye's place was Shmuel Steinberg, a rich Jew with a strong character. Between both places there was a small passageway which each claimed belonged to him. They both argued and fought all their life long. And markedly, they both died within an hour of each other, an early afternoon on Simchas Torah (about 1912). Jews learned a lesson that human arguments are foolish. The heirs submitted the matter to judgment.

Avreml the Water Carrier also had a relationship to the marketplace where he used to take water from the well. You can't talk about the marketplace and not mention Avreml. He was middle height, broad shouldered and strongly built. Children used to say that Avreml was born with iron rods around his body, which gave him strength. A fact is that even a grown man had a difficult time picking up Avreml's two big wooden buckets encased in iron hoops, even empty, not talking about when they were full. Avreml was an honest Jew and used to give full buckets. There were other water carriers, but no one had such big buckets. They simply did not have as much strength.

Winter or summer Avreml used to wear boots with high legs up above his knees. It looked as if the rest of his body was short. When he walked with the yolk over his neck, it seemed as if he was walking on stilts. He spoke with a loud voice and it seemed as if he was screaming. His wife would stand at a table on the marketplace with soft bread. This was a seasonal income. When Avreml went by her table, carrying water, he used to take off the full buckets, and chat with his wife.

On Sabbath, after the third meal (Shalosh Seudos), Avreml was a prayer leader in the small house of worship near the big synagogue.

It's a natural thing that my first memories are tied up with my own family, whose name was a password in Lida like the Pupko family.

My father Jeremiah Ilitowitz, belonged on his mother's side to the Pupko family – the Hanchik's, from the name of the founder of the family whose name was Hana. The Hanchik's were all advisors in congregational matters. Because of his pedigree my father was able to elude the “Chappers” (catchers) who used to snatch Jewish children to become soldiers for 25 years. This was the story:

When my father was still just a young boy, he once came out of the Bais Midrash where he was learning, on a late winter evening. Suddenly the “Chappers”, who had just come into the city, encircled him. The oldest “Chapper” lit his face with his lantern, and said, “Let him go. He is one of the Hanchik's.”

Naftali Saltz was an old Lida householder, from before the fire, but he came originally from Vilna, from the well known Saltz family. His business was the horse post. In those times when there was not yet any train (and also later, in the places where the train didn't reach), the passengers used to rent horses from one horse-post to the next, where they would again change horses.

A middle sized man with a salt and pepper, not very long beard, he used to walk around his big courtyard, which stretched from Vilna Street almost to the river, with his hands stuck in the belt of his pants. He loved having “a little cup” from time to time. He had clout with the authorities. If he was asked to work something out with the government in a matter of business, or in a private matter (if this didn't hurt anyone) he didn't refuse. He didn't, however, mix into congregation matters. He built a small synagogue in his own courtyard (Saltz's synagogue), but he himself was not a frequent visitor.

Naftali's son, a lawyer, was greatly beloved in Lida. He died young from an appendix operation.

“The Proizinisher Judge” or shortened to “The Proiziner” (who remembers his name?) had a brilliant mind. He wasn't only a great student of Talmud, but also a wise man and full of humor. He also had a weakness: He loved brandy (and a liqueur, until the weakness shortened his life).

This was in the time of the Russian liquor monopoly. One day the Proizinisher came home to his wife with news – You hear, Sarah, there is salvation and consolation for all Jews. – “What is the salvation?” asked his wife? – “You will hear. Until now when one bought a flask of brandy in the Monopoly, one had to bring each time an empty flask. Now there is something new: Whoever brings in five empty flasks will receive one free.”

A password in Lida was “Itche the Tshlen”, a son of Nathan Shimeon Pupko, founder of the first beer brewery in Lida. The name “The Tshlen” comes from the fact that he was a member in the city management, a very smart Jew, one of the dedicated city social workers. One of his sons married a daughter of “Mottye the Chalernick” (where the surname comes from, no one knows).

A second was the son-in-law of “Yoshe the Goy”, called this because he lived in a small town among “goyim”. Itche used to joke about his two in-laws, that the Chaleria (bad one) will take the “goy”.

Gershele Kamienietsky was a Proshene writer. He was called Gershele, not Gershon, his real name, because of his short height. One used to joke that once he woke his wife, Reitze, in the middle of the night with a nightmare: he suddenly felt that he grew so much that he took up the whole bed. They lit the light and saw that he had turned around and lay in the width of the bed. But without joking, he was an intelligent man, clear in the Russian “Laws” and thus so scrupulously honest that he never made a good living. It was a miracle that his wife, Reitze, dealt with manufacture.

He also was “Tsheln” in the city Council. If it would happen that the Jewish members didn't take part in a session, and the city officer, Jakobovitz, would bring the official report home to be approved, Gershon would study the document one time and again another time. Then the rest would approve without reading it. “Jeremi,” Jakobovitz would say to my father, who was also a councilman, “Sign it. Gershele already signed”, in other words, if he signed, there's no need to read it further.

It was in the days when the largest part of the Jewish Worker-Youth, and with them also wide circles of the Jewish Student Youth, in Russia and Poland, and also in Lida, were dominated by the ideas of the Revolutionary Movement in Russia. A group of well-brought up young people who were nationalists, caught up in the general enthusiasm which formed the first Zionist Congresses in the Jewish world, decided to stop being passive and to organize themselves.

The first who joined were: mordecai Krupsky, Wolf Sokolovsky, Nachum Rosenstein, Israel Aaron Sheliovsky, Gilinsky (not from Lida), the brothers Yakov and Broine Ilitowitz. Also a group of girls joined the activities: Sterna Leithouse (later Krupsky), Gitl Levin, Rivka Pupko, Frume (Frumtshe) Yudelewitz, and others.

With the assistance of Vilna Zionist worker, Sheiniuk, who was then in Lida as head worker at Papeirmeister's brewery, a Zionist Youth Organization was founded known as “Tzeirai Tzion” (Zionist Youth). As far as I know this was the first Zionist Youth Organization in Poland that used that name. When more young women belonged, they separated under the name “Daughters of Zion”, as a section of “Tzeirai Tzion”.

SHEINIUK also worked it out that Papermeister (whose son-in-law, Kantor, was also a lover of Zion) should rent the organization the large wooden structure in his courtyard. It had three large rooms and a kitchen. The local was called “Chinaya”. This means a tea house, since Zionism was then not legal. But tea drinking was allowed! Thus, it became “Chinaya” or in Yiddish “China”.

The number of members of Zionist Youth grew. Every evening there were many members in the “China”. Friday and Saturday evening the “China” was packed with visitors. Speakers would come from whom you could hear lively speeches.

In 1902 a new strength arrived in Lida, Moshe Cohen, who was invited through Rabbi Reines, Secretary of the young “Mizrachi” organization. He became the regular speaker at the “China”.

In 1904, the “China” had as its guest Vladimir Jabotinsky. This was his first appearance in Lithuania.

The young Zionist movement in Lida had to overcome a great struggle, from one side with the “Bund” (the Socialist organization), and from the other side with the fanatical religious people, who said that one shouldn't “rush to destruction”, but to wait for the Messiah. The main struggle was with the people from the “Bund” who tried all kinds of things to hinder the Zionist activities.

In 1900 when the “Colonial Bank” was established, the Zionist Youth spread 1000 activists in Lida.

With the establishment of the Keren Kayemet (benevolent fund) for Israel, the collection of money began by various means. First, there was the Keren Kayemet coin box, which was put in every Jewish business and home, both among the rich and landowners, and also among the craftsmen. This again started a struggle with the Bundists who had young hangers-on in the craftsmen's houses. The young Bundists would throw the coin box somewhere so the mother could not put in her groschen (pennies) for Eretz Israel before she lit the candles on Friday night. A second means of money collection was the “Zionist Post”, which had its center at Frume Yudelewitz's. Rosh HasHana wishes, invitations and congratulations for weddings and other happy events, were sent through the Zionist Post instead of through the government post, and the income went to Keren Kayemet.

A separate dedication that the Lida Zionists showed was for education of their children. Their ideal was a full Hebrew School.

The pioneers of the Hebrew School were: a young student, Matathias Rubin, a son of Rube-Hana Rubin (now a lawyer in Haifa) and his later-to-be wife, Noite, at that time, Rabinowitz. They opened a Hebrew class. They had no money for a place, so they taught in a room in the burial attendants' house of worship, with the approval of the trustees of the synagogue. From that class a Hebrew Gymnasia grew, which went up to sixth grade. It didn't go further because of financial restraints. The main effort was concentrated in strengthening the situation of the Folk School classes.

The seven-grade “Tarbut” school grew from year to year and the number of students went up to 500. The structure of CHanan Ilitowitz, on Sadove Street, became too small, and they began to think of a building of its own.

A building committee was chosen, consisting of representatives from “Tarbut” and the parents. The first one to volunteer to work for the undertaking was our friend Berl Dworetzky. A building site was acquired by the committee free of charge from the Magistrate, not far from the Polish Government School. The Jewish population of Lida imposed large and small taxes upon itself. The Segalny's taxed themselves with bricks, the Tartak's with wood material, and the iron business of Chertak-Steinberg with iron products. Because of the endeavors of the merchants Shimeon Pupko and Pinchas Rabinowitz who were their customers, the cement factories gave cement.

After great strain, a three-story building was finished with a hall for calisthenics, and a warm toilet. There was a big housewarming to which were invited many guests. A separate “cake and brandy” party was arranged for the parents of the students, many of whom had taxed themselves, each according to his ability. It was a great celebration.

This was in 1939. The joy did not last long. When the Soviets captured Lida, the “Tarbut” School was closed.

When we, the Lida inhabitants who had been sent to Siberia, returned after the war when the echelon stopped in Lida, I ran to take a look at the devastated city. I didn't have much time since the echelon had to leave. I just ran to take a peek at what happened to the building of the “Tarbut” School, if it had the same fortune as all Jewish buildings. But no, the structure from the “Tarbut” School remained whole, not touched, and I noted there was already a Soviet Government headquarters there. It broke my heart.

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Lida was a typical Lithuanian city, life was quiet, flowed slowly, compatible with the flow of the river “Lidzika,” on whose banks the city stretched out as if on still waters.^[1] The people were keepers of tradition, the public activity found its release in the domain of the synagogue, the Beit HaMidrash. “Choshen Mishpat”^[2] was the determiner of relations between people; “Yoreh HaDeah”^[3] gave instruction in the laws of the way of life and daily life at home and in the family. The rabbi of the place and the teacher of instruction imprinted the seal on the way of life, the story tellers and the preachers shaped from upon the bima, next to the Holy Ark, the moral stability and fear of the creator. The honored residents and the scholars in the city pleased themselves with a page of Gemara between the afternoon and evening prayers, under the guidance of the Judge Reb Yasha Eliyahu, may is memory be for a blessing. The householders, the refined, and the gifted of hearing had great interest in discussing and debating the Chazzan's praying and singing in the synagogue on the previous Shabbat, or the Chazzanim who were designated to pray on the coming festivals. There were among them those who preferred a Chazzan with a beautiful melody, while others spoke positively about the “recitation.” And again there were those for whom the “master of weeping” captivated their taste.

The children's education found its place in the “cheder.” The teachers were of various degrees. The novice Hebrew teacher was not the teacher of Chumash with Rashi's interpretation, and both of them were at a lower level compared to the teacher of Gemara and decisors. The youth would complete the circle of their learning and their studies in the yeshivot. The intermediate days of the Passover and Sukkot festivals turned into emergency days for the teachers. These days were designated for courting the students' fathers in their homes, to ensure a position for the coming “time.”^[4] The parents would test the teachers in order to discern their level of scholarship, and according to this they would make a positive or negative determination. The meaning of the matter, to give or not give their children to this cheder or to another.

The children would spend time in the cheders until late at night. A tested means to keep these children in the cheder and increase their diligence in their learning was the Rabbi's strap. This strap also served as a weapon that helped against the rebels and misbehavers among the schoolchildren. The rabbi would lay the rebellious child down on the bench, lift up his pants, with apology, and strike four or five lashes on the “backside.” The child would twitch and scream. In fact this punishment did not always bring the desired results for any length of time. Mostly the children would take advantage of every opportunity to get away from the cheder. Inner inclinations would cause the rabbi and the strap to be forgotten, and they would run to the river on the days of summer to bathe and especially to devote themselves to the art of swimming. And in truth the children of the cheder were experts in swimming like fish. Besides our river, the “Lidzika,” which I mentioned above, there was another place that was attractive to the children, which was the “Metzuda,” (the fortress) – this was a high mound, on which there remained the walls of a fort from the middle ages, from the days of the Lithuanian kings, which were spoken of by the people of the city. And on these walls, which were built of rough stone, there were many birds' nests. There was therefore a “business” for the children to climb the walls and take the baby birds out of their nests; this was in the days of summer. In the winter days there was no greater pleasure than to sneak out of the cheder, to fly to the frozen river to glide on homemade skates – pieces of wood that had an iron wire affixed to the bottom.

While I was still about the age of four my father, may his memory be for a blessing, took the holy role to bequeath to me the beginning of knowledge: to read “Hebrew.” This learning was at home, according to the pedagogic method that was tested through the ages: kamatz aleph – Ah; kamatz bet – Bah; patach aleph – Ah; patach bet – bah; and so on until the end of the big aleph-bet chart. I appeared before the rabbi at the cheder perfect – I knew how to join letter to letter and read whole words. And so I began straightway with the Chumash. And here the rabbi was opening before me a large Chumash, and it was from Slavuta Printing, all golden, flattened from much use and learning by children before me. The letters were in a large clear text, but around the text was a thicket of short lines in Rashi writing,^[5] small letters of various commentators besides Rashi: “Metzudat Tzion,”^[6] “Metzudat David,” and the like. And the small letters, poppy seeds, dancing and prancing, skipping, disappear and you can't bring them into focus, or focus yourself. And the rabbi begins from “In the beginning God created,” one verse from Scripture and one verse from a Yiddish translation, and the children repeat after him. And here, suddenly, a stream of candies is spilled on it and is scattered on the Chumash. And my grandfather, who brought me to the cheder, explains to me pleasantly that these candies are falling from heaven, a gift for the children of Israel who are beginning to learn Torah.

In this way we continued “to learn the Torah,” a word and its interpretation, a word and its interpretation without knowing what was told in the whole verse, and all in the sounds of a dozen or more voices, until Thursday. On this day we would review all that we had learned during the whole week. On Friday there was a break in the learning, and instead we would learn to go through the weekly portion according to the signs of the melody of mahpach, pashta, munach, etnachta, etc.^[7]

Most of the parents followed the studies of the sons, and on the Sabbaths, on the days of rest, and after the Shabbat nap, they would test and check the achievement of the children during the course of the whole week; they would also invite the teachers to these tests. The mother, her eyes bright with an abundance of pleasure, and honoring those gathered around with refreshment prepared on the Shabbat eve. This was a matter of the education for the sons, and so I too entered into the hall of Torah and knowledge, Derekh Eretz^[8] and mitzvot.

This was not the case for the daughters. The obligation of learning did not apply to them. And there were parents who accepted the opinion of the ancient Tanna^[9] that anyone who teaches his daughter Torah, it is if he is teaching her promiscuity.^[10] However, these were a minority of the parents. Most of them were of the opinion that exempt without anything is impossible, and the daughters would come in groups to the teachers, who would teach them Yiddish reading and writing, according to the letter-writing manual, so that some time, when they reach marriageable age, they will be able to compose a letter to their betrotheds. And likewise, so that they will have the opportunity to read chassidic story books. These “booklets” were very widespread among the girls. These booklets were disseminated by Mendele Booksellers,^[11] most of whom travelled to houses that had daughters, ladened with bundles of books on their shoulders. The daughters read these stories with great enthusiasm, mostly at nights when the fathers and mothers were fast asleep. And the novels of

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Shomer and Sheikovitch were best-sellers and much-read in the communities of these readers. And how many tears did they shed for the bitter fate of the Matildas, the Lizas, and the Rosas - the heroines of these novels – whose lovers betrayed them and left them alone.

An hour that I dredge up from the depths of my memories of the events of those years of the beginning of the days of my life on earth, I cannot skip over this appearance in our city of “Mussarniks.”

And here a few words about the men of Mussar. This movement began to spread principally among those who learned in the yeshivot in the cities and towns in the regions of Vilna and Grodno. The movement advocated for an ethical life, satisfaction with a little, from abstention from all the pleasures and comforts in private life; to be submissive, obedient, and modest; to devoted oneself only to the service of the Creator by means of diligence in Torah study, Talmud and Decisors, in the sense of “you shall meditate on it day and night,”^[12] and in delving deeply into books of Mussar, such as “The Duties of the Heart” of Rabbi Bachya,^[13] and other books by rabbis, righteous men, and God-fearers. This movement of men of Mussar (the “Mussarniks,” as they were called), acquired for itself believers, faithful ones, and also supporters. Their leader, Reb Yosef Yozel,^[14] a man with initiative and the qualities of an organizer, went from town to town and would “plant” group after group of these “ascetics” in those places.

All kinds of rumors circulated in the towns about this Reb Yozel, about his separateness, and his dwelling in a sukkah in the forest, in which place he would learn Torah, about righteous women in Novarodok – the city where they would bring him meals and the like to his sukkah. This Mussar movement in its time engaged and stirred up the opinion of the Jewish public. It had opposers on all sides. All of the cities and towns in which Reb Yozel was active were mostly made up of the “Mitnagdim,” and they were hostile to Chassidut. They suspected that this sect of the Mussarniks was a new movement of Chassidut, and they related to it with doubt. For their part, the chassidim also renounced it, since they did not hold with the way of thinking and the way of life of the men of Mussar in the service of the Creator, and their outlook on life that was in opposition to that of the chassidim. These last advocated for serving God out of joy, gaiety and dancing, in the sense of “all my bones will say,”^[15] and also at every opportunity with the help of the bitter drop.^[16] They could not agree with asceticism, to separation from the life of this world, as the men of Mussar were accustomed to.

But Reb Yozel, as great as his genius was, so too was his stubbornness. He did his thing according to his own understanding and outlook. He traveled from city to city, preached, explained, influenced and added more and more followers.

And behold, one day he approached our house also. And he was a squat Jew, red-headed, with burning eyes, and secluded himself with my father, may his memory be for a blessing. Reb Yosef Yozel knew my father already from the time that the two of them learned in the same yeshivot – in Volozhin and in Mir. Now he turned to him with a request that he cooperate with him for the sake of increasing Torah among the people of Israel. My father was indeed a Charedi man, but he related coldly to this movement of the “Mussarniks.” But here he could not stand before the pleas of his friend, who he knew from the years of his youth, and agreed to harness himself to the yoke of this mission – to support the learning of Torah for its own sake. He, a respected man, managed to convince a few of the householders in the city to provide food for a group of the Mussarniks that was brought to the city. Furthermore, he arranged that these learners – mostly middle-aged Jews, wouldn't need to go to eat in the homes of the philanthropists, but rather that the meals would be brought to them in the houses where they were dwelling, or to the Beit Midrash. My father “remembered the fish”^[17] when he, like all of the pupils of the yeshivot, used to “eat days” in the homes of the householders. The bland taste of those days was remembered by them for many years.

Among the “Mussarniks” were many learned people, superlative scholars, also like those who had rabbinic ordination, but they didn't want to make their Torah a spade to dig with, and exchanged their rabbinates for lives of stress and poverty and contemplation of books of Mussar. There were also among them men of the “folk,” craftsmen and practical people, who were taken with the idea of a life of purity and Torah study. They were carried away and grew closer to knowers of Torah, and heard from them lessons in Talmud and “Yoreh Deah.”

In the eyes of we, the children, these “Mussarniks” were strange men. All day, they sat over the Gemara in the Beit HaMidrash, some of them also wrapped in their talleisim all day, speaking little. In the month of Elul in general they did not speak with strange men in general, in order to not desecrate the days of repentance with secular matters. Thin, bearded, wizened, without a smile on the lips, without any joking words, they were all the days bent over the “shtender” and repeating the Mishnah and the many interpretations. At night after Maariv they would sing in soft sobbing in the Mussar books, and we, the children, at the time when we were walking at night from the cheders that were in the area of the Beit Midrash and we would hear these soft sobs bursting out of the windows that were illuminated with dim lights, our hair would stand on end. All the tales and stories about the dead that rose from their graves, and visiting in the synagogue and praying in a minyan until the rooster crowed, stories about spirits and demons that were dancing there for the correction of their souls, arose then before our eyes and we would quickly flee from this dangerous place.

And in our house it was happy. The house became the scene of a momentous event. Women came to us – wives of the “Mussarniks” – with babies in their arms and children holding on to their aprons, and they, the women, pleading to Father and to Mother that they should influence their husbands to return home. The women would organize a Shabbat meeting, until Father would accede to them, saw the distress of the abandoned women, whose husbands left them with no financial support, and the children were running wild with no supervision by the father. The wives, did not have strength to support and maintain the children. And Father, as much as he took pains and toiled to organize the Mussarniks, then under pressure from the wives and their families would again toil and strive to exert his knowledge of Talmud and the sayings of the sages in order to prove to these ascetics that the commandments of establishing a family in Israel was not less important than Torah study.

A battalion of soldiers was encamped in the city. The barracks was found in the center of the city, and the solders' training were mostly held in the broad expanse of the “fortress” that we mentioned above. The training for the novice soldiers stimulated our urges, the children of the cheder, with scruples of conscience, and with fear of tasting the taste of the rabbi's strap, would nevertheless, from time to time, leave the cheder and run to watch this training. At the end of the matter we received the “punishment” of the rabbi. It was worth it. The training had won our hearts. On the training field we met more children from other cheders who also did not pass the test and came to watch the soldiers' training. And really what could be more interesting than exercises in marching, running, jumping, crawling, crouching on the ground for the sake of target practice. And mainly the stabbing of a straw dummy with a bayonet. Ha, how much we laughed and ridiculed

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the novice village shkutzim who were clumsy and slow to catch on, who could not tell their right from their left. And what very much hurt our hearts about the Jewish novices, mostly young men from the “Tzurba Marbanan” yeshiva, who got the first taste of exile among the nations. The orders that were given by the “Sargeant” in a language they did not understand, in screaming fragmented syllables, caused them unbearable suffering. The “what does it come to teach us?”^[18] floated before their eyes with a special and tangible meaning. The service in the ranks of the “Funia” turned into a nightmare. And not for nothing did the mothers of those who were called to the army do everything they could except to tear up the decree. They prostrated themselves on the graves of the righteous in the cemetery with pleas and prayers to protect their children from falling into the hands of Esau.^[19] They invaded the synagogue, opened the Holy Ark, and cried out to the Master of All the World that he should have compassion for the son and not allow him to fall into the hands of Gentiles; she, the mother together with relatives of the family measured the graves in the cemetery with strings, a proven remedy from a long time ago, to protect the son from the evil eye. In short, the mothers recruited all the means in their hands, if only their sons would be freed from the yoke of the army. It happened that these means helped, and the weak and sickly boys were disqualified from serving in the Czar's army, and it happened that it didn't help, and the boys were found fit and were accepted into the military units of the army, and then the situation of these recruits was quite difficult.

The Jewish soldiers lived in the army in special conditions. For reasons of kashrut, they did not eat the food that was given to all the soldiers. They turned over to the Christian soldiers the portions of meat that were distributed to them from the general kitchen, and the situation of these boys could have been very grim, but the Jewish residents of the city came to their aid. They took upon themselves the obligation of donation in order to arrange a kosher soup kitchen for the Jewish soldiers – “the kosher generation.” Besides that, every family would, for every Shabbat day, host one soldier, who would eat at the family table, and would have a feeling of home. “A soldier for Shabbat” – this was an unwritten but also unshakeable mitzvah in the city, and left the expression that was common in everyone's mouth - “A soldier for Shabbat.”

We the children enjoyed moments of pleasure from our army – and the true story was like this: all the battalion command was in the hands of officers from central Russia, and this was understood and clear, except that the Jews also merited the rank of officer. The happy one in this was the conductor of the military band (kapellmeister), by the distinctive Jewish name of Shebshelevitz. The thing that made our hearts beat – the hearts of children and youth – on the coronation day, at the time that the army would hold a festive parade on the length of the central street in the city, accompanied by the band, and soldiers with their flags, their pennants, and their weapons: the officers mounted on their horses, the band marching at the head of the camp, and at its head “our” officer – Shebshelevitz, dressed in an officer's uniform adorned with accessories, badges, decorations on his military coat and on the shoulders, and with white gloves on his hands would conduct the musicians. It seemed that he was the one who was leading all of this army, and in the eyes of the children that followed behind this parade, this sight was the pinnacle of magnificence and splendor that this son of our people achieved, and most wonderful vision.

The residences of the Christians were found mostly on the edges of the city and in the suburbs. Members of the Christian population were mostly officials in the government offices, army officers, and just “fritzes,” owners of farms that were adjacent to the city. Their houses were built on large lots. The courtyards were planted with various kinds of fruit trees, beds planted with vegetables, and flower gardens. The balconies of the houses were covered with vegetable plants and vines. The courtyards were surrounded by a fence. We the little ones loved to sneak into the Christian quarter on Shabbat days, to press our faces to the pickets of the fences, to feast our eyes of the fruits and the flowers in the gardens. We were perfumed by the smells of the colorful flowers. But our enjoyment did not last long. The dogs of the Christians sensed us, began to approach us with gaping maw, with ear-deafening, screaming barking. There was nothing left to us but to escape from the place with all the power of our legs. There is no greater enemy to a Jewish child than the dogs of the fritzes…

Compared to this, the houses of the Jews stood in the center of the town, crowded and adjacent one to the next without any indication of a tree, no sign of a vegetable, exposed to the rays of the sun and the winds of the sky.

The livelihood in the city was based mostly on commerce. There were also two beer-brewing factories. One of them belonged to Mr. Papirmeister, whose two brothers went up to the land many years ago, settled in the settlement of Rishon Letzion, and in the city there were many widespread legends and stories about them.

The alleys and streets were full of stores. Grocery stores, manufacturing stores, all kinds of sewing notions, of iron products, kitchen implements, and the like. The number of stores grew from year to year in keeping with the number of young couples who left their parents' tables, in order to acquire for themselves “status” and a source of livelihood. The stores supplied the needs of the city and the residents of the villages in the area.

There were also tradesmen in the city: tailors, shoemakers, tinsmiths, blacksmiths, painters, plasterers, bakers and the like. They supplied their products to the local residents, to both the Jews and the Gentiles.

At the hub of the city were found two broad squares, in which the spiritual and physical lives of the city were concentrated. On the one hand the “Shulhoif” the schoolyard with the Great Beit Midrash, the synagogue, the tradesmen's kloizim according to their professions, the “shtiebl”^[20] of the chassidim, the Rabbi's house and the Jewish Courthouse, the “cheders” of the Melamdim, etc. By day everything here bustled from all who were going to prayer, those who were learning in the Beit HaMidrash and the children of the “chederim.” The melodies of the prayers and of the learners in the Beit HaMidrash and the voices of the children in the chederim filled the air. Adjacent to the square that constituted the spiritual center of the city was found the second square – to distinguish from sacred to ordinary - the market, the material center of the Jews in the city. This market was almost empty on all of the days of the week, except for one day, on which it became filled to overflowing with wagons loaded with the products of the villages that were brought to the city by the farmers. All kinds of foods, vegetables, fruits, wood for heating, what wasn't here! Yellow potatoes, white cabbage, red beets, pumpkin squash, and a variety of legumes. Wagons loaded with apples and pears, and they're peeking at us from within the straw that covers them, and they smile and hint to us with the red of their cheeks. And all the fruits are ripe, juicy, so full of juice that the saliva drips from our mouths, and our small heart is consumed with jealousy upon seeing this great wealth.

“Master of the Universe” – why and wherefore do they, the Gentiles, deserve this? Why does all this good come to them,” and the Jewish residents are walking around among the wagons, are squeezing the fruits and haggling, trying to buy and going, returning, and again standing on the line, and all with loud voices and with the help of hands, nodding of heads, winking of eyes and the like, with oaths and a great noise.

After midday the order would change, and the wheel would be reversed.

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The villagers that completed the sale of their products became purchasers, and Jewish shop owners would sell them all their needs: sugar, kerosene, oil, soap, and all kinds of groceries. It seemed that there was an agreement between the Jews and the Gentiles to exchange their roles during the course of the day, and again by the same pattern: screams, oaths, bargaining, and wandering from store to store. The villagers knew about the adversity among the shopkeepers in the city, about the mutual competition, and took full advantage of it. The Jews were in need of income. The needs of the house were many, and there was only a market one day a week, and the Jews settled for a tiny margin, just so that there would be turnover. And the shopkeepers toil, with their wives helping them, and the throat would become dry from much speaking and persuading. They try and make efforts to not allow the purchaser to leave the shop. And in the evening with the setting of the sun, they and their wives remain with no strength. “Oi the dark livelihood, on all our enemies.”

With the conclusion of the market day the Jews hurry and run to the nearby “Shulhoif” to be in time for the evening prayers. On the way they encounter the villagers in their positions at “the monopoly,” (a government store for the selling of wine and spirits), with bottles of wine and spirits in their hands. A few of them tear the neck of the bottle and here, while standing, they empty the liquid into their mouths. The eyes glazed, the feet stumbling, the mouth mumbling all kinds of words of derision, and there are those who are already crouching on the ground, wallowing in the droppings of the horses and cows, grunting and with difficulty would rise into their wives' hands with the help of neighbors to toss them into their wagons and return them to their houses.

In our seeing this picture, we the children, our admiration for these men of the villages that we encountered in their depravity would evaporate a little.

The first swallow that announced the spring in our city, that brought a revolution in the education of the children, that spread epicurean^[21] opinions and various and strange approaches in the learning of Tanakh – was a lean, thin man with a small black beard, an ascetic face, and his name was Reb Zalman Yudelevitz, and his profession was a teacher not a teacher, a melamed not a melamed. He, with the assistance of my father, may his memory be for a blessing, opened in Lida a cheder-not-a-cheder, a school-not-a-school, but something that only many years after this they called a “cheder metukan.” He himself, Reb Zalman, was a native of the town of Zhetel in the Grodno district. Still in his youth he strayed from the accepted and sanctified path in this small, poor, Charedi and fanatic town – to go learn in a yeshiva, but in secret from his parents he devoted himself to reading “outside” books that were forbidden then, that is, Peretz Smolenskin,^[22] Avraham Mapu,^[23] Gotlober,^[24] Y.L. Gordon,^[25] and the like. As an autodidact he also learned the Hebrew language and the grammar thoroughly. He also learned Russian. But his heart was entirely given to the dissemination of the language, the language of Ever. In his “cheder” he did not teach the children “Hebrew,” or Chumash with Rashi, and also not Shas and decisors, but the Torah of the language, with the rules of the language with the pronouns and inflections. He did not teach the Tanakh according to the tradition, but rather according to the interpretations of the biblical critics^[26] that there were in his day, and if after two decades of years I heard the interpretation of Dr. Mossinson,^[27] may his memory be for a blessing, indeed for me his interpretations were not an innovation. I learned them many years ago in the cheder of this Reb Zalman. On holidays and festivals he would explain the content and the manner of the festival. In this way he told of us the situation in the land in the times of the Hasmoneans^[28] and their wars – in the days of Chanukah. On the 9^th of Av he told us about the war of the Jews and the legends that are connected to that war. He brought the learning of history from the days of Avraham our father until the destruction of the Second Temple.^[29] He arranged a chronological table of the periods of the Judges, the Kings, and the Prophets. He indicated the tribes and the places of their settlements.

Two days a week the students were obligated to speak Hebrew (it's understood, with Ashkenazi pronunciation). We brought out one newspaper every two weeks, and each child participated in it and expressed what was in his heart. In his “cheder” boys and girls learned together, and this was a big innovation, not only for the cheders in Israel, but also for the government schools, where the separation between young men and women was still customary, with each sex having its school separately. Among the first female students that crossed the accepted border was also my sister Temima Yudelevitz, a member of the “HaBimah” theatre. He began and developed a new custom that was not known before this in our city, which is, he would hold tests for the students with the completion of the season of learning. And on an evening like this at the time of the tests all the parents of his students were present, and also some of the intellectuals of the city were invited. It goes without saying that there arose against him in his heretical method first of all the community of Melamdim in the city and also the householders who were the keepers of the walls.^[30] They caused him many troubles and worries. But with all this there was a community of parents, from the elite of the city, who kept faith with him, and their children acquired the language thoroughly, and also a higher level of enlightenment.

The storm that passed over all the citizens of Russia and her Jews at the end of the 19^th century, although a little later in time, reached us too. The turbulence that struck the Jews in the Pale of Settlement^[31] also gripped the Jews of Lida. A new wave began to bang on the windows and doors of the Jews. It seemed that the river too, the Lidzika, the torpid, awoke from its sleep, and the air were heard voices and new echoes whose sound we had never heard, and we did not know them. Different names from another world. Stories and chatter about one Dr. Herzl, about one Max Nordau,^[32] about a city whose name was Basel, about a Zionist Congress, the land of Israel, colonies, vineyards and the like – rumors of various rumors. And speaking about this were young men who were studying in the Batei Midrash and the kloizim, the householder at the time of the prayers and afterwards, and, in the main, the schoolchildren. The sense of hearing became sharper, eyesight – broader. We did not understand everything from the “congress language” that those same men from the big cities made us hear much of when they visited in our city.

We, the maturing youth, swallowed every word, chewed every sentence that emerged from the mouths of the speakers and increased the impression and the tension. We began to look at everything with other eyes, to explain appearances to ourselves according to our understanding. Suddenly we matured and began to dissect and investigate appearances that took place in the city, as in the country.

And here is our rabbi, Rabbi Yitzchak Yaakov Reines, may his memory be for a blessing, again not making words of Mussar and awe heard to his congregation who are listening to his homilies in the Beit HaMidrash, on the Ten Days of Repentance, but rather telling about the bitter lives of the Jews in exile, and the decrees that come down on the heads of the Jews, about the hatred of the Gentiles. He describes the land of Israel that is waiting for its builder-children. And the congregation stands packed together, paying attention to his words and beginning an accounting of the soul, but this time not in the private soul of the individual, but of the nation, of the whole Jewish people, as if confusion is descending from his eyes, and he is pondering words of repentance. And we the youths who were squeezed among the congregation

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in the synagogue, among the adults, it seemed to us that the things we heard from the Rabbi's mouth were intended only for us, and it was for us to examine our own actions.

And from then on the influence of the Zionist movement, its ideas, its hopes, its practical work, was very great. Councils and committees were arranged for all kinds of activities. They established a clubhouse, which because of the evil eye^[33] from the government, they called a tea-house (“tzeina”), where all kinds of journalists were received, in Yiddish, Hebrew, Russian, who explained the Zionist movement and life in the land.

I am reminded of the exhortation of Rabbi Sheinkin,^[34] may his memory be for a blessing, that he delivered in the clubhouse about the possibility of settling in the land of Israel. H. Shiniuk, the head of the First Zionist Union in our city, spoke about the harp of David the King that he had again begun to play in the fields and calling to the Jewish people, and principally the youth in Israel, to return to their homeland, to complete, healthy, and productive lives. The speakers sowed on fertile ground seeds that were absorbed, sprouted, and yielded crops.

However, also in the economic and cultural lives great change was taking place. No more young men were streaming to the yeshivot, but were entering the elementary and high schools to acquire knowledge and enlightenment. The novels of Shemer and Sheikevitz disappeared from the horizon and the young women went about with the books of Frug,^[35] Peretz,^[36] Reyzen,^[37] Shalom Aleichem. There were already those who were captivated by the Russian writers such as Tolstoy, Chekhov, Dostoyevsky, Pushkin. Something also changed in the lives of the adults. Values were reappraised. There was no eagerness for elections to the office of synagogue manager or to the Chevre Kadisha. The communal emphasis transferred to elections to the Congress, to various committees, to the Zionist associations. Arranging literary and political parties, reciting Frug's poems – and I especially remember the poem “The Legend About the Goblet” – the stories of Shalom Aleichem, arguing about Mendele, about his “My Horse,” about “Fishka the Lame”, and the like. Lida was marching with the times.

Aliyah to the land also began. Young men traveled to the land, and all their energy and initiative, which were restricted and confined in the conditions of the exile and the town, were unleashed there.

Footnote

1. Quoting Psalm 23:2 “God leads me beside still waters.” Return
2. “The Breastplate of Judgement,” the fourth section of the Shulchan Aruch, Yoseph Caro's law code. Return
3. “He Will Give Instruction” is the second and most varied sections of the Shulchan Aruch, addressing a range of topics not covered in the other sections, including ritual slaughter, kashrut, conversion, mourning, niddah, tzedakah, usury, and laws applicable in the land of Israel. Return
4. Period of learning. Return
5. Rashi script or Sephardic script is a typeface for the Hebrew alphabet based on 15^th-century Sephardic semi-cursive handwriting. It is named for the rabbinic commentator Rashi, whose works are usually printed this way, although Rashi himself died several hundred years before the script came into use. Return
6. A commentary on the Prophets and Writings (Nevi'im and Ketuvim, or Nach), written in the 18^th century by Rabbi David Altschuler. Divided into two parts by his son, Metzudat Tzion explains unfamiliar and difficult words found in the text, while Metzudat David delves into the meaning of the text. Return
7. These are the Aramaic names of some of the signs of the musical notation known as trop, or cantillation, according to which the Torah, Haftarah, and Megillot (scrolls) are chanted. Return
8. Derekh eretz, דרך ארץ, literally “the way of the land,” refers to “proper behavior.” Return
9. This Aramaic term is the title of any rabbinic authority cited in the Mishnah. Return
10. Mishnah Sotah 3:4 “Rabbi Eliezer says: Anyone who teaches his daughter Torah is teaching her promiscuity.” Return
11. Named for Mendele Mocher Sforim (1836–1917), Mendele the Bookseller, the pen name of Sholem Yankev Abramovitsh, a Russian Jewish author, founder of modern Yiddish and Hebrew narrative literature. Return
12. Joshua 1:8. Return
13. Bachya Ibn Pakuda, an 11^th century Spanish rabbi and philosopher. Return
14. Rabbi Yosef Yozel Horowitz (Hebrew: יוסף יוזל הורוביץ?), also Yosef Yozel Hurwitz, known as the Alter of Novardok (1847–1919), was a student of Rabbi Yisroel Salanter, the founder of the Mussar movement. Return
15. Psalm 35:10 “All my bones shall say, “LORD, who is like You?…” Return
16. Alcoholic beverages. Return
17. A quote from Numbers 11:5, referring to the Israelites who remembered the good food that they had in Egypt. Return
18. A frequent talmudic question. Return
19. Code for non-Jews. Return
20. Yiddish name for a small chassidic synagogue. Return
21. Greek apikorsis, used in rabbinic literature to mean “heretical.” Return
22. 1842–1885, a writer of the Haskalah, founder and editor of the Hebrew journal HaShachar (The Dawn). Return
23. 1808–1867, a key figure in the Russian Haskalah movement, and the first Hebrew novelist. Return
24. Avrom Ber Gotlober, also known by the pen names Abag and Mahalalel, 1811–1899, was a proponent of the Haskalah, poet, translator, historian, and publicist, playwright, journalist and educator. Return
25. Yehudah Leib Gordon was the most important Hebrew poet of the 19^th century and a leading figure of the Russian Haskalah movement. Return
26. “Biblical criticism” as an approach to understanding the Tanakh arose in the 17^th century, and asked the following questions: when, where, and why did the biblical text come into being? What are its presuppositions and mental background? To what type of literature does any given biblical book (or section of a biblical book) belong? Return
27. Benzion Mossinson, 1878–1942, was a Hebrew educator and Zionist leader. A teacher of Bible, he introduced “Biblical criticism” into Eretz Yisrael high schools. Return
28. The Hasmoneans were a rural priestly family whose members arose to occupy the office of the High Priest and later styled themselves as kings. The Hasmonean dynasty was a ruling dynasty of Judea and surrounding regions during the Hellenistic times of the Second Temple period, from ca. 140 BCE to 37 BCE. Return
29. In the year 70 CE. Return
30. Meaning, the guardians of community values and standards. Song of Songs 5:7. Return
31. The region of the Russian Empire that existed from 1791 to 1917 in which permanent residency by Jews was allowed and beyond which Jewish residency of any kind was mostly forbidden. Return
32. Max Simon Nordau was a Zionist leader, physician, author, and social critic. Together with Theodor Herzl he co-founded the Zionist Organization. Return
33. Talmudic Aramaic e.g. Bava Metzia 84a:10 “Isn't the Master worried about being harmed by the evil eye… ?” Return
34. Menachem Sheinkin, 1871–1924, was a Zionist leader in Russia and Eeretz Yisrael, and a delegate to the Second Zionist Congress in 1898. Return
35. Simon Frug, also known as Shimen Shmuel Frug, November 15, 1860 –September 22, 1916, was a Russian and Yiddish poet, lyricist and author. Return
36. Yitskhok Leibush Peretz, 1852–1915, Yiddish and Hebrew poet, writer, dramatist, and cultural figurehead. Return
37. Avrom Reyzen, 1876–1953, Yiddish writer, poet, and editor. Return

[Pages 166]

I hereby pay tribute to my late father and teacher, Mosheh son of Israel, who was born in Zshetl, a shtetel near Lida, a teacher and a Zionist activist whose personality had an everlasting impression on me and his character, manners and gentle speech shine on me over time and space. He was taken by the Soviet police and never heard from ever since.

Our school was all-Hebrew with Polish taught as a second language since grade 2, as well as Polish history and geography. All the other subjects were taught in Hebrew by our devoted teachers who, through their daily efforts, bequeathed to us love of the Hebrew language, the nation's everlasting values and a longing to Eretz Israel as a real, living place, a land that was meant for us and we were meant to inhabit. Dream and reality were thus magically merged together. Only masters of the art of education could have combined this vivid magical existence.

Our first grade teacher was Mrs. Miriyam Stutzki. In her class we learned the alphabet, the intonation of the Hebrew words and language, about the Keren Kayemet (National Fund) box, a kids' song about the cucumber that grew in the garden, “Alei Giv'a” (Yosef Trumpeldor's song), hands on shoulders during gym classes - all flew over us like the gentle waters of a spring brook to prepare us for absorbing thirstily the experiences of this new world - the world of Eretz Israel.

In 1935 the teacher Sternberg arrived in our school and was appointed the headmaster, replacing Mr. Bernholtz who moved to Vilna. Our second grade teacher, Miss Efron, who was well liked by us, married him later.

Some years later we became Mr. Sternberg's pupils. He knew how to impose perfect discipline in class without raising his voice or punishing us. The most daring, un-disciplined and noisy among us subsided at his piercing gaze and his quiet, measured speech. He organized the Ben-Yehuda society at school - the members undertook upon themselves to speak Hebrew and nothing but Hebrew “when you sit at home and when you travel, when you lie down and when you rise” (Deutronomy 6:7). Each member got a small notebook, each page of which was divided into squares, one for each week. With his own hands he used to stamp the letter “ע” in the appropriate square, indicating that the society member kept his pledge. Sometimes we, the pupils, were in the middle of a loud, noisy argument in Yiddish while his steps were heard in the corridor or the playground. Abashed, we immediately switched into Hebrew.

Mr. Sternberg (his first name escapes me, I may have never known it, but his person is so near and dear) was murdered by the Nazis during the first days of the occupation, together with a whole group of the Intelligentsia who were put to death near the local airport. Among them were the teachers Haim Itzhak Persezki, Haim Kravitz and many others.

Mrs. Sternberg (Efron) was left with a baby-girl and moved later to Ghetto Piaski. She had no means of providing for herself and my classmate, David Boyarski of blessed memory (see his words later in this book) used to bring her provisions from time to time. She was murdered with her daughter on the 8^th of May, the mass-murder (2^nd akzia).

The teacher Haim Itzhak Persky taught us Hebrew. He was a scholar and an activist combined. He took part in the founding meeting of the region's Vaadey Khilot (community committees) that took part in Vilna in the late twenties and contributed quite often to the local newspapers.

The school was located in a brick house belonging to Mr. Illutowitch on Sadova St. until the end of the 1938 school-year. This is where the venerated Rav Reines of blessed memory Yeshiva used to be. It was a two-story building with a basement housing a carpenter shop and a sewing workshop plus some lodgers. In the yard - a small playground, a soap factory and behind it an area with ice-blocks holes, old wooden huts with black-green boards which were kept closed so that we, the pupils, never explored them. Close by were the outdoor lavatories. In the main hall, referred to by us as the “Big Hall” or the “Big Recess Hall” there stood a big book cabinet along the wall from floor to ceiling. The classrooms were on the second floor, as was a tiny room filled with the laboratory tools, various maps and stuffed animals. The narrow corridor, along which walls there were boards with nails for the pupils to hang their coats on, was crowded with noisily playing kids during recess time. The little kiosk at the entrance to this corridor belonged to Mrs. Reizl, a hearty woman who sold the kids a glass of tea and a slice of cake during “Big Recess”, accompanied by a wide smile. Needy kids, mostly from the orphan-house, were given a glass of milk and a slice of cake daily free of charge. In the same corridor, near the kiosk, was the place of the janitor (called by us “storozsh”) - our big friend Yechiel. Together with his wife he was in charge of cleaning the classrooms, heating the stoves in winter and ringing the bell at the right times.

The Vaad Kehila (community committee) and the parents association dreamt and planned many years of erecting a new building for the school. Money was accumulated Zloty by Zloty by way of fundraising campaigns, collections and selling tickets to school-plays. The cornerstone for a new, three storied building, a modern and up-to-date building by that time's standards, was laid in the new “weigan” neighborhood near the town's entrance. When the building was almost done there was not enough money for the roofing. Then started a special collection for tin sheets among the community members and everyone, even the poor ones, donated “half a sheet” or less to ensure that the Hebrew school will be finished and open its doors as soon as possible,

The pupils produced a special play and preformed it in the Edison cinema theater with all the revenue going toward the completion of the school. Special postcards were printed with the picture of the school under construction, surrounded by scuff holders and topping it the text“ From floor to ceiling - but what of the roof? Donate money for the roof now”.

By the end of the summer vacation, on the 1^st of September, the war erupted before the townspeople, teachers or pupils had the chance to celebrate the completion of the project. A week earlier the school equipment was transported from the old building to the new one. I remember how my classmates (we were the older pupils of the school - just graduated to the seventh grade, the highest and last class). We helped moving the laboratory tools, the maps and various other pieces of equipment which we carried by hand and hung from our shoulders for quite a long distance.

As long as the war lasted the school did not open its gates. When the Soviets occupied the town on September 7^th, we came under a hostile rule that outlawed the school and made an end to it. Thus ended the magnificent chapter called the “Tarbut” School in Lida. Most of its teachers and pupils did not survive, with no one to tell their story. For us it was a veritable spring of fresh water that we enjoyed while young and its vitality is with us until this very day.

Our Pentateuch and Bible classes were taught by Mr. Portnoy and Mr. KaHana. Mr. Portnoy was a very religious Jew who observed all commandments. He joined the stuff from the “Yavneh” school and was our teacher for about three years. When the town was occupied by the Soviets the school was incorporated into the one run by the “Bond” in which the teaching language was Yiddish. The united school was directed by the Soviet authorities and housed in the new Tarbut building .Mr. Portnoy refused to teach in this school and was left without any means of livelihood. He commenced giving unofficial underground classes of Jewish subjects to a group of pupils. The first class I attended was in an apartment in a wooden hut on the 3^rd of May St. Soon after we moved to study in his home near Palkovska St. behind the stream that passes nearby. To avoid being seen by a detective or an informer or drawing the neighbors' attention we arrived one by one with no fixed hour. He taught us the Bible, Talmud and Hebrew Literature. Unlike regular school classes in which he found it hard to maintain discipline while the young pupils frolicked and fooled around, these classes were conducted in perfect order. We resembled soldiers undergoing their basic training with full commitment to their task and mission. Each week he gave us books from his private library, and upon return he expected to hear the reader's impressions. In the last week before leaving my home and my town I received a binding of a Hebrew magazine for the youth in which he showed me a story he had written. I forgot the name of the magazine, but I remember to this day the story's title – “The Timepiece” - and some of its content.

The poet Dov Chomski taught us Hebrew and the Pentateuch. The teacher Bloom - Polish. Our teacher Haim Kravitz taught us Polish and general Geography and Natural Sciences. He and his whistle were in charge of our gymnastic classes in the Maccabbi Hall and the volleyball games in the schoolyard. Mrs. Kravitz , his wife., taught us Polish History.

Our class numbered 43 kids (including the writer) - 10 girls and 33 boys. Here are their names:

Barbada Yaacov
Berkovitz Haim
Boyarski David
Breskin CHana
Dobzanski Hertzel
Gertzukin Hinda
Gordon Zelig
Ivanski Genia
Kalmanovitz Rivka
Kalmanovitz Zeev
Kaminitzki Naftali (survived)
Kaplan Binyamin
Kotelerski Baruch
Kotliarski Baruch
Kravitz Miriam
Levin Simcha
Levinson Nechemia
Losh Itzhak
Milnik Devora
Movshovitz Itzhak
Muller Shmuel-Yaakov
Niselevitz - (fron the town of Niman)
Niselevitz Israel
Niselevitz Rivka
Ogushevitz Shimon
Pearl Miriam
Podolski CHanah
Posolski Eliezer
Pupko Dov
Reznitzki Shimon
Ribak David
Rubinovitz -
Rubinovitz Aaron
Rubinovitz Shraga
Rudi Arieh
Shendler Buba
Shepshelevitz – (from the town of Zheludok)
Shklerovski Yaacov
Shmulevitz –
Shuraski CHana
Stolovitzki Michael (survived)
Teper Yosef (survived)
Tzigelnitzki Pinchas

One of these students, Yaakov Shklerovski, excelled as a courageous fighter among the Partisans in the Bielski camp. In April 1944, during the big Nazi siege on the Partisans'' camps in Naliboki forests, he was surrounded by Russian Partisans who demanded his weapon – a French rifle he obtained with great difficulty – together with his boots. When he refused they murdered him on the spot. His was a hero's death, and he no older than eighteen years old.

The “Tarbut” school consisted of seven classes, and had about three hundred pupils at the outbreak of the war. Out of those there survived but few, less than a Minyan…Whole classes, students and teachers were murdered without a trace. Our heart will forever bleed for the tragedy and there are no words to describe the scope and depth of the devastation.

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