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The description of Markuszow's earliest days, I leave for others better qualified. Historians would certainly have more to tell about its establishment and development. I, as one of the oldest residents, will relate my recollections and descriptions from memory alone. They entail facts and events that played out in Markuszow 40-60 years ago.

None of us could have imagined that it would come to such a destruction of the Jewish presence in Europe, to the annihilation of Polish Jewry, and among them–our Markuszow Jews. And none of us certainly dreamed that we, the people, would have to write about the destruction of cities, shtetls, and settlements that once seethed and bubbled with Jewish life. I take pen in hand with a heavy heart and bowed head in order to describe pictures from the true reality of the shtetl, the dark and bright sides of a Jewish community, its way of life.

The following recollections are divided into three parts: a) Markuszow piety; b) guests in shtetl; and c) personalities and images. Staying true to small town customs, I will not mention any family names, just the two or three names with which every Markuszower was familiar. By bringing out certain negative events or personages, I do not intend to hurt anyone, the proof–in this case I did not spare myself either. I wanted to describe Markuszow as it was 50 years ago, and how it has remained engraved in my heart and mind.

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Fisheleh Melamed

Fifty years ago, if you had asked in Markuszow who Fishl Melamed was, few would know what to say about him, even though he was renowned in the shtetl because of his cheder where Jewish children got their education. Fisheleh Melamed was known everywhere under his nickname, “kaller.” Woe to the Jewish child who fell into his hands. He would hit without mercy (kaln) and hence his nickname. Our parents, however, (with all due respect!) maintained that there was no better educational institution than the cheder. That's why we darkened our childhood days in such cheders. Especially at Fisheleh's. Parents trusted him for the very reason that he had a reputation as a hitter. The shtetl convinced itself that Fisheleh Kaller taught respect. It was enough to tell the child that we were going to tell Fisheleh the rabbi–and the child would freeze in fear. And the worse Fisheleh treated his students, the happier the parents were. They often blessed his hands–and that hurt more than the rebbe's blows.

Fisheleh excelled in another thing as well: he gave every kid a nickname–I am embarrassed to repeat them, much less write them down. He had a special “weakness” for a poor kid, Velveleh, with the nickname mazek.^[1] He would spank his rear end so much that Velveleh's eyes were always red from crying. At home Velveleh cried because he didn't want to go to the cheder–and at the cheder, he cried from the rebbe's smacks. Every morning, when Fisheleh Kaller saw his least favorite student, Velveleh, he would say to him, “ Nu, Velveleh Mazek with the creepy eyes. Come over here! And hit him mercilessly. Maybe it was because Velveleh's father was not a rich man. A pauper, as is well known, doesn't like a pauper.

But telling tales on the cheder is not done. So why tell so much? Better to talk about the rebbe himself. Fisheleh was known in the shtetl for something else:

An order had come down from the czarist government that every Jewish child had to attend school. And if not a school, then a cheder,

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but a “prawne” with rights, something modern, meaning two separate rooms for teaching (it was not permitted to live in them), with all the installations. Aside from that, there had to be a teacher of Russian come in to teach the children “grammar.” Not one melamed in the shtetl obeyed the new rules. In the room we were taught in, lived the rebbe and his large household. And about learning Russian in the cheder, there could be no discussion even. Nevertheless, inspectors would come down from the powiat from time to time, to see how the orders were being carried out from the higher “natcholstwe.^[2]” At these visits, a new talent of Fisheleh Kaller's was revealed.

The melamdim in shtetl used to put in several rubles, and give them over to Fisheleh. He would take them to the police, and “grease” whoever was necessary. Then the police would lead the inspector around all the places in town: in the shul, in the besmedresh, even to the bathhouse, but not in the cheders. That this was possible was not just the effect of the few rubles, but because of Fisheleh's black kapoteh, which he used to wear only to simchas, and his knowledge of the Russian language, since he had served in the czar's army. On the day of an inspection, Fisheleh would put on his holiday kapoteh and with majestic strides go to the police station. On that day, of course, he let the kids go home. In such a moment, we forgot all about the blows that Fisheleh would mete out to us so generously, and at the words, “Go home!” everyone wished him long life. And when Fisheleh Kaller went out on Markuszow's main street dressed in his black kapoteh, the women who sold apples, pears, beans, vegetables, in the market, would know what it signified and wished him success in his mission.

Fisheleh Melamed was successful with the police, but even more, with our parents who entrusted him with their children.

He carried out his duty with passion and faith.

That was how Markuszow was known. An uninformed person might wonder what kind of silk factory existed in the shtetl, or what sort of business goes on here with that delicate fabric. In truth our town did not have the least connection with the manufacture or sales of silk.

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The name came from the fact that Markuszow's professional matchmaker, Moishele Israel's (Srolieh), used to travel to Tomaszow-Lubelski to look for matches for the shtetl's boys and girls. He used to say in Tomaszow that “his” groom comes from a silken shtetl. The future in-law was not so inclined to hear the matchmaker's opinion of the whole shtetl, because he was foremost concerned with the proposed groom. At this point, R' Moishe Srolis proposed to him a silken young man, that exactly like all the besmedresh young men in shtetl, is clothed in silk, satin and velvet. His matchmaking spiel painted a picture of a Torah scholar, who put on a silken kapoteh with a velvet hat on Shabbes. In the same way, the matchmaker described the girls of Markuszow, who used to go to shul on Saturdays and holidays with silk shawls on their heads, and their mothers–silk caps over their wigs and silk shawls on their shoulders. Yes a “silk” shtetl for outsiders, for export, while we Markuszowers, born and raised there, knew that this “silk” included most of the boys who, after finishing cheder, went on to the besmedresh, studied there day and night, deep into the Gemara, debated Talmud, and hoped for better times.

There was a tradition from ancient times for besmedreshniks to buy a “shokl” from a sadovnik.^[4] So a group of them would collect a few kopeks, pay the sadovnik and one of them, the strongest, would shake the tree. Any fruit that landed on the ground belonged to the boys. The sadovnik, of course, gave us all a good lookover first, assessing the strength of each one of us, and agreed on the condition that the weakest of us should be the shaker. In truth, all the besmedreshniks, due to their always studying, looked pale and emaciated, and it took the sadovnik a long time before he determined who to give the shokl to, and not lose too much thereby. More than once he rejected a Torah student–and a bargaining ensued either about the shaker, or about a few more kopeks. It must be noted that aside from besmedreshniks, no one else could buy a shokl, because the sadovniks hoped that they would buy a little in the afterlife by virtue of this good deed.

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There was a woman called Leah-Etteh who lived in the shtetl. A true eyshes chayel,^[5] a merchant, a letter courier (if she was paid for the trip), a matchmaker, and anything the shtetl of Markuszow could require of her. We just wondered how such a small, skinny, and weak woman could accomplish so much. Aside from her two names, she was called “Der Kurtzer Freitik,^[6]” because of her small stature. She moved with the speed of quicksilver, but for all her good qualities and jobs, she and her husband could not make a living–and like the majority of the shtetl Jews, had an orchard not far from Markuszow. In one of the hot summer evenings in 1911, the besmedreshniks went off to Leah-Etteh's orchard to buy a shokl. Since she was not there, the gang paid her husband the 10 kopeks.

“Have pity,” the sadovnik pleaded. “Just one of you should do the shaking.”

“You insult us,” the boys answered. “It has been many years that we have been keeping the tradition of a shokl, and only one of us does the shaking, as much as he can.”

R' Moishe, calmer now, looked at the pale faces of the besmedreshniks and it did not occur to him that the skinny boy with three names–Yomi (from Binyomin) Itche Meir's could have strong arms. The boys gave him a wink to get him to do the shaking. He quickly evaluated the trees, stopped at a one that was covered with ripe fruit, stretched his arms as high as he could, grabbed the branch and gave it a shake. The tree almost bent over as the fruit fell with an extraordinary noise. The shokl was successful, and they bent down to the ground to begin to gather the fruit. At that moment Leah-Etteh came into the orchard, and by the echo of the falling fruit she immediately got the picture. In an instant she lay spread out on the ground, managing to cry out, “I'm done for!”

The besmedreshniks quickly ran to the woman on the ground, one ran to get water, another went off to the feldsher^[7], while the rest occupied themselves with cheering her up, pressed her temple, and massaged her forehead. The husband, however, did not busy himself with his fainted wife, and he quickly gathered up the fruit that the besmedreshniks

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had shaken off the tree. And when he had almost completely gathered them up, Leah-Etteh got up off the ground, and with a whining voice thanked the boys for their goodness. Then they realized what fools they had been, and had let themselves be conned by a phony fainting woman. They returned to the besmedresh in shame and related the event. One of the listeners, Pinchas Tovieh's, chimed in that it was a great pity that he hadn't been there, because he would have advised the guys to pick up the fruit first, and then look after the fainted woman. In his time, when he was studying in the besmedresh, it often happened that after the shokl the sadovnik or his wife fell down in a faint. The trick only worked once, because the second time the boys knew how to conduct themselves.

When the time came for the draft, the 21 year old besmedreshniks, little beards sprouting already, had to present themselves to the Tsarist draft board. Understandably, those who studied Torah day and night were not very enthusiastic about the perspective of changing their smocks for the uniform of a Russian soldier; changing the besmedresh for the barracks, or the Gemara for the military “ostov.” The boys used to march around day and night in order to lose more weight from their already meager bodies, and demonstrate to the commissions that they were weaklings who had to be rejected for the army. But even the short summer nights were boring, and you had to find something to do that was either useful or fun. In this case as well they remained true to tradition that the draftees instituted in the shtetl: Collecting money from the merchants and putting on banquets. Woe to the person who refused to give the draftees the agreed-upon “contribution.”

There was a storekeeper in town, Shmuel-Leib, a rich man and an extraordinary miser with the name, “Toitl, because of his yellow, elongated face. Toitl declined to contribute the few kopeks. Since people knew that this Toitl was a big miser, they decided to teach him a lesson about proper behavior. A bunch of them went into his store,

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asked him to weigh and package various bits of merchandise, and while he was occupied with the “customers,” other draftees took the door of the shop off, and put it next to the store. The ostensible customers left the packaged merchandise, and said they would return with the money. After they left, the merchant waited until late in the evening, and not seeing anyone, he went out to close up his shop. Now, he finally noticed the dismantled

Yehuda-Dov Rosenberg–the Nicolaievsker[8] soldier

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In the meantime, he had to guard his shop all night, because the boys didn't reinstall the door until the morning.

A similar thing happened with the naphtha seller, “the Red David,” Toitl's brother-in-law. He too refused to give a penny to the draftees. So he too was “kept busy” with a conversation while other boys stole a keg of naphtha from the shop and hid it so cleverly, near the shop, that the owner was later astonished when the spot was revealed to him, after he brought the sum requested.

There was a tradition on the night of Shavuot, not to go to sleep. They used to recite Tikun Shavuot, and sing new melodies heard from the chasidim, and go visit the Markuszow rebbe. Of course, on such a night the opportunity to drink a little liquor and make merry was not missed.

There was a young man among the besmedreshniks by the name of Israel-Meir Motele's. He was not well liked because of his excessive nosiness, although he himself never joined the discussion during debates. That's why he was anointed with the name “Shatkan,” (The Silent One). There was a suspicion that he reported on everything that happened with the besmedreshniks. As there was no evidence of this, he was not boycotted. Nevertheless each one of us was tempted to do something to him, and then the opportunity arose.

For all his good qualities, Israel-Meir, had a weakness for napping. On that Shevuot night, when the boys were partying in the besmedresh, The Silent One felt like having a nap. He stretched out on a long bench and began to snore. The guys were waiting for that. Some of them took off their waist sashes, tied him to the bench, and then stood it up so that Israel-Meir was hanging with his feet up and his head down. Disregarding the fact that it was forbidden on such a holy night to turn down the naphtha lamps, they still did it in order to put the besmedresh in darkness. One of the boys covered himself in his taliss, approached the sleeper, and began to speak in a changed voice.

“Israel-Meir Motele's, you should know that you are called to the beis-din shel myleh^[9],

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and just as you see me here in a taliss, there are thousands behind me with talissim, to accompany you to heaven.”

The Silent One let out a fearful cry, and fainted. They turned the light back on, righted the bench, and poured water on him until he regained consciousness. After this event, Israel-Meir took sick and was bedridden for several weeks. It wouldn't have taken much for him to really go to the beis din shel myleh.

When Israel-Meir regained his health, he returned to the besmedresh, took part in all the debates, and even became a partner in all the pranks that the besmedreshniks did. It seems that turning him upside down worked. As the saying goes, “Er hot sich in gantzen ibergedreit.”^[10]

At the end of the last century, there was a shamess in the shtetl who demonstrated extraordinary loyalty and dedication to the besmedresh. This loyalty expressed itself in the following way:

When he was asked to take away the used up hoyshaynes^[12] from the ark that had been thrown there, he replied that these worn out willow twigs made the besmedresh more holy. When the spreading cobwebs in every corner were pointed out to him, he would shout back, “Who ever heard of a holy place being cleaned?” And he would say it with such innocence, and with such a tone that no one suspected that he was wrong. He didn't mean the besmedresh should be dirtier, but he was just afraid to diminish its holiness. He got really worked up when he learned that they were preparing to whitewash the besmedresh. He shouted loudly that we were dishonoring and insulting a house of prayer, and such a sin would not be forgiven. “If so,” he said, “you can take down all the sheymess's^[13] from the besmedresh attic and do what you want with them.”

One day, a fire did break out in the attic and the burned sheymess's were carried away by the wind. Our shamess was actually happy about this, because now they had become a tikun and were flying straight up to heaven.

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There was a dozor in the shtetl, R' Lozer, a Radziner chasid. When the painter was whitewashing the besmedresh, several boys, the constant Torah students, asked him to paint a Star of David on the ceiling. The painter agreed and painted a big Star of David on the white ceiling. When R' Lozer saw the painting, he started such an uproar that the shtetl Jews came running. The dozor warned, “You want to bring a plague on the shtetl?”

All the explanations and arguments from the religious besmedreshniks did not change the stubborn man's opinion. One boy tried to show R' Lozer that the coverlets of the holy Torah sported a Star of David, so why could this Jewish symbol not be painted in a besmedresh? But try talking to an obstinate and fanatic man. He had to be assuaged, and the Star of David covered over.

Most of the besmedreshniks, preoccupied with studying, but still dreaming of a Jewish land (symbolized by the Star of David) gnashed their teeth, kept silent, and submitted to the will of the dozor.

Every young man in Markuszow that studied in the besmedresh (and who did not?) was occupied from 4:00 am to 11 at night, with an intermission of three hours–from 12:00 to 3:00, in order to daven and eat. It wasn't easy on a winter's dawn to get up to worship God. Outside the frost reigned. The besmedresh was not yet warmed up. That's why religious parents provided a waker who would knock on doors and windows and remind the sleepy youngsters of the holy debt of the student.

There were two night watchmen in the shtetl who guarded against misfortune: a Pole and a Jew. It's understood that the job of waking the Torah students could not be entrusted to a goy. This holy mission was entrusted to the night watchman, Itzchak-Eli. He was not one of the big geniuses, but also not one of the small fools. In addition, he stammered. He used to brag, “I boss Mashov” (I am the boss of Markuszow).

During the night hours, police patrols used to come to the shtetl,

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and ask Itzchak-Eli if everything was in order. After such a visit our night watchman bragged, “I'm guard one!”

At around 4:00 am Itzchak-Eli would knock on the shutters loud enough that a corpse in the grave could hear him. With the knocking he would cry out, “Get up, Yiddelach, titgaver kari, to the worship of God!”

True, he did stammer, but his voice was nevertheless cleaner, clearer and sharper. Everyone wondered how the stammerer, Itzchak-Eli, spoke so clearly when he was waking up the people. It turned out that he would put his hand over his ear and sway, an indication that this movement and the singsong nature of his voice led to his clear expression.

If Itzchak –Eli entered a house during the day, and he was offered something, he would not accept it under any circumstances. But the moment the man or woman of the house turned their backs, the proffered item or food quickly disappeared. Itzchak-Eli would quickly grab it and hide it.

With his complete innocence, Itzchak-Eli honestly believed that by waking the besmedreshniks to the holy work, he was buying himself a big share in the afterlife. In this case also he had an opportunity to brag that thanks to him Jewish boys wouldn't be late for their studies.

A neighboring shtetl decided it wanted to take for itself our Markuszow shoichet, Chaim-Yehoshua, a Kotzker chasid. We called him “Cham-Shieh.” After he left, Markuszow had to hire a new shoichet, and fortunately one was found right away, actually right in town, a pious young man with all the certification for slaughter. For some it was, however, enough that the candidate, Chaim-Mendele Binyomin's was one of ours, a shtetl resident, that made him undesirable. A stranger impresses more. One of ours, we won't look at. There were two camps in the shtetl. The majority, the common people, actually favored the Markuszow shoichet, who was incidentally ready to bring money to the community, a kind of “shlisl gelt.^[16]” The other side, the minority, almost all Radziner chasidim, found a flaw in the shoichet candidate: he didn't wear a techeilis.^[17] The shoichet, a Lubliner, did not hold with

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the notion that a blue thread must be woven into the taliss katan. Nu, so began a dispute in the shtetl, a real uproar. At the end, the majority won, and Markuszow finally had its own shoichet from the shtetl.

The Radziner chasidim did not give up so easily. One of them, Lozer Yankl's, claimed that the slaughter was not being done according to the law, and he did not consume any of it.

The shtetl, with its blessed rich, black soil that after every rain greened and freshened, is etched deep in my memory. Such a rain is always a blessing for the residents, a promise of a good harvest. Rain in winter, however, used to transform into a curse for us chasidim (and who in our little shtetl was not a chasid?) And all because of the long clothing, the robes that were worn in every city and shtetl in Poland not excluding Markuszow. We never parted from the chalatl, not during the week, not Shabbes, not the holidays.

As soon as any rain fell, the chalatls would become splashed with mud that then dried on the bottom. But in wintertime, if the weather was freezing after a rain, the mud on the chalatl would freeze, and the coattails would rub against each other making all kinds of noises. The frozen part of the chalatl became as stiff as a sheet of tin. Woe to the garment if you tried to clean it. Pieces would come off the cloth, holes would appear, and goodbye chalatl.

I remember one incident: A Jewish merchant from Markuszow traveled one day to a village to collect a debt, something he rarely did. As usual he was wearing a chalatl with a lot of mud on the bottom. When he was traveling to the farmer, two forces of nature were warring: the sun had warmed what the frost had penetrated, and as the merchant was returning home in the evening, it turned cold, and the mud on the chalatl stiffened. The two hardened coattails rubbed against each other, creating strange sounds, and it seemed to the chasid that demons, or other evil forces, were following him.

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Aside from that, the frozen chalatl was banging against his boots creating new sounds that could really instill fear. Not far from the shtetl, the chasid fell down in a faint. Unconscious, he lay stretched out on the snow. Passersby lifted him up, and with great difficulty revived him, and when he regained consciousness, he was certain that evil forces had met him on his way home. Nevertheless, he was able to prove the blame fell on his own chalatl and the evening frost.

After this story, some began to talk in the shtetl about the need for shorter clothing. The religious folk, however, accused such a person of being an apikoiris^[19]. “What, it is explicitly written, ‘You shall not walk in their ways,’ or, ‘This is his way,’ because that is the way of yetzer horeh^[20]: Today we are told to wear short clothes, and tomorrow–who knows what he will tempt us with.”

At the end of the 19^th century, Markuszow was a small shtetl. There were about 150 Jewish families living there (a few years later the number doubled). The old synagogue stood in the center of town separated from the besmedresh, and maybe connected through the old small cemetery. The old cemetery was not used by the community in those days, because there was another one, far outside town, where Markuszow Jews were buried.

There were no monuments to be seen in the old cemetery. Only two stones remained to remind everyone of the old cemetery. They were not two ordinary stones, but tomb stones for a bride and groom whose story was the following: As the old timers tell it, years ago a couple was led to the chupah.^[21] At the words “harei et”^[22] the couple felt ill, and fell down in a faint–never to rise again. The next day, the rabbi reasoned that they should be buried together, the bride in her wedding dress. So it was done as the rebbe ordered, the couple was buried, and two tombstones erected in the memory of the sad event. The words on the tombstone were illegible due to their age. Green moss covered the stones,

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and we youngsters strained to read the words, at least one letter, but without success.

There is another interesting story about the old cemetery that caused a commotion not just in Markuszow but on the whole surrounding neighborhood.

The Czarist government had decided to construct the Lublin-Warsaw highway. Since the shtetl lies on the route, engineers were sent down. They measured, evaluated, calculated, and finally discovered that the route passes right through the old cemetery. This created an uproar in the shtetl. Jews cried and complained that a holy place would be desecrated. Many prominent Jews sent delegations, drafted requests to the Powiat–to no avail, however. So the shtetl took to the old Jewish way that if you can't succeed, at least don't make it worse–and had the rabbinical authority issue a decree ordering an extraordinary fast for the community. They begged God to avert the decree.

After this, an order suddenly came down to change the plan, and to have the road detour around the cemetery which moved the road a few dozen meters away from the old cemetery. The community was astonished. Up to the complaints, nothing helped, even a promised bribe for the {smudged print} was not able to cancel the decree. And here, such a change for the good. The eyes of the religious Jews gleamed as they told the Markuszow Jews that the inhabitants of the old cemetery had warned the nachalnik^[23] and the engineer that if they disturbed their rest, they would be each be strangled. The authorities had to change the plan. That night–the religious said–both the engineers and the nachalnik from the powiat awoke with fearful cries and soaked with the fear of death, and decided to change the plan, and to let everyone in the shtetl know about it.

The question of how the religious knew so precisely about the annulled decree did not occur to anyone. For a long time the shtetl told and retold the story of how the old cemetery did not allow itself to be desecrated. Slowly the story lost currency, and new events took place of which there was no lack in the shtetl.

It was said of Napoleon that he was born with two teeth.

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Well, Corsica was a lucky island, and the ready teeth with which the future military leader was born, heralded a lucky person whose name would ring throughout the world. Markuszow, however, was different. It was not Corsica. It so happened that a child with two teeth in its mouth was born to the shoemaker, Itzchak Fingerhut (Hershele Batche's) and his wife, Rivkeh. So they went straight to the rebbe to ask how it could be, as if it were a religious matter he had to decide on. The rebbe was no slouch, and he came to see the living creature with two erupted teeth. The rebbe put his glasses on his nose, and looked in the baby's mouth for a long time, gave it serious thought, and spat three times so as not to hurt the parents, and, God forbid, the child. Next he wrapped himself in his taliss, and recited some prayers and exorcisms. On leaving, he gave instructions on how to behave with the child.

Meanwhile the city was in a tizzy; there was something to talk about. They were also afraid of a tragedy. Markuszow Jews did not yet know about Napoleon's two little teeth. They were afraid both because of the child, and because of the fate of the shtetl. It's quite possible that the little soul felt the unrest and trembling of the congregation of Jews, and in time passed on to the other world.

Markuszow had no luck with its Napoleon.

In the very center of the shtetl there was a very deep well with a story about it. The well was circular, with a round cover, and its whole appearance resembled a monument. Two large buckets hung from an iron chain, one of which was let down into the well, while the other, a full one, rose to the top. Not everyone had the strength to pull up such a heavy bucket.

The biggest attraction of the well was its salty water. It was said in town that the salty water was good for wisdom. Because of that, a saying used to go around Markuszow, “He's a salty one,” meaning a smart one.

When a Markuszow Jew married off a daughter, and the groom was from another shtetl or city, the groom would have to ride around the well on the eve of the wedding several times. It was a custom that was ancient. They used to say, however,

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that this could be a way to get a groom to forget claiming the promised gifts from the bride, and the remaining part of the dowry not yet bestowed. They believed that traveling around the well, the groom would get dizzy and he would no longer demand what was promised. Apikorsim however said that the story of driving around the well was a joke by a rich bride, a progressive girl, who wanted to take revenge on all grooms (except her own). First of all, she tried to make it so that she wouldn't have to walk in a circle around the groom during the chupeh, and when she was told that she must do so, she bribed the carriage driver, who was to bring the groom to the chupeh, with a few rubles to make a few circuits around the well. Her reasoning was simple: If you want to make circuits, then so be it! Then let the groom go too! And so the custom remained of driving around the well.

1908. The revolution of 1905 has long ago been suppressed. But Czarist police search and snoop everywhere for rebels, especially in the small shtetls. We remember well how on a Shabbes or holiday the gendarmes would suddenly fall into the besmedresh, and begin to inspect the faces of the praying. If they didn't like the look of someone, they would ask for his passport. The more suspicious ones were immediately arrested causing no end of trouble for that person. Only the compassion of the soltis or the gmineh secretary could allow such a captured man to get out of further entanglements.

In their zeal the gendarmes not only paid visits to the besmedresh, but in all the suspicious places.

Markuszow Jews were sitting around in good holiday spirits in the sukkah, and with song, food, and communal joy enjoying the holiday. Suddenly the curtain at the entrance moved. First a shiny, black cap from a hat appeared followed by two thick, long, mustaches. They gave a quick shake and the excited Jews heard the question, “Kakoyeh sobrani?! (What kind of meeting?)

The gendarme appeared. He fell in as it is said, “Like an Ivan in a sukkah.” Now the Jews were really scared. Shimeleh Diener was there (The nickname, Diener, was given to him by a relative, Chaneh

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Ler from Lublin who had come from America on a visit and remarked that in the Golden Land “badinen dieners.^[25]” R' Shimeleh didn't have the patience to listen to all the talk about dieners, and interrupted him, “What's all this “diener” talk. I know without you that it thunders in America. It's the same sky, the same God. And so the nickname, “Diener,” stayed with him^[26]), his 14 year old son, Isroolik, Pinchas-Yekil's and his boy, Velvl, and some other men. They were afraid not so much of the gendarmes but of their presence in a holy place. It is notable that the gendarme's first glance was at the wine. According to Jewish law, such wine is no longer fit for making kiddush. And in general, a goy showing up in a kosher sukkah is likely to spoil the whole holiday.

But there was little time to deliberate. It was necessary to invite the gendarme to the table, give him some good schnapps, the beverage loosened his tongue, and he himself declared that there were certainly no rebels in Markuszow. Obviously the Jews agreed with him–and poured another glass.

That Sukkot was somewhat spoiled, because we had to make kiddush over the challes. There was satisfaction, however, that the gendarme's visit ended peacefully.

“Me sheh lo ra'ah simchat beit hasho'evah, lo ra'ah simcha byamo.”^[28] (He who has not seen the joy of Sukkot in the times of the Beit HaMikdash during the drawing and pouring out of the water {ceremony}, has never seen joy in his life).

“He who has not seen such a simcha, has never in his life experienced a decent simcha.” So said the Markuszow Jews after celebrating the big simcha for the end of the writing of a Torah scroll. And such celebrations were not rare, simply because Jews in the trades and business were always collecting money for a new Torah. And when the Torah scribe was finishing the last letters, which were sold to the Jews in the shtetl, the joy was unbounded. No small thing–to live to see the Siyem Hasefer.

Young and old prepared for the event of carrying the Torah under

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a chupah canopy to the shul with an orchestra and the biggest parade Markuzow was capable of. The people keeping things in order (although every Jew at such a simcha kept himself in order) were: Shloimeleh Golde's, Mordechai Dovid Yankel's, and Mordechai Golde's–the “triplets” that were also actually the head committee in charge of the celebration. These three used to ride on horses at the front of the line of dancing and enthusiastic Jews, and poured naphtha into the torches that the besmedresh boys were carrying. Every time they poured the naphtha there was an explosion of flame and sparks that resembled the biggest fireworks that could be seen kilometers away. More than one coat or shirt ended up with holes from the sparks. But who was concerned with such foolishness on such a joyful night. The crowd was drunk with joy, ecstatic, and with song and dance and shouts, and an overall celebratory atmosphere, marched through the shtetl. The chasidic dances, their passion and zeal affected everyone, and Markuszowers old and young were up until dawn.

In czarist times, we had to get a special permit to play in the street. The “triplets,” however, never bothered to get such permission from the authorities that were located in Pulawy, and always relied on the fact that the police rarely showed up in the shtetl. This time, however, at the very height of the celebration, several policemen showed up, and undertook to arrest the rabbi, who was carrying the Torah, and the musicians. Since the police were not particularly sober, the arrest did not go so smoothly. Meanwhile, Shloime Golde's, who spoke Russian and knew all the agents, went up to the police, began to negotiate with them, and gave a wink to the secretary of the gmineh who helped convince the police they should mount the horses of the parade organizers, lead them to the gmineh building where the jail was–and locked them up there overnight. It was done of course with their agreement and a bribe.

After that, the Jews really got going and celebrated the seym hasefer the likes of which Markuszow had not yet seen.

On a height, on the west side of the shtetl, stood two houses that were distinguished, one from the other, by their size and color.

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On the front of one of them hung a sign with the word “piwiarnia” (beer house), owned by the pole, Trembicki. There was always a great din coming from there, shouts from not sober farmers, and shtetl residents. This particular house also had a revolutionary past. In 1905, during the first Russian revolution, two Russian gendarmes were disarmed there by Polish revolutionaries: Stankewicz, a bricklayer, and Boczkowski, farmer.

Standing opposite Stempicki's house was the house of R' Baruch Eidlstein, or as he was called, Baruch Pietrowizer. From this house too there issued a din and a racket, but it came from the people in the house: the sons, daughters, daughters-in-law, sons-in-law, grandchildren, and other relatives who all lived there together. It was especially raucous on Shabbes in Baruch Pietrowizer's estate. The zmires^[29] on Friday evening and Saturday morning blasted out from the house to the shtetl even with the windows closed, and caused consternation in the shtetl about this family. Notwithstanding the traditional Jewish religiosity that was strictly observed there, the children, especially the sons, benefited from an unusual freedom to read secular books, become familiar with books about science, technology and medicine. One of the grandchildren, Yoseleh, was a frequent besmedresh attendant, but with his stories, he was always revealing new worlds to the Torah students and fanatically religious besmedreshniks. Those who didn't dare to lift their eyes from the Gemara, would swallow with open mouths his words, and more than one envied Yoseleh who had the freedom to learn the worldly pearls of wisdom.

It was, therefore, said in the shtetl that Baruch Pietrowizer's house distinguished itself from its neighbor's house not just by its tavern, but also from all the other Jewish houses and homes of the shtetl where piety and religiosity was guarded with the utmost strictness, while there, in the house on the hill, worldliness went along with the Torah.

The shtetl did not live on piety alone. Time did its thing–wars and revolutions, new inventions and new ideas.

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Shtetl youth, mostly besmedreshniks, became the carriers of the new thinking. They gradually disturbed the established way of life of strict Jewish tradition and religiosity. Guests in the shtetl brought various news from which Markuszow drew its own conclusions.

Much blood had already been shed on the battlefields of the Far East when Markuszow received the news about the war in Russia with the Japanese. It happened like this:

As on every Thursday, the provider of yeast, Hershl Rapaport, came from Korew. He declared that this was the last time he would be bringing this particular merchandise, because the Russian train was busy transporting troops and ammunition to Vladivostok, and was not available to bring yeast from Poland. This created an uproar in the shtetl: What–leave a shtetl without yeast? How can a Jewish home give up the mitzvah of eating challah?

Still not having made peace with the idea of having no yeast, further news arrived hat there would be no raisins to make wine for kiddush, and no candles from Russia would be coming (Niewski's candles), which also jeopardized the mitzvah of blessing the candles. Pious people (and who then was not pious?) went around worrying about this sad news that in their eyes appeared more tragic than the defeats of the czarist army. And who knows how long this unrest would last if not for the happier news that the Korew Jew brought that, God willing, there would soon be yeast, and raisins, and candles, and Jews could perform the most important mitzvahs undisturbed. And in reality, the holiness of making kiddush, blessing candles and challah eating were not disturbed.

Who knows how Markuszow would have learned about such an event as the Russo-Japanese war if not for the importation of the three most important articles, because no newspapers reached the shtetl in those days.

That is why the shtetl, in its way, took part in the revolutionary uprising in 1905. New Year's Eve, when merchants had to

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buy the business licenses to be able to carry on their businesses, several ”strikers” (that's what revolutionaries were called in the shtetl) agitated strongly against buying the certificates. The frightened storekeepers didn't want to antagonize the Russian officials, but also were afraid to go against the will of the revolutionaries. So they decided to send a delegate to the” strikers”, and get them to annul the decree. As emissary of the storekeepers, they chose the Kotzker chasid, Itche-Meir Capa, a shopkeeper himself. The following dialogue took place between him and the most prominent revolutionary, Hersh-Feivl:

“Itche-Meir: What's going to happen? We still have an emperor, and for not buying the licenses, we could be punished.

Hersh-Fevl: Listen, R' Itche-Meir. What to tell you, I still don't know, because I have to receive a directive. But you have to wait, and not be afraid that you will be punished. The emperor won't be coming to Markuszow. The punisher here is the policeman. Before he walked around with his head down and bayonet low. Today when the revolution has broken out the police walk around with lowered heads and raised bayonets, and as long as they find themselves in this situation, there is no reason to be afraid. No one will punish you.

Itche-Meir was astonished at these words. Surprised and upset he asked, “What do you mean not to be afraid of kings? For the czar himself?”

Itzchak'l Schneider (Lame Itzchak) embarked on a daring step in that revolutionary year. In a packed besmedresh, he mounted the belemer and shouted, “Nikolai has been Kaiser long enough!”

Pointing to his black shirt, although the only one he possessed, he called out with pathos, “May this shirt be my only one–and Kaiser Nikolai must abandon the throne!”

The crowd was beside itself: how can you allow such words to be expressed, especially in the besmedresh where every Shabess and holiday they invoked a “me shebarach”^[30] for “yewo Wielichestwo”^[31] the czar-imperator? But even greater was the fear of telling the authorities about the lame Itzchak's outburst against the czar.

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While some of the attendees praying there had quiet satisfaction from the rebellion against the monarchy, others regretted his words, and still others simply thought he was crazy.

When the news that the revolution had been suppressed came to the shtetl, the chasidim decided to take revenge on the strikers: At a gathering in the besmedresh, after drinking a glass of whiskey, they embarked on a little dance, singing a song of their own creation:

See here Moishe Ber,
Come now over here,
You will have fun,
And I will tell you,
That the Kaiser has already,
Arrested the last striker!

The chasidim had another reason for being happy. The ban on wearing the long chasidic clothing was repealed. They had even stopped cutting off beards and side locks. Because he who wore short clothing was regarded not only as an apikoires, but really as a revolutionary.

At the beginning of 1905, a new natchalnik was sent down to Nova Alexandria (later Pulawy). Since Markuszow belonged to the Pulawy area, the new high authority came to visit the shtetl. The Christians and the Jews had the duty of receiving the guest with bread and salt and other honors as was suitable for a representative of the government. At the head of the Jewish delegation was the then Markuszow rabbi, Moishe Eliyahi, z”l. The guest arrived in the shtetl, the rabbi presented him with the tray of bread and salt. The natchalnik did not take his eyes off the Jewish delegation which consisted of just pious Jews in their traditional clothing, with beards, payess and the round, black hats on their heads. The tall Russian looked with special curiosity at the face of the fifty year old Yechezkel-Aharon Shaul's, and pointing out his gloomy red eyes asked him, “Shouldn't this Jew present himself for conscription?”

Most of the onlookers quickly understood the meaning of the question

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that the natchalnik meant to apply to the entire Jewish population with the clear insinuation that they were damaging their eyes in order to avoid military service.

After a short painful period of silence, the Pole, Adash Sobinski, a fighter of the fifth year who was also in the delegation, spoke up: “This Jew was exempted from military service by virtue of a bribe.”

It was not hard to guess what the Pole intended with his pointed answer.

The Russian continued to receive his refreshments and honors from the residents. He did not, however, forget the big insult from Adash Sabinski, ordered the capture of the courageous revolutionary, and put him in jail. Later he was shot in Pulawy and artillery drove over his grave in order to wipe out any trace of his existence.

Among the infrequent but interesting guests to a shtetl like Markuszow were the army. Soldiers coming to town brought business to the stores, bakeries, sold merchandise from the wider world, and brought good cheer and greetings from far away unknown places.

One day on a Saturday before noon (summer 1906) a military detachment stopped outside Markuszow and right away individual soldiers began to show up in the shtetl, looking for, as was their habit, whiskey. Others went to the bakery looking for bread, but instead of that they found full earthen pots, still hot, wrapped in cloth or paper, on the floor. One of the soldiers didn't ruminate long, grabbed a pot, put it under his arm, and left. It is possible that in another shtetl, where Jews suffered from excesses, especially from the army, such a theft would not have made much of a commotion, and everything would have proceeded quietly. But in Markuszow, where we didn't have many antisemitic acts, even in the most turbulent of times, the idea of a stolen cholent could not go by unpunished. The community did not want to take it quietly. A delegation immediately went off to the officer and told him about the theft. They searched all the solders–to no avail. In the meantime, another report came in that in another Jewish

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bakery, a cholent had been stolen. The officer realized that just by searching, he wouldn't accomplish anything, so he brought out the whole company and solemnly promised no one would be punished if the theft was revealed. One of the soldiers got out of line, went over to the drum, opened it up, and took the pot out. They took the top off, and a delicious aroma was emitted of a true Shabbes cholent. The Jews told the officer that the soldiers should eat the cholent with pleasure.

The other cholent was found the next day hidden in the baker's bed, because the soldier committing the theft got interrupted in the middle, and frightened he hid it under the mattress and alone, barely alive, escaped.

The shtetl had fodder for talk about the stolen cholent for a long time.

Once upon a time in Purim, more than fifty years ago, some Purim shpielers^[33] came to us from Korew. Among them was a musician with his own violin. The troupe went to Noach Glazschneider (Noach Zalman's) directly. He was a simple man, a tailor by trade, (now in Israel). They spent the whole day there, singing folk songs, playing the fiddle, and truly celebrated the holiday. Thus, Noach Zalman's understood better than anyone in the shtetl how to really celebrate this happiest of all the holidays.

When the shtetl youngsters heard about the arrival of the Purim shpielers, they went off to Noach Glazschneider, stood under his windows, and with bated breath listened to the singing and playing of the guests. We stayed there for hours amazed, carried away with the playing, and entirely oblivious to who we were and where we were. The yearning sounds of Zion coming from Noach Zalman's house rooted us to the spot, not to be torn away. And the fiddle? It was the first time we had heard such sweet, heartfelt tones and we were enchanted. A small thing–to hear a fiddle in the shtetl. We didn't even feel the biting cold that ate into our bones, but we stood and listened and dreamed, and in reality begged that it would never end.

Meanwhile the worried parents were looking for their children and learned where we were. They came up to Noach Zalman's window and

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led us home with the actual orchestra, accompanied by a drum. But the drum was us. It drummed into us how right it was to listen to songs that elicited so many dreams and yearnings in us whose significance we as children could not exactly understand.

Our Purim was disturbed–our parents tore us away from the windows. They did not, however, tear us away from our yearning for Zion.

In 1906 the shtetl received a surprise: a man appeared with a music box that they called a katarinkeh. A monkey did tricks to the rhythm of the melodies played. Markuszow still hadn't finished talking about this event, when an opportunity arrived to gape at and be astonished by, a box with a big trumpet from which a chazan sang out beautiful prayers and various Jewish melodies. We happily paid the three kopeks to hear the touching Jewish music again and again. The curious wanted to look into the box to see the chazzan who must have been very tiny, if not a child with a heavenly voice. The cantorial pieces carried throughout the shtetl, and much later were sung in Markuszow homes after the wandering gramophone had left the shtetl.

The appearance of the gramophone was a message that even here the penetration, the events, and achievements of the wider world were beginning, and that we are not backward but are making progress albeit belatedly.

In Markuszow, exactly like in the other small shtetls in Poland, there was no lack of vagabonds, professional beggars who used to wander over the land, and also stopped in our shtetl. If they stayed for one or several nights, they would sty in the besmedresh. Many of them felt like our own, so often did they visit Markuszow. These gentlemen got insulted if you gave them a half groshen. In their eyes it looked like too little a donation, which they returned angrily. Their demand

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was–minimum two groshen. There was one wandering pauper who, when he was invited to someone's home for a meal, was always accompanied by another, who slipped into the house with him as soon as the door was opened. To the question by the host of who the other one was, the invited guest replied, “This is my son-in-law. I promised him kest.”^[34]

One motzi-Shabbes, when several Markuszowers got together at Tuvieh Ettinger's house in order to conduct a traditional melaveh malkeh,^[35] the beggars quickly sniffed out the news that there was a feast being prepared, and hurried over there. They ate and drank, and there was a glass of schnapps too as is the custom among Markuszow chasidim. The crowd sang zmiress and partied until late in the evening. Suddenly someone called out, “Rabbotai, we sincerely beg whoever took the silver goblet and put it in his bag to immediately put it back, otherwise we will be forced to search every one of those present, no matter who.”

Of course, with these words the whole party was interrupted, and since no one offered up the goblet, they began the search. First they emptied the bags of the local Markuszowers, and after that they turned to the guests. One of them began to plead not to be searched. He was ready to pay for the value of the goblet, even more than its price, as long as he was left alone. The crowd, however, did not want to enter into any negotiation, and decided to carry out the search anyway. The pleading, weeping, and groveling words from the beggar could have touched a stone, but it became a matter of stubbornness, even though the beggar offered the sum of 50 rubles, which in those days was a legendary amount. They were even more stunned when he offered 150 rubles, as long as they would not search him (The goblet was only worth a few rubles). “You will be killing me if you search me,” he whimpered. It was no use, and the crowd looked first in his bags, then began to look under his clothes. On his neck they found a little bag in which there were five hundred rubles.

Markuszow Jews were not envious types. The millionaire pauper was that same night taken to the nearest train station, 18 kilometers away, accompanied by a dozen of ours so that nothing bad should happen to him along the way. As a result, however, night time attacks took place often on

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guests who slept in the besmedresh. They were looking for hidden fortunes.

Avrum-Ber the Maskil^[36]

The first maskil in Markuszow as I recall was the derdeki melamed,^[37] Avrum-Ber–a short, fat little Jew who used to beat the alef-bet into his 4 year old pupils. Since that was far from being a good livelihood, he used to also make a kind of alcoholic drink that was called “kvass” or “lemonade.” Every Markuszow Jew knew that after Saturday's fatty cholent, you could get a bottle of kvass at Avrum-Ber's. Even this production was insufficiently profitable. So Avrum-Ber began dealing with “spiritual” food. At his house, you could get bencherlach,^[38] a “God of Abraham,” Shir Hamayles^[39] for pregnant women, mezuzes, and the like.

He was an enlightened man, and had knowledge of various things that Jews of his class had no inkling of. Fifty years earlier, however, an epidemic broke out in Markuszow and grew significantly during the hot months (Tamuz, Av, Elul) because of the consumption of a lot of fruit with which they drank a lot of water. Somewhere in one of the newspapers that had now begun to reach Markuszow, it was written that fruit had to be washed before eating, to drink only boiled water, and to wash hands with carbol. All these notices only came to Avram-Ber and through mysterious means. Our hero used o come to the besmedresh with his hands washed in carbol, and because of the strong odor people shied away from him, especially since he explained the reasons for sickness were due to tiny invisible creatures found in the air, and they, the microbes are responsible for various sicknesses in the world, even epidemics like cholera that pious Jews thought were God's punishment,

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whereas Avram-Ber blamed it on microbes. He recounted so many illnesses that the crowd thought he probably suffered from them all.

Avram-Ber, the owner of a goat, used to say that when you milked into a vessel, it lost much of its nutrition. It would be better to milk it straight into your mouth. Shtetl wags later said that they themselves had seen Avram-Ber's goat standing on the table while he milked it straight into his mouth.

He was not a native Markuszower. He appeared in the shtetl in 1906 when the czarist government took to persecuting the revolutionaries of 1905. Such suspicious and persecuted Jews would move to other places, mix in with the local population, and in this way got away from czarist persecutions.

He came from Korew as a teacher, and got settled in Markuszow, because the police rarely looked into the shtetl. He was never without two things: sugar in his mouth, and a siddur in his bag. His broad beard (which grew earlier) belied his revolutionary exterior, while inside him there always burned the revolutionary fire of a rebel and fighter. True to his revolutionary nature, to always be active, organizing, he quickly organized a “circle” which every Saturday night after cholent met in the women's shul. He would explain the meaning of the workers' struggle, and taught them to sing worker songs.

There were three of them, the first of Berish's listeners: Eli Roizes, and Nathan and Abish Yomaleh's. At first it was hard for them to accept Berishe's ideas, but he ignored everything and delivered a chapter on socialism with no less vigor than a rabbi with a page of Gemara. When an uninvited guest showed up in the women's shul during his “circle,” R' Berish did not panic, took out his little siddur that was always with him, and began to chant psalms, and translated the chapter for his listeners.

No one could explain how the first secular book wound up in the besmedresh, but everyone read it, practically swallowed it,

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and having tasted the forbidden fruit, came the desire to read more and more books. But where to get them?

Here, unexpectedly, a young man from Markuszow, Pinchas Kandel, or as he was called (exactly like everyone in the shtetl) Pinchas-Moishe Shaul-Zelig's, came to the rescue. It was said that when it was his Bar Mitzvah, his father, as was the custom then, traveled with him to the rebbe who began to moralize, and wanted to plant a spark of Chassidism in him. The whole time the rebbe went on with his lengthy sermon, the bar mitzvah boy stood straight, earnest, hearing every word. The rebbe was happy thinking that his work was not wasted, but as soon as he ended, Pinchas asked,” Rebbe, how much money did you get for this spiel?”

The rebbe sat stunned at such insolent words, as if he had lost the ability to speak. When he revived he shouted in a voice not his own,” Take this scoundrel away, drive out this unclean wretch!”

You can imagine that Pinchas was not inclined to follow the footsteps of his religious parents. He was the first in the shtetl who subscribed to the Hebrew {newspaper} “Hatzfira,” and saw to it that the newspaper went to the besmedreshniks. He used to explain articles, arranged for readings of the paper, and helped explain difficult problems. But there was one thing he couldn't help: convincing our parents to give us a little free time and freedom.

It was only thanks to such Pinchases that, in time, we succeeded in convincing our parents.

In his youth, he worked at tailoring. Later he wandered around the Polish villages repairing the farmer's fur pelts. He was called by two names–(like all the Jews in Markuszow)–Meir'leh Itzikl's. Why Meir'leh? Because he was short, deformed on both sides which made him bend over and appear even shorter.

It was whispered in the shtetl that he was one of the lamed vov saints, in whose righteousness the world exists. He always carried a book of psalms with him, and it was said that Saturday at dawn, while it was till dark outside, R' Meir'leh sat

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in the besmedresh and read psalms. An ordinary person could not see in such darkness, and he can? He must be a holy man. The storytellers added that one could see that a brightness hovered over each page while he held the book of psalms in his hands. Because of his modesty and honesty, everyone in the shtetl cherished him, and was always concerned about him.

Once, late in the evening, the shtetl found out that Meir'l had still not returned from the village. A large number of men went outside the town to look for the lamed vovnik, or to find out what had happened to him. Although the weather was cold and raining, they still went out calling his name along the way. Suddenly a prayer was heard coming from a field just as if it were coming from the heavens. The crowd was frozen with fear. Some of them wanted to retreat, but the more courageous ones approached the spot the voice was coming from. And here a crazy picture was revealed to them:

R'meir'l was sitting in a tree reciting psalms. When the crowd saw him in such a situation, no one doubted in that moment that R' Meir'l was a real tzaddik^[41] in whose merits the shtetl lives.

But there wasn't a lot of time to spend thinking. The bad weather and the enveloping darkness sobered up the men who took Meir'l down from the tree, and listened to what had happened to him. They learned this:

When R' Meirl had found himself not far from the shtetl, a strong wind began to blow. And night fell. Two forms approached him, the wind disheveling their clothing, and they looked malevolent. R' Meir'l got scared, and began to climb up the nearest tree. Because of his small size and handicaps. He couldn't get up the tree. Suddenly he felt four hands lifting him up and helping him get onto a branch where he settled in until the arrival of the Markuszow Jews. In the meantime, he recited psalms, and begged God not to abandon him in the field, because alone he wasn't able to get down.

From the further questions that he was asked by the curious crowd, it turned out that the forms were two women farmers who were going home to the village from the shtetl, and their shawls were so blown around by the wind that R' Meir'l thought that evil people were coming toward him.

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When the women farmers neared the tree, and saw how someone was trying to climb up, they helped him.

And that's how it seemed the psalm was coming down from the sky.

They led R' Meir'l back to the shtetl in a big parade. His renown as a pious honest man grew even larger. The eyes in pious faces glistened, and they whispered that he was certainly one of the thirty-six.

It's hard to imagine Markuszow without Berl Wassertreger who used to provide water for every house from the city pump. Everyone knew this man who, except for Shabbes and holidays, was always behung with two big buckets that dangled from his shoulder yoke. He worked hard, loyally, and honestly, and displayed an extraordinary concern for the water. There were times when he was left with a bucketful or half a bucketful of water. He would carry it back to the well, and pour it back in, even when the well was far from where he was. That was his habit even on the coldest days when slippery ice and cold were life threatening. On the many occasions when he was questioned about his devotion to the water, his only answer was, “You must not waste water, it's a crime to spill it on the ground.”

Although he was known as Berl Wassertreger, he was stuck with the nickname, Kiss-Kiss which happened like this:

Our fellow townsman, Zeligl, had several goats. Once he called to his goats in the street, “Kiss–kiss–kiss–kiss !

Berl Wassertreger happened to be passing by and hearing the kiss-kiss, he dropped his two buckets of water and with the freed yoke, he started to hit R' Zeligl, screaming with one breath, “See here, he's calling me kiss-kiss. I am smarter than you. You can go all over Markuszow, and you won't find a genius like me!”

There was a time when the watchman, Itzchak-Eli and Berl Wassertreger were inseparable. They used to walk together through the shtetl, even though they were markedly different one from the other. The former used to

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show great concern and respect for the dozor of the shtetl, Lozer Brandeleh's, while the latter used to stick up for the same dozor but with the name reversed, Brandeleh's Lozer having in mind his wife, Brandeleh.

If someone in the shtetl got sick, or someone suffered a misfortune, Itzchak Eli used to say, “May it be a torment for Lozer Brandeleh's!”

May it be a torment for Brandeleh Lozer's, Berl Wasserteger would instantly chime in.

One cold winter, when it was really slippery in the shtetl, Berl Wassertreger fell down with his buckets. He lay injured for a long time on the snow. As soon as he revived, and got up from the ground, he said right away, “Oi, may it not harm Brandeleh Lozer!”

“May it be a torment for Lozer Brandeleh's,” Itzchak Eli who just happened to be coming by with two buckets of water (with all his other jobs, he carried water as well), replied.

Wladek, who Markuszow Christians used to say was more Jew than Pole, was the city Shabbess goy. The Polish residents of the shtetl used to warn Wladek that when he died, he wouldn't be buried in a Christian cemetery. In reality, Wladek, if not for his black mustache and his short jacket, could, with his back hair and dark eyes, especially with his speaking Yiddish, pass for a one hundred percent Jew. (Markuszow Christians threatening Wladek with burial in a Jewish cemetery was not done out of antisemitism. In this area, Markuszow had nothing to complain about, because the relations between the Christian and Jewish population was quite a friendly one. The following facts can serve as proof: At that time–1908–several Cossacks that were carrying out maneuvers not far from the shtetl, attacked the Markuszow resident, Kalman-Itzik, and beat him up. In the process, he lost his documents and 50 rubles which were found by a poor Pole who carried it all to the priest who then called Kalman-Itzik and returned the money to him, and his passport).

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Wladek Shabbess goy was employed every Erev Pesach to whitewash the Jewish houses in Markuszow. When a child entered the house where Wladek was whitewashing, the goy would immediately begin reciting modeh ani^[42] with the child. If the mother heard this she would let out a groan, and say to the child, “Woe is me. The goy has to remind you of the modeh ani.”

Wladek felt hurt by these remarks and said, “I not goy.”

Most of the Jewish children in the shtetl were suspicious of Wladek that while lighting the candles for Neileh on Yom Kippur, he was stealing the wax from the burned-out candles, and they, the children, had nothing to play with. Consequently, they would look at his hands when he went around lighting the candles in shul the eve of the prayer.

As per usual, they sold all the chometz to Wladek Erev Pesach. He would brag to the town Poles, “Look at how rich I suddenly became. All of Markuszow's riches lie in my hands!”

A strictly religious Jew, tall and strong as an oak–such was the Markuszow Jew, R' Itzchak. Because of his height he was given the nickname, Der Langer Itzchak–and everyone trembled before his courage. If some Poles arrived for the weekly market, and wanted to let loose on the Jews, Der Langer Itzchak would kill their appetite for that kind of adventure. These farmers were later careful not to start up with Markuszow Jews as long as Der Langer Itzchak would stick up for them.

Once the Markuszow rebbe, with a group of chasidim, went off to the field that they had bought from a farmer in order to sow and harvest the wheat for Matzeh Shmureh. When the shepherds saw the rebbe and a number of Jews working in the field, they at first made fun of them, then hurled insults, and finally started throwing stones. Who knows how the matter would have ended, if not for the instant participation of Der Langer Itzchak who with his strong arms taught the antisemitic shepherds that it wasn't always a good idea to start up with Jews.

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The Sportsman

There was a boy in town with Jethro's names: Sholem-Wolf, Sholem-Zev, Zev Shalom. Mostly he was called Velvl. His father was not one of the great rich, but also not one of the lowly poor. He was little bothered by the many names of his son. But he was very upset by one of Velvl's weaknesses that the child could not overcome by any means: As Velvl walked through the streets of Markuszow, and saw something lying on the ground–a stone, a piece of carrot, the remains of a fruit, and anything he encountered along the way–it was immediately either kicked or thrown. He most liked to tie a string to a stone, then throw the stone in the air so high you could barely see it anymore. Since the string often tore, the stone would go straight into a window and the pane would explode in pieces. Even the stones he threw without a string often wandered into a window pane. And his father, Pinchas-Yankl's, who didn't have the means to replace a window pane, also had to bear the guilt and shame because of his child. The blows and entreaties only increased Velvl's passion for throwing stones, a sport that had, like narcotics, poisoned the young organism, and drove it to a mania. The blows and gentle words of his father, just like the savage fists of his melamed, Fisheleh Kaller, did not change a hair of Velveleh. As soon as he saw a stone, he became spellbound. He did not own more than one hat or cap, because as soon as one of his stones shattered a pane, his hat was immediately grabbed from his head–let his father come and ransom it back. But Velveleh did not give in. He would cover his bare head with his chalatl, and a stone seen along the way was flying again. More than once it happened that the chalatl was also torn from his young body. Then he wept bitter tears over why there was nothing to cover his head with. He was still nevertheless a cheder boy!

His father finally concluded that this could not go on. There were often scandals at home, because his mother, Sureh, from despair would wring her hands and shout as if she was in pain when father would hit Velveleh with a thick rope. The boy would lie in bed for several days afterward until he came to and–further continued his vocation

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of stone throwing. The father understood that perhaps with a positive approach the boy could be cured of his sickness. Consequently, Velvl was surprised when his father asked him, “What do you like?”

“Throwing stones!”

His father wasn't enthusiastic about this answer and said, “Good, I haven't yet seen how you throw. Tishe Bov, God willing, when I'm free and you don't have to go to cheder, and we don't have to study Torah, we'll go outside town and you can throw stones to your heart's content.

At the time they were repairing the road, and on both sides lay heaps of stones in the form of sloped roofs. They brought Velvl to one of those mounds, and his father said in a cheerful tone, “Throw, as much as your heart desires.”

The boys eyes actually lit up. He did not expect such good naturedness. With one hand he picked up a handful of stone, and with the other began to throw them into the empty field, his heart bursting with joy. The father smiled along with pleasure.

After slaking his appetite after the first stone throwing, the boy wanted to take a breather, and rest in order to gather renewed strength to go on with his sport. But the watchful eye of the father paid close attention so that the boy would not lose heart. Velveleh didn't have a choice. (A father must be obeyed!), and threw stones left and right. The pretty pyramid of stones disappeared. The boy was exhausted, he couldn't catch his breath, and his hands pricked and hurt. When he complained about the pain, his father didn't give in, and told him to continue.

Again stones flew up in the air, over the road and into the field–again Velvl begged mercy from his father, he should allow him to stop this work.

“Tateh, I can't anymore.”

“What, you're crying? And did you ever think of your father, when his heart was weeping with the shame you brought him every day. Now you should be happy that I'm ordering you to do a thing you love so much.”

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And who knows how long this stone throwing would have gone on when behind the father's back they suddenly heard the popular Russian curses from the road watchman, angry as to why the mound of stones was messed up. Now the father realized what his son had done. In order to avoid paying a big fine, both of them, father and son, had to harness themselves to the job of gathering the stones and arranging them back into a nice pile.

From then on Velveleh stopped engaging in his sport.

He was more of a scholar than others, and weighed more than others. While praying, he used to drag out the prayer so long, that you thought he was loathe to let a word out of his mouth, recited over and over. As a rabbi for girls, he used to give his pupils entire pages of siddur to copy out, and in the meantime, sneak into the besmedresh around 11:00 am, when there were no longer any minyans, go up to the shtender and favore the besmedresh students with a broche or a kdushe as if they were starving for it…nevertheless they were thankful for it. Because of one of his “nikdishcha,” they had a chance to stand up and straighten their backs from their constant studying.

He was called Yoziv. He also distinguished himself with his love of singing. It was said that he once had a beautiful alto when he was young, but it was lost after an illness. When he began to sing, the wags would say to him that he once had an “alt”^[43] which had become “alt,” but after comes a tenor. The tenor never arrived, and Yozib strained his voice trying to bring out the sounds. He was often asked why, with such a voice, he had not gone to study music or begun to write it. For an answer, Yozib took a pencil and paper, and began to write notes, humming the melody with his erstwhile alto, and future tenor…two times: lam-tara-ra; three times: lamto-ro-ro; five times: bim-bom boom.

“Why do I need to travel to study, when I write the notes for myself, and sing them,” was the answer Yozib gave.

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Zelig Gutbasitser^[44]

In our shtetl, where every law was strictly observed, we used to go bathing in the little lake only after Lag B'Omer. The lake was the property of the Jewish landowner, R' Zeligl. Another in his position would certainly have enriched himself from the fields, meadows, fish ponds, and other assets which in those years (1903-1904) were worth a lot of money. But he was either unaware, or he didn't want to exploit these riches, and he remained a simple Jew, a pauper. His real occupation was carpentry, and he was at the top of the profession. But if you wanted to get something made by him, you had to order it at least six months in advance, but not because he was overwhelmed with carpentry work. He also had to look after and work his hay fields, his wheat fields, and keep an eye on his two fishponds. True, he did sell his fish several times a year, but the profits went back into the fishponds, enlarging them, deepening them. He worked like this every day, and remained a pauper. His conduct was unlike a landowner, because dozens of youngsters would bathe in the ponds where he raised his fish, and he was happy that on hot summer days, Jewish children could take advantage of his ponds. People told him that the soap could poison the fish in the ponds, but he good-naturedly waved them off, as was his wont. He also used to say that when he saw besmedreshniks bathing, it warmed his heart. (It was quietly whispered that since his wife, Malkeh, only bore him daughters, he was hoping to find them a suitable match).

R' Zeligl had a special satisfaction on Rosh Hashanah when the whole shtetl descended on his ponds where a whole year's worth of sins by the community were cast into the water. But our Markuszow Jews, exactly like R' Zeligl, had, because of their piety, very little to in their purses to shake into the water. They really hadn't sinned. That's why they went to tashlich^[45] accompanied by all the children, with song and dance. The music for the dancing and singing was done by Yoske Sofer who called out, “Tson kdoshim!”^[46] and the bunch of kids would answer with a drawn out, meh-h-h-!

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The Explainer

With that name (or nickname) the Markuszow Jew, Moishe-Yosl, was crowned, primarily because of his proficiency in military strategy. He never missed the opportunity to explain how wars are conducted, talking about tactics, and especially military conduct, and revealing to his listeners other pearls of wisdom from the art of war, as if he had graduated from a military academy.

Where did this weakness come from in the pious Moishe-Yosl? It can only be explained by the fact that he lived next door to Mechl Ettinger where the general staff could always be found, that practically every summer conducted maneuvers in the Markuszow neighborhood. At those times, Moishe-Yosl would live it up, his mouth never shutting for a second. He would constantly reveal and explain where the staff was coming from, what it was doing now, what plans were being made, and where they were going after the maneuvers. He would relate this with such cleverness, that you could think that the general staff consulted with Moishe-Yosl in all his matters.

Moishe-Yosl bragged that he knew the Russian language, but he often stumbled when he had to speak the language. When a military company of Cossacks came to town, he was especially exhilarated by the red stripes on their Cossack pants. It was a weakness for him, and he abandoned all his other jobs in order to hang around the house where the general staff was staying, and gazed to his fill at the red stripes. More than once he was in danger of being accused of being a spy, but who can resist their weaknesses, especially a man like Moishe-Yosl–the “strategist,” and “explainer” of the shtetl?

He was the butcher in the shtetl, but that was not the source of his status. Markuszow knew him for his bizarre stories that he would tell in his butcher shop, and that's why it was always full–not so much with customers, but listeners. And above all–his exorcism of the “evil eye” almost transformed him into a shtetl doctor.

With respect to his stories, most of them didn't have a particle of truth in them, but the more fantastic and exaggerated they were, the more

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they excited the curiosity of the listeners. When he was asked, how is this possible, he would answer, “That's how it is!” He was exactly as strange in exorcising the evil eye; everyone thought him an expert in that area. If a despairing mother brought him her sick child, he immediately demanded that they bring an item of the child's clothing, examined it in his hands, stood in a corner, his eyes beginning to glisten, then casting glances in all four directions. When he was done with all that, he would shut his eyes, and turn the child's thing seven times over his left foot, and then give a big yawn. Both he, and the astonished child's mother believed that the child would be helped.

And if it did not help, nobody blamed him, especially since he didn't take any money for exorcising an evil eye. A true idealist.

The oldest of them–Israel-Zalman and Dovid-Yankl, as I remember them, began their employment in 1880 before the Lublin-Warsaw road was built, and when a train was still not even dreamed of. They were pioneers in the area of establishing links with the neighboring shtetls and cities. They were so embedded in the life of Markuszow, that even when the train arrived years later, and was actually quite far from the shtetl, they still used the homegrown carriage drivers, as an expression of loyalty for their life-saving work.

Israel-Zalman was distinguished by his majestic appearance, especially when seated on the coachman's seat, and urging the horses on. He held the reins and the whip in one hand–and in the other, the long pipe stem without which it was impossible to imagine this illustrious coachman. The two of them–Israel-Zalman and the pipe were like conjoined twins, one always with the other, only separated on the Saturdays and holidays. He was a serious man, although he was not lacking in joy. Every time he shouted “giddy-up” to his horses, he never forgot to add the word, “crow!” This began with him from the days when he used to carry sacs of wheat, and to drive off the crows who chased after the seeds, he yelled, “crow!” at them which meant they had to get away.

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From that “giddy-up crow” became a lexicon that Israel-Zalman used.

Our coachmen, among whom there was also a certain R' Pinchas, had a common language, understandable only to them especially when they found a little hay in the fields passing by. Traveling in single file, the leader would shout, “Kdoshim!” On this, the other would reply, “Hazinu!”

In plain language this meant: kdoshim– heilik, which the coachmen interpreted somewhat differently, hay ligt.^[47] The reply was, hazinu–taken. And if there was no one in the field, our coachmen would take the hay lying there and feed it to their horses.

The pride of the Markuszow coachmen was their horses, so, for example, one of them would brag, “I have two bays that before I shout hey giddy-up, they tear themselves from the spot with the speed of flying birds.”

Moishele Shustak (a nickname because of the six fingers in his hand) would reply to the boaster that his chestnuts were the best in the shtetl. Yechezkel Balagoleh vied with them that his “gniades”^[48] could be a part of a king's team.

There was another coachman in later times who was called Areleh-Shieh's. He himself, exactly like his horse and wagon were renowned in the shtetl. First, because of his piety, no small thing a Radziner chasid. Second, his connection to the wider world, which meant the neighboring Jewish shtetls with which he maintained constant contact bringing and taking away passengers, merchandise, letters and everything required for the mutual commercial relations between Markuszow and its surroundings. He would have had more renown and importance in the shtetl if not for his great nosiness, especially regarding the behavior of the shtetl youth.

Driving home in the evening, he would get off his wagon not far from the shtetl and watch the strolling young people. When it became darker, he would light a match in order to see who had come out for a stroll. The following day, Markuszow already knew who in the preceding evening had been outside town, and who their accompanier (male or female) had been. Our parents

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therefore blessed him, while the youth gnashed their teeth over the uninvited informant. Incidentally, his surveillance of the strolling boys did not prevent him from looking for a husband among them for his then, only daughter.

The guys decided to teach the nosy coachman a lesson. One summer evening in 1909, when they heard his wagon coming, they left the main road

Sholem Wasserstrum, author of “Memories of the Past”–as besmedreshnik

The guys went over, helped him up, harnessed back the horses, and wished him a happy voyage. That night, he told no one about the strolling boys, and also kept silent about his falling off the wagon.

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Grandmother, Peseh, with her two grandchildren

1. Scamp, demon Return
2. Authority Return
3. The “shake” Return
4. People that leased orchards Return
5. An exemplary wife Return
6. The Short Friday Return
7. Folk doctor Return
8. Jewish soldier in the army of Tsar Nicholas I Return
9. Court of the afterlife Return
10. “He turned himself around completely” Return
11. Shamess is the synagogue beadle Return
12. Willow twigs that are beaten during the hymns of the seventh day of Sukkot Return
13. Detached leaf from a prayer book. Stored in attic because they cannot be desecrated. Return
14. The Waker, someone who wakes people up Return
15. Ritual slaughterer Return
16. Literally “key money”, buying the position Return
17. A blue thread in his fringes not worn by most Jews at the time because knowledge of the source of the blue dye had been lost. The Radziner rebbe claimed to have found the snail said to produce the dye. Return
18. A little smock Return
19. A heretic, freethinker Return
20. The evil inclination Return
21. Wedding canopy Return
22. The first words of the marriage ceremony Return
23. Russian high official Return
24. Wine forbidden to Jews because it may have been consecrated for another religion Return
25. Servants serve Return
26. The joke is a pun on the word thunder, diner, and servant, diener. Although it may be a pun on the American English “diner.” Return
27. Ceremony on the completion of the writing of a Torah. Return
28. Mishnah Sukka 5:1 Celebration held during the intermediate days of Sukkot harking back to the celebrations in temple times. Return
29. Religious songs Return
30. Prayer for the health of Return
31. His majesty Return
32. Russian authority, sometimes humorously Return
33. Participants in the tradition of dressing in costumes and putting on plays in Purim Return
34. Kest was the custom of providing food and shelter for students Return
35. Evening meal marking the end of Sabbath Return
36. An adherent of the Haskallah, the Jewish enlightenment Return
37. Teacher of the youngest children Return
38. Booklet with the text of grace after a meal Return
39. Piece of paper with the text of psalm 121 meant to dispel evil spirits during childbirth Return
40. One of the 36 righteous men who roam the world unknown to anyone including themselves Return
41. A saintly man Return
42. Modeh Ani is a Jewish prayer that observant Jews recite daily upon waking, while still in bed. Return
43. Pun on alt=alto, and alt=old in Yiddish Return
44. Landowner Return
45. Ceremony on first day Rosh Hashanah where clothes are emptied out, and/or crumbs thrown into a body of water, representing casting away sins. Return
46. Holy sheep and goats Return
47. Pun on heilik (holy) and hay ligt (hay is lying) Return
48. Roan Return

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