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“Hakol talui al hamazal,” (everything depends on luck)–stated the Chazal.^[1]

“Afilu sefer Torah shebaheichal”^[2]… Luck was also on our shtetl's side, because to whom would it have occurred that Markuszow would rise to greatness, that the shtetl would be put back on its feet.

It was an ordinary Friday, when most of the Jews were getting ready to greet the Sabbath queen. In the mikvah, filled with boiling hot water and steaming Jews, the holy tzaddik immersed himself three times. He left the mikvah with his eyes fixed on heaven–and firmly decided: this very shtetl would be his residence.

A new life began in Markuszow.

Every Friday night, the rebbe's tish^[3] was attended by the shtetl men and their sons. Pious women stood on tiptoes outside the rebbe's window, stretching to catch a glimpse inside, or to hear some holy words from the Torah that poured like olive oil from the rebbe's lips. During the day on Saturday, the rebbe began to preside at the tish that lasted through shalosh seudes, and melaveh malkeh, and went on till past chtsos.^[4] Piety spread through the shtetl as if the shechina were resting over Markuszow.

On the eve of the Days of Awe, heavy wagons carrying Chasidim appeared in the shtetl, coming to see the rebbe for the holidays. Many young men from all parts of the land streamed to the Markuszow rebbe for the holidays, dressed in low shoes with white socks in which they stuffed their pants. On their bodies,

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long, satin kapotehs^[5] that reached to their ankles, sashes over their hips, and tall shtreimls^[6] covering their close-cropped hair. And on either side of their youthful faces stretched long payess^[7] that were always dangling, as if they were helping their owner to serve the Creator. A red kerchief in the back pocket of their satin kapoteh was always peeking out. The young people ran around the shtetl as if there was someone chasing them. Someone's coming from the mikvah, someone's going to the mikvah, to the rebbe's little besmedresh, to his hostel. The older chasidim lead their ten-twelve-year-old children around with the intent of acquainting their children from the very beginning with chasidic passion and faith. They walk through the shtetl somewhat slower than the youngsters, stroking their long beards, and chatting about half-chasidic, half-business subjects.

On such days, Markuszow women were greatly affected by the grace that came to the shtetl. They could be seen running to the bakery, roasting ducks and geese for the guests, baking challehs and bread to make the visitors staying with them happy. The dorfgeyers^[8] bring all manner of goods to the shtetl. Good cheer reigns, excitement, truly a “prosperity.”

The Markuszow rebbe had an only daughter, a “gentle-hearted child.” They called her Menuchaleh. She was betrothed to an only son of a rich Radziner chasid who lived in another shtetl. Ozer'l (that was his name) attained a prominent position in his younger days, and was one of the closest tish participants of the Radziner rebbe. It seems that this time the “heaven criers” had not looked for the presence of a techeilis^[9] thread in the tzitzis,^[10] and betrothed Menuchah and Ozer. Markuszow celebrated for seven days and nights because of the wedding. The Karahod^[11] saw a mixture of chasidic shtreimels and women's hats, burning torches and extinguished candles, old and young, big and small, all seized by such rapture, with such fire, that many thought: Whoever has not seen the wedding of Menucheleh and Ozer'l, has never seen a real wedding.” Joy reigned in the rebbe's court, in the shtetl, among all the Jews. But happier than everyone was the lucky couple.

At the entrance to the shtetl on the Warsaw side, on the left side, there stood a house long as a Russian barrack, with a name also

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a long one: “Grandfather's House.” No strangers lived there, just our own: the grandfather, his devoted sons, daughter, grandchildren–a big family. All the adult men in the court wore shtreimls, and all of them belonged to the Radziner “cheder.” The Radziner shtibl^[12] was also found there. In one word, a Radziner “republic” at the very entrance to Markuszow.

One Saturday evening, a meeting was held in the shtibl. The shtibl was packed, a needle couldn't have fit in. After a brief consultation with the “big shots,” it was decided to send a delegation of four Radziner chasidim who then went off to Ozer, and without discussion delivered an ultimatum:

“Get a divorce!”

“How can it be?” asked Ozer'l.

“How can it be? It's making a whole commotion in heaven. How can a young man do such a terrible thing–you're disgracing the techeilis tradition. It's a sin the like of which the world has never seen.

“God forbid,” answered an abashed Ozer'l. He showed the emissaries his talliss–real Jewish tzitzis., Kosher, but without a techeilis.

The delegation left with the determination to take revenge on the rebbe and his young son-in-law, who had so quickly converted, God help us, and stopped wearing techeilis. They returned to the court and loudly proclaimed: “It's a milchumeh mitsveh!”^[13]

The big debate began in the court. Should war be declared on Ozer or not? If yes, should it be an open war, or an underground one. The grandfather's oldest grandson, a man in his thirties, got up on a chair and in a strange voice shouted:

“It is a desecration to insult our techeilis. We have to completely destroy the “yellow herring.” (Meaning the rabbi).

He said this with such passion, shouting so that his shtreimls and his satin kapoteh danced with him as if they didn't belong to him.

The “zayde's”^[14] son also got up on a chair and delivered these words:

“I wanna tell you, I do, that ya can't keep silent on this, ya can't. This Ozer, we gotta break his bones, we do, he should remember it forever, he should. And because he is a transgressor, he is, we have to stone him, we do, for insulting our techeilis. And this “skinny hook” (meaning the rebbe) we have to drive from our shtetl, we do. Let us show our strength, let us.”

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The zayde himself chimed in:

“If I were your age,” he began, “I would have, without hesitation or discussion, grabbed this little rebbe by his big rabbit ears, and dragged him out of here, he should never see the shtetl again. Such insolence and chutzpah–stealing from us such a jewel, a gem, among the nicest tish companions. This cannot be ignored!”

Among the court people there was a carriage driver, Israel, a Radziner chasid. He davened in their shtible, and actually wore techeilis. Understandably, he was also present at such an important gathering. After the zayde's words, he didn't reflect long, but quickly jumped up on a chair, banged his big boots on the chair and said:

“Gentlemen! I don't understand what you want from the rebbe. Friday, I went to the mikveh and saw him there–he seemed a perfectly ordinary man. He may not wear a techeilis, and it's certainly a sin, but there are, kaneinehoreh, plenty more Jews who don't wear a techeilis. Do we have to, therefore, tear them limb from limb? I don't know why you have ganged up on him, he is a very ordinary boy.”

The carriage driver's words were a slap in the face of the court folk. They did not expect such a blemish in their family. It was hard to make peace with the thought that in the presence of the whole gathering, the Radziner were contradicted, and by one of their own. But picking a quarrel with Israel no one wanted, because, boy, did he have a punch.

The zayde himself went over to R' Israel and explained to him the desecration of techeilis, and that a jewel was taken from the Radziner tish.

“Imagine,” the zayde explained to the carriage driver,” if they took away your best…horse, ha, what, would you be silent?”

After such an argument from the zayde, R' Israel lowered the brim over his good-natured eyes, and said, “Do what you want.” And without a “good week” left the shtibl, where the passionate debate continued until they came to a decision–open warfare with the dissident. All methods are kosher.

For the rebbe's son-in-law it was hell on earth. The first salvo by the Radziners was to send the little scamps to throw rocks at him

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as soon as he went out on the street. They called him all kinds of names. The holy war went so far that they reported the rebbe to the czarist authorities. Since the products of the rebbe's slaughter were forbidden, the rebbe forbade the consumption of the Radziner's slaughterer. The shtetl was left with no meat, because not everyone wanted to eat meat from outside the system.

There were many Kotzker chasidim in the shtetl. A prominent businessman of theirs, Itche Mayer, respected by everyone, took upon himself the initiative

The residents of R' Baruch's “court”

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the animals gather together in one place, and yesterday's bloody enemies huddle together in order to collectively protect themselves from the approaching danger. Is the current antisemitism in Russia and Poland not a dark storm over our heads? How long has it been since the bloody pogrom in Kishinev? A shudder passes through us when we give a thought to all of that. And we must state, to our great pain, that the shoichet has not been neutralized yet. Because of the rebbe's son-in-law, who had previously worn tzitzes with techeilis and then took them off, a quarrel has flared up in the shtetl. As if there was nothing else to worry about. I have to say that the devil himself is leading you on. But this cannot continue. I stand now by the holy sefer-Torahs, and I call out to you, “Shalom al Israel!”

The crowd began to push toward the ark where R' Itche Meyer was standing in sorrow, but at the same time, exalted. The crowd lifted him up in their arms, and with shouts of, “Shalom al Israel,” went off to the rebbe's court. There the peacemaker explained to the rebbe why he had come. Happy, the rebbe shouted, “Shalom al Israel.” That was a message that the war between Radzin and Markuszow was now over.

1. Sages of Mishnah and Talmud. Return
2. Kabbalah reference, Sha'arei Orah, Spain c1300; “Even the sefer-Torah in the sanctuary is dependent on mazal” Return
3. Literally, “table,” referring to the meal at which the rebbe presides, an important custom among chasidim. Return
4. Chtsos, custom of arising at midnight to pray Return
5. Coat-like garment Return
6. Round fur hats Return
7. Sidelocks Return
8. People who made their living trading in the villages Return
9. The Torah instructs that a blue thread (techelet) be added to the fringes of the tzitzit. The source of blue dye was a sea creature called the chilazon. The identity of the chilazon was lost long ago, and the blue thread was not worn. The Radziner rebbe, Gershon Henoch Leiner (1831-1891) believed the chilazon was the cuttlefish, and his followers wore the techeilis. He was known as the Ba'al Techeilis. Today, the marine snail, Murex trunculus, is favored as the source of the blue dye, and is used by many. Return
10. The tallis fringes Return
11. Circle dance Return
12. Shtibl is a small, informal house for praying. Return
13. War of duty, or holy war. Return
14. Grandfather Return

The kehileh^[2] in Markuszow, as in most shtetls in Poland, was dominated by religious interests for two reasons: a) The devout were actually the majority in the shtetl; b) Since the kehileh was only concerned with the elections of a rabbi, a shammes in the besmedresh, and other functionaries, the elections did not interest the less religious parties.

Nevertheless, every campaign was a passionate one. The different chasidic shtibls, and the community big-shots, competed against each other. The tradesmen were always represented by one dozor, almost always the same one–Hershl Wichter. He was a shoemaker by trade, but a man with a clever mind. For R' Hershl, the voting was a matter of personal prestige, whereas for the tradesmen, it was important to have their own representative to look after their interests and work on their behalf to avoid being

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saddled with high community taxes (etat). It has to be admitted that he carried out his duty honestly and resolutely so that “his” tradesmen were not abused. That was why he was always certain to be reelected.

An important person, and also secure in his reelection was R' Shloime Schwartz. A good Jew, a constant ba'al Musaf during the Days of Awe, he had the support of the Radziner chasidim, and Baruch Edelstein's court. Since he was well educated, he kept the kehileh books, and dealt with the state's representatives in determining the budget. His son, Gedalieh, who took the position of Jewish soltis in the gmineh, helped with this task, and thanks to this, had close relations with the state's representatives.

A third member of the kehileh was R' Mechl Weiner, the representative of the storekeepers and the Kotzk chasidim. Another member of the board of directors was Mordechai Morel, a rich Jew, but a simple man and a kehileh activist, a true oysek betzorche tsiber bemuneh^[3]. This man could be trusted with the kehileh money knowing it would not be touched. There were times when he was asked to change money for smaller denominations of coins or bank notes, but he refused on the grounds that he must return exactly the money he was entrusted with.

There were other artisans elected in the kehileh: Yakov Yosef Gothelf, a smart man, who carried on big businesses, and even exported produce to Danzig, and another, R' Yankl Mayerl's who played a role only in the voting.

The whole work of the kehileh consisted of developing and deciding on the budget for the coming year, and taxing every Jew. Shloime Schwartz carried all that out, made sure that the budget was approved, and delivered to the gmineh (more accurately to the Jewish soltis, Gedalieh Schwartz), banked the taxes, and paid the rabbi and shoichet every month.

The shtetl population didn't know what was going on in the kehileh, relying completely on the elected dozors, while the other part, the non-religious, as mentioned above, displayed no interest in the elected Jewish representation. A change in

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this area was first brought about in 1932 when the Zionists in Markuszow decided to take part in the elections, and as their first candidate, put forward the well known Zionist activist, Pinchas Liebhober, who was actually elected. The various kehileh big shots couldn't bear this change in the composition of the kehileh, and R' Pinchas Liebhober was a thorn in their side, especially as, right away during the first meeting he attended as dozor, his proposal was to broaden the kehileh activities to the social domain, hold open meetings so that the shtetl residents could listen to the current kehileh concerns, and to give reports from time to time on general kehileh activities.

Such demands in those days meant an upset in the whole established order. It's worthwhile remembering that Pinchas Liebhober, in composing the budget, managed to pass a motion to donate 150 zlotys to Keren Kayemet L'Israel.^[4] Those who know how “treif” Keren Kayemet was then in the eyes of the devout who had 90% of the seats, can imagine the effect of such a decision. On the other hand, it was the greatest satisfaction for the Markuszow Zionists.

Stormy sessions also took place on the question of hiring a shoichet. Some members would propose another candidate, or a second shoichet, advancing various reasons, like a shtetl could not remain with one shoichet only, because God forbid, he could get sick. And we also needed a reserve chazzan, and a reserve mohel, because the shtetl mohel, Yoel Ettinger, had had several incidents with children. All these problems could be solved, argued the proponents of a second shoichet, if we hired a shoichet-chazan-mohel in one person. And with two shoichets, there wouldn't be any funny business with the butchers who often slaughtered without a certificate of payment to the kehileh. The most important thing is that there would be new money coming from the new shoichet. The shtetl was excited, passionate debates took place in the besmedresh, and in the streets, where knots of debaters could be seen, all because of the shoichet. And the decision came down: to hire another shoichet!

A number of Yiddish newspapers carried the request from the Markuszow kehileh to find another shoichet. Young men

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began to appear in the shtetl, hale and hearty, who were ready to undertake the advertised position. First, they listened to their voices. Every Shabbes, one of them would daven Shacharit or Musaf, and in the end the community agreed on hiring a certain Chaim-Yosl–a truly decent young man with a good voice. The kehileh treasury received a big sum of “shlisl gelt,” and– shalom al Israel.

The old shoichet, Chaim Goldstein, did not lose any of his salary, but he had to share in the chalokim^[5] of the slaughter suffering a loss Erev Yom Kippur during the slaughtering of the kapores.^[6]

The kehileh budget was increased by the addition of another position: salary for a second shoichet.

Over 20 years ago, there was an old rabbi in Markuszow, R' Moishe-Eliyahu Goldwasser. Because of his age, it was hard for him to fulfill the duties of the head of a community. As a result, his son, Peretz, who had expectations of the rabbi's chair after his father's death, helped him out. He used to go with his father to the slaughterhouse, ruled on religious questions, helped with arbitrations, but still was not considered an authority by Markuszow Jews. Also the Agudah groups did not see in him someone who could attract the youth, and were doubtful of his ability to lead the religious life of the shtetl Jews. The chasidim also did not favor him, because he did not belong to any of their shtibls. The progressive circles saw in him a backward man who did not know the Polish language, and who would therefor not be able to represent the Jewish population before the Polish authorities. There were those who held that he did not even properly know the Yiddish language. His only employment was trading in dry goods at the market, and there was no lack of jokes in the shtetl about his expressing himself in Polish with his customers.

The first shoichet, Chaim Goldstein, a batlan,^[7] recognized only two things in his life: study and slaughter. On the other hand, the other shoichet, Chaim Yosl, was an educated young man with a lot of intelligence and worldly views.

There were also two shammeses:^[8] the red-headed shammes who knocked on the door shutters Friday evening announcing the coming of Shabbes, or called to Slichot

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Erev Rosh Hashanah. The other shammes, Mordechai Westlschneider, lived in the basement of the besmedresh.

The cantor, Moishe Weinribber, or as he was called, Moishe Beinish's, was a strictly observant man, but a little bit modern. His job was in general not an easy one, because aside from davening before the congregation every Shabbes, holidays, and especially during the Days of Awe, he was also ba'al koreh,^[9] and Ba'al tokeh,^[10] and kept a list of all the yorzeits of deceased relatives in order to remind people of the time to light the candle and say Kaddish. He also performed wedding ceremonies, and assisted the mohel. In this manner, he fulfilled the important religious functions in shtetl.

Moishe Weinribber z”l–shtetl cantor

In 1930, the old rabbi died. After he was duly buried, eulogized and lamented, the real hullabaloo about electing another rabbi began.

The dead rabbi's son, Peretz, claimed his inheritance–the rabbinical chair. He brought many rabbis from the whole region to his father's funeral all of whom found it necessary to emphasize, during their eulogy, that according to the law, the son must be the heir. Peretz, in the meantime, had begun to assemble supporters. His nephew, a capable young man, understood how to carry out such a difficult job, because this Peretz had rather weak chances

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to be elected. but since the entire adult (25 years and up) Jewish population had the right to vote for a rabbi, Peretz initially campaigned among the tradesmen and the ordinary people who wanted to elect him out of pity. You can't let the rabbi's son go hungry, especially since he could still be elected rabbi among all the proposed candidates. He did make rulings while his father was still alive, after all. On the other hand, the more progressive circles in shtetl maintained that it was time to hire a modern rabbi, an intelligent one, educated, someone you could be proud of. The chasidic side wanted a rabbi–a gaon,^[11] a chasid, and scholar.

In this vein, various gatherings, and meetings were organized; people ate drank and lobbied. Those who participated with passion in the campaigning neglected their businesses, preoccupied exclusively with the rebbe issue. There was an announcement in the press. Candidates began to appear in the shtetl and gave sermons. Whereas for the shoichet elections 5 votes (out of the 8 vote members) were enough, a rabbinical candidate had to get a majority out of all the Jewish voting population, and above all, have the support of a designated group of people who would agitate and work for him without which his chances were slim. Concerning the strictly orthodox circles which consisted of Radziner and Kotzker chasidim, if the former put forth a candidate, the latter immediately began to oppose him, and announced their own candidate, a certain R' Aharon Zelichower from Lublin, a man of advanced years but with a keen mind. True, he was not yet a rabbi, although he had one or more rabbinical diplomas, and was well known for arbitrating in important disputes.

But here an unanticipated development occurred: since the Kotzker chasidim were afraid that a Radziner chasid could be elected as rabbi in Markuszow, they decided that it was better for Peretz to become the rabbi rather than a Radziner. With chasidic passion they threw themselves into the election turmoil and battled for Peretz's candidacy. The opposing side was not silent either, and the shtetl was in an uproar. Election day was especially heated.

Late in the evening the results were announced: Peretz was elected as rabbi by one vote. But since the other side was in close contact with the powers-that-be, the starosta

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in Pulawy annulled the results and ordered a new election. In the meantime, the Radziners brought their candidate to Markuszow, and paid him a salary as rabbi. Now a dispute flared up. Other rabbis appeared in town, and mixed in, and ruled that R' Aharon Zelichower should remain rabbi in the shtetl, and receive 60% of the rabbi salary, while Peretz would be his successor and would get the remaining 40%. In order for neither of them to be officially elected as rabbi, it was decided that with regard to the authorities, to appoint a businessman of the shtetl. Yenkl Rubinstein, the son of Sholem Heshl's, was elected during the second vote, as the only candidate, as the putative rabbi. It is worth emphasizing that since the Zionists voted for Aharon Zelichower, they were pretty unhappy with this candidate.

In 1933 R' Aharon Zelichower suddenly died, and the question of electing a rabbi arose again. It was then that the Zionists, with Pinchas Liebhober and Gedalieh Schwrtz at the head, took the matter into their own hands and brought their own candidate for rabbi, a member of Mizrachi, who had graduated from the “Tachmoni” school in Warsaw. He was called Elchanan Weizman. On November 11^th, Poland's independence day, the representatives of the authorities, were invited to the besmedresh, and Weizman the candidate gave a speech in the Polish language that made a tremendous impression on all the listeners. It was felt that this man had the best chance to be elected, especially considering that a few days before the election a representative of the starosta came and clearly stated that if we elected a person like Peretz, they would annul the results again. The authorities' representative called for electing a man with a worldly education. The most surprising thing happened: Weizman received a resounding majority. The joy of the Zionists, like a minority in the shtetl, was great because of the voting success. Agudah and the other religious circles were outraged that the Zionist apostates were successful in electing one of theirs for rabbi. In their eyes it was a disaster.

Before I made aliyah to Israel in 1934, I went to say good-bye to the Markuszow rabbi, Weizman. With tears in his eyes,

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he gave me his blessing for the journey, and was truly envious that I could realize my dream. He wished that he would soon be there too where his heart was yearning, but this, unfortunately, did not come to pass. He was killed in a terrible way by the Nazi murderers sharing the fate of the other Markuszow Jews.

Honor to his memory!

1. Member of the synagogue council Return
2. Jewish community organizations Return
3. One who does volunteer community work. Return
4. Fund for purchasing land in Israel Return
5. Bits of meat and offal the shoichet was allowed to take Return
6. Sacrificial chicken Return
7. Can refer to man who spends all his time in synagogue studying, or an idler, or unworldly person. Return
8. Sexton Return
9. Torah reader Return
10. Shofar blower Return
11. A brilliant scholar Return

Both masters of Yiddish literature, brilliant depicters of the Jewish shtetl–Sholem Asch and I. M. Weissenberg–visited our shtetl at various times and circumstances. These two visits emerge from my memory with the greatest detail.

It was deep in autumn. Rain mixed with snow hammered at the roofs and windows of Markuszow's houses without cease. The shtetl became smaller, shrunken. The weather outside was so awful, you didn't even want to look through the windows. And what could you see other than the soggy, muddy market. Everyone, therefore, sat indoors whether at work, or with a book, or religious work, or just doing nothing because of the foul weather.

I remember as if it were yesterday that an unexpected guest arrived that day. I was sitting in my room reading a book. My mother suddenly opened the door and said:

–Some shlimazel is asking for you. (That was how my mother referred to anyone she didn't know who came to visit me).

I went into the front room and saw a man of average size, wearing a burkeh (winter coat) from which rivulets of water ran, his face depressed, frozen, but very familiar. I looked closely at his face, recognized him at once and called out:

–Ah, Herr Weissenberg!

The writer seemed to change, his face happier. He straightened his somewhat rounded back, and with good humor asked:

–You, Fraulein, recognized me. From where and how?

–What do you mean how? I happily answered. After reading

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your book, Shtetl, I then looked for your picture. Both then became engraved in my memory and in my heart.

His face lit up. He pressed my hand warmly and asked if I had read any of his other creations. I naively cried out–What are you saying? If you like one of an author's work, you look for everything he has written. I have read everything you have written to date.

Excitedly, I began to list off a whole bunch of the stories I was referring to. In the middle of our discussion, Weissenberg takes the book I was reading, and catches a glimpse of the cover, A Shtetl, by Sholem Asch. His face becomes serious. He loses the previous cheerfulness and asks:

–Of the two Shtetls, which one do you like better? But answer honestly.

I panicked for a second, embarrassed, but my heart began to expand from joy that Weissenberg himself was asking my opinion. I thought for a while and answered timidly–It's possible that Asch's Shtetl is more beautifully written, but your Shtetl is more authentic, not invented.

I can't forget how Weissenberg's facial expression changed, and his mood. He said,

–Believe me, I am happier with your opinion than with the reviews of the greatest critics. And with enthusiasm he added–Because I have written for people like you.

I invited him to my room. It turned out that his visit to Markuszow was connected with getting subscriptions for the magazine he was preparing to publish. He was visiting a lot of shtetls for this reason, disregarding the bad weather and difficulties a trip like this entailed.

That same evening, in the locale of Kadima, an intimate meeting of lovers of the written Yiddish word took place. We spent several hours with Weissenberg in a warm, friendly environment. I had to read his Kreindl, which pleased him very much.

The shtetl talked about the visit of I.M. Weissenberg for a long time. The writer too left our shtetl with the best impressions.

Several years later, my husband, Leizer Loterstein, travelled to

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Warsaw in order to invite I. M. Weissenberg to a reading in Markuszow. The writer replied to the invitation:

–Markuszow?! You have dear, intelligent, young people there. Unfortunately, I can't accept your invitation because of my poor health.

We were very happy and proud with the great writer's opinion of our youth. On the other hand, we greatly regretted that I. M. Weissenberg could not come to Markuszow.

Monday–market day in the shtetl. One of those lovely summer days of which it is said–a God-blessed day. And even in Warsaw, they knew about Markuszow's market day. Merchants would come from Warsaw, and of course traders, storekeepers, tradesmen, and thousands of farmers from all over the surrounding area. The market was already underway Sunday evening when the booths and stalls were set up. Of course there were quarrels around choosing the spots over which some of the shtetl people had tenure.

It's also worth mentioning that, because of this weekly market, the neighboring shtetl of Korew, older and larger than Markuszow, held a grudge. And not without reason. For years a bitter battle had been fought between both shtetls over where the market was held. The Tsarist governor in Lublin ruled in favor of Markuszow. Our shtetl was lucky and honored that this big market would be held here. Korew did not readily give up. They tried to attract the farmers to their market through various means, but with little success. The farmer folks knew just one address where to buy and sell: Markuszow!

All week no farmers were seen in the shtetl, not even for medicine. But when Monday came, it was hard to move through the streets. A commotion, a hoo-ha, a rush–everybody did business that day. If someone did not own their own business, he was helping his father, his mother, a sister or a brother who had interests in the market. That day everybody was a merchant. Even melamdim^[1] were transformed into storekeepers on Monday, although most of them did not know one word of Polish. I would like to tell the following story about this:

There was a melamed in the shtetl called R' Mendeleh. He dealt in clay pots but only on market day. However, he could only count up to twenty in Polish. If a pot cost 32 groshen, he would give the price

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like this: 20 groshen and 12 groshen. You can imagine how that was received when he expressed it in Polish. The farmers, however, understood him well, and the shtetl clowns had material to make fun of.

On one such market day, when I was also deeply involved in business, a relative of mine came running and told me I must go right away to our cousin, Tzipeh Halbershtat (the wife of the man of letters, and translator, Shloime Sheinberg of Pulawy). My mother, whom I was helping at the moment, became upset, and wringing her hands, she asked, “Precisely now? In the middle of the market? Thieves could rob us, and how will I cope now?”

But regardless, I ran quickly, and my mother did not protest much anymore because she liked Shloime Sheinberg, especially his wife, Tzipeh. She only asked that I come back quickly, even with the cousin in tow, because she needed our help.

I didn't really know how to reply to my mother, and I went off to my relative. I found her alone in the house. To my question of why she asked for me, and where her husband was, she hastily replied that I should hurry over to Shloime Schwartz's house where her husband and Sholem Asch were. If my memory does not mislead me, she also mentioned the name of Shloime Rosenberg who was supposed to have come to Markuszow with Sholem Asch. We immediately went to the residence of Sh. Schwartz, and we saw Sholem Asch standing at the window, captivated by the market then going on in the shtetl. The great writer was wearing a beautiful white summer suit that lay nicely on his figure. He had a full head of black hair; his eyes were focused on the market. He could not look away. Shloime Sheinberg introduced me to him, but I felt that Sholem Asch extended the tips of his fingers without enthusiasm. A little perplexed, timidly, I invited him to go down to the street, and visit the market full of Jews. He, however, declined the invitation, and declared, no, not now, perhaps another time.

With that, he left the house, quickly got into a carriage, and practically without a fare-thee-well, drove out of the shtetl.

Leaving my cousins, I could not hide my disappointment at the short visit of Sholem Asch in Markuszow. Shloime Sheinberg and his wife understood me well, and felt the same.

1. Teachers of the younger children Return

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My recollections of the first Zionistic cultural organization are closely bound up with the years of WWI.

A Saturday in August 1914. The shtetl was covered with large posters. At first, we thought a travelling troupe was coming to perform in Markuszow, something that had never yet happened in Markuszow. The men going to shul very early to daven could not ignore the colorful posters on which was written in large letters the terrible news: “War!”

All men under the age of 45 had to report to the conscription centers. The bad news quickly spread, and elicited fear and consternation in everyone. Women and children wailed and lamented, and men felt the Angel of Death was about to begin his bloody harvest. Before noon, over 100 farmer wagons were gathered at the gmineh^[1], and the soltis^[2] with the policemen rounded up the arriving reservists. Everyone was out on the street. Even the besmedresh was empty of praying men and students. Wailing and lamentations carried through the shtetl.

Afterwards, the crowd re-assembled at the besmedresh. They did not begin davening, but stood around talking. The old rabbi, Rav Eliyahu Goldwasser, mounted the belemer, and with tears in his eyes, he begged them not to cry on the Sabbath. Whoever was destined to live would return home in peace. The crowd calmed down somewhat.

The next day, Sunday–back to normal life. Some went to their stores, some to their workshops. Jews returned to business, worked and earned more than ever. Entire regiments rolled through the shtetl, and the soldiers spent money. Various types of merchandise became scarce.

The Jewish youth, who used to study day and night in the besmedresh^[3] began to stay away from the holy house. Individually and in groups they joined

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the newly created organization, Kadima,” which was established in Markuszow in 1916 during the Austrian occupation. But before the Russians left Markuszow and the Lublin region, they set fire to the shtetl, and 80% of the buildings went up in smoke. It took a year before the shtetl was rebuilt a little. Jewish social life also began to be rebuilt. The leaders of Kadima campaigned for the establishment of a library. The youth zealously took to reading books by Mendeleh, Sholem Aleichem, D. Frishman, Sh. Asch, Sh. Anski, and others, Yesterday's Torah scholars saw a new world before them. The amateur drama group performed L. Tolstoy's, Kreuzer Sonata, to great success on Motzi-Pesach 1916. The successful performance encouraged the shtetl youth, and they began to get ready for a second performance on Shavuot. This time, with no less success, they put on “Der Vilder Mench.”

It would be a mistake to think that the activities of Kadima were limited to performances. They also carried on Zionist education work, although without a political party orientation. Lectures on Jewish history, Altneuland, and Judenstat by Theodore Herzl often took place. The speakers were: Itzchak Wasserstrum, and Hersh Loterstein. The members of Kadima had one idea, one goal: Eretz-Israel for all the Jewish people.

Kadima carried on its above-mentioned activity until 1919, after Poland achieved independence. This happy occurrence was however darkened by the antisemitic wave of pogroms in Lemberg and other Polish cities. There was a justified fear that Markuszow too would suffer antisemitic excesses.

Kehileh officials were always lobbying the authorities, knowing in advance that “kesef yaaneh hakol”^[4] Every Sunday, when the farmers went to church, there was a threat of pogrom in the air. There was a similar feeling every Monday at the weekly market in Markuszow. Every Jew felt it was about to happen. There were actual cases of Jewish stores and stalls being robbed, but with Jewish money everything was “smeared over.” The authorities were focused on the money, and did not allow harm to come to the Jews. In the meantime, the Poland-Russia war broke out, and Jewish youth were mobilized for the army. Since the shtetl was emptied of young men, Kadima stopped

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all its work. The library migrated over to Itzchak Ettinger's attic, and the cultural activities in the shtetl completely stopped.

It was not until a year and a half later, in July 1921, that a general meeting took place on the initiative of several young people in order to revive the Zionist work, rent a locale, and renew cultural activities. Itzchak Wasserstrum had died two years before, and the youth laid great hope at the feet of his right-hand man, Hersh Loterstein. But at the meeting, it was learned that Hersh Loterstein had been carrying on “secret work” among the youth, and had tried to bring them over to his side. It seems that the “Bolshevist invasion” had strongly influenced this erstwhile passionate Zionist. He had reversed himself. Loterstein demanded that the name Kadima be removed, that the commission for national funds be eliminated, and the union emptied of all Zionist content. Although he had the enlightened part of the shtetl youth on his side, he was unable to realize his plans at the meeting. The majority was Zionist–and the meeting blew up in scandal.

Nevertheless, negotiations continued between the two sides, because everyone regretted the absence of the organization. They came to an understanding with a compromise. Chol-Hamoed Sukkot the long awaited general meeting took place in a rented venue. According to the agreement reached, the Zionists relinquished the name Kadima. From now on the organization had to be called, “Kultur.” The leftist opposition agreed that the commission for national funds within the board should be able to continue its work. But after reaching agreement, there were incidents that took place for a long time around the picture of Theodore Herzl that was hanging in the venue. The left argued that the library was an apolitical cultural institution where only pictures of poets and authors should be displayed. The Zionists argued that Herzl was both. Nevertheless, broadly diverse Zionist and cultural activities were carried on. In 1924 the library contained about 700 books.

At that time, Zionism went through a serious crisis with the failure of the fourth aliyah. The communists established the left Poalei Zion and the trade union. New winds began to blow though Markuszow exactly as in other cities and shtetls of Poland where there was a Jewish population. The Kadima library

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was liquidated in order to later be divided among the three parties that had influence in the shtetl then: Zionists, Poalei Zion, and communists. Three libraries in such a small place all at once enriched Markuszow.

Board of the “Kultur” society Seated from left to right: Kopl Kershenblat, Ita Goldwasser, Binyomin Kershenblat, Chaim-Mendl Goldwasser, Ita Loterstein, Pinchas Ettinger, Ita Schwartz, Beirech Weberman.

1. Community center Return
2. Village magistrate Return
3. Study hall Return
4. Money solves everything. Return

In 1916 several boys and girls, practically children, got together with the goal of establishing an organization. The main initiator of the meeting was Itzchak Wasserstrum, in whose residence it was decided to found a “union.” One can imagine the commotion in the shtetl and the upset among our parents. A real war flared up between us and our parents. They used to lock up our clothes, our shoes, and not let us leave the house. They often tried inducements–but this too did not help. Were we an exception? The drive for knowledge, culture and

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organization was a force of nature in all the cities and shtetls of Poland, and drew in large segments of Jewish youth. Our parents did not give in for a long time because they saw in it not only a meeting of boys and girls (which also used to occur in the union) but a weakening of their power over the children. That was what worried them most. But our will, our stubbornness, were the deciding factors. Even though our numbers were small, our parents finally gave in. What choice did they have? They made peace with fate.

With the pennies that some of the youth accumulated, we rented a room for the union. The founders were the “cream” of the shtetl. We threw ourselves into the work with all the passion of youth, and in a few months the organization counted about 100 members from various classes. The union was Zionist throughout, even by its name–Kadima. Right at the first meeting, it was decided to establish a library. Said and done! Time and energy were not lacking after all. We denied ourselves all other pleasures, and saved money for the organization. At the beginning, several hundred books were bought. What joy, what enthusiasm in bringing the books to the shtetl–the most beautiful and the best of literature of the time. And no wonder: the buyers were experienced scholars and readers. I am moved now in remembering those young people who showed themselves to be such excellent experts in leading a union, writing statutes–really a constitution with paragraphs and subsections. If our later meetings were pretty stormy, the early times were harmonious, simply an idyll. We soon established an amateur drama club and began to act in plays: pieces by Gordon, and later–Peretz Hirshbein, Sholem Aleichem, Nomberg, Asch. We also did not omit the world masters: Moliere and Ibsen. There was nothing to complain about in the artistic taste of both the actors and the audience. The artists were at the top of their work. Other than that, we used to put on literary-artistic evenings at which Ita Goldwasser (now in Paris) and the writer of these lines, used to recite poetry. The monologues of Sholem Aleichem that my brother, Israel, (perished during the Nazi occupation) used to present with such talent on the stage such that professional artists could learn from him, are firmly entrenched in my memory. Kadima also had its own choir.

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Such was our harmonious, active, and creative work until 1919-1920. Afterward, other winds began to blow. The horizon widened; it was after the October Revolution. The great need of the Jewish population, and the still rising antisemitism on one side, and the hope of seeing a free humanity, and consequently a free Jewish people on the other side–strongly influenced our spirit. The first Tarbut school was founded in Markuszow in that period, thanks to the initiative of Pinchas Liebhober, Eliezer Eidelstein, Yudl Schwartz, and Itzchak Rosenberg. Zimmerman, the Yiddish teacher, a leftist, had a huge influence on the youth. The young people were really devoted to this energetic, intelligent young man, fine speaker, singer and reciter of poetry. Two groups began to form, but it did not go so smoothly. The passionate discussions devolved into arguments. One side wanted to save all of humanity, the other side–only the Jewish people. They tried to change the name, change the union into a so-called apolitical library, but it did not help. Kadima was shut down, and the books stored in an attic.

The left Poalei-Zion arose in Markuszow in those days–later the trade union (communists). The library, and the Y.L. Peretz-union that had tried to open, breathed their last. The books were divided among the three parties of the time: Zionists, Poalei-Zion, and Communists. Of the first founders of Kadima, hardly any were left in the shtetl, many having gone away to other places.

The Zionist movement in Markuszow dates from the moment when religious youth and maskilim^[1] began to dream of the Zionist idea, came together in Noah Glasschneider's house, and sang Zionist songs. But the organizational framework of the movement only began with the founding of Kadima, where the more aware part of Markuszow youth came together. At the very beginning of Kadima, the work was solely cultural, whereas the ideological, political and organizational activities, as well as the money collections for the national funds did not begin until 1926.

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The first Zionist task consisted of teaching the Hebrew language. In 1918, right after the end of WWI, Pinchas Liebhober, Gedalieh Schwartz, and Moishe Breinski founded a Tarbut school^[2]. Several rooms were rented at Shlomo Schwartz's. Two teachers were brought in. One of them, Friedmacher, was supposed to teach Hebrew. The second teacher, Zimmerman–Polish and Yiddish. The Zionist-inclined parents saw the school as a major achievement, and tried to maintain it.

The very first founders were: Alter Kandl, Gedalieh Schwartz, Shmuel Avraham Marchevke, and Yosef Goldberg. They excelled at delivering experienced arguments in the street or besmedresh. However, they were weak in carrying on the day-to-day organizational work. In 1926, younger powers arrived, like: Israel-Itche Raguski, Avraham'tche Eidelstein, Pinchas Laks, and Pinchas Liebhober. Thanks to their efforts, a venue was rented, and a new library was opened with the books passed on from the Peretz library, and newly purchased ones.

On Lag B'Omer 1921 a meeting took place with the students of the Korew Tarbut school, in the middle of the road that connected the two shtetls. This meeting evolved into a big Zionist demonstration. Hundreds of children with blue-white flags in their hands demonstrated under a large Jewish national flag that was carried at the front of the procession. Zionist songs echoed in the air. There were also a lot of parents taking part in the demonstration. Every flag and song evoked yearning and hope for our own land. The parents and children of both shtetls were astounded at the meeting. The history and meaning of Lag B'Omer were explained in a large field. The impressive day ended with singing, recreation and games.

After free obligatory education was instituted in Poland, and a government school was opened in Markuszow, where no fees were paid, the poorer parents took their children out of the Tarbut school, and registered them in the government school. As the number of parents that wanted to support the Tarbut school kept decreasing, the Tarbut school,

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Lag B'Omer celebration of Zionist youth in Markuszow

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after existing for several years, had to close. In 1926, another attempt was made to open a Jewish school. The teacher brought in, Yagoda, began to give classes in Hebrew, and in order for him to survive, efforts were made to have him teach Jewish religion in the Polish schools. But because there were few students in the Hebrew classes, they did not last long.

In 1925, the whole shtetl was obsessed with a plan to travel to Eretz-Israel and settle on the land, which was to have been purchased beforehand for Markuszow Jews. They got ready to sell everything and move to Eretz-Israel to their own Markuszow colony. A committee was elected that began to register people for aliyah. Since many Jews saw the Balfour Declaration and the San Remo Act as truly a sign from God to fulfill the ancient dream of shivat Zion^[3], the committee had a lot of work since about 80% of the Jews registered. Everyone “bought” dunams of land according to their material wealth. To this day, I can see my father's, z”l, sad face at not having the money to acquire a little inheritance in Eretz-Israel. He, along with several other Jewish families. had to remain in the diaspora, meaning, in Markuszow.

They chose two businessmen–Chaim-Yoineh Kitenkorn, a chasid, a rich man (as he was considered in the shtetl), and Pinchas Liebhober, a Maskil and Zionist, began to work on travel permits. But in the meantime, some unhappy news arrived from Eretz-Israel about fraudulent acquisitions, deceptive transactions, and land speculation that put to naught the Markuszow plans for their own colony. The enthusiasm was quickly extinguished especially since the chasidic circles in the shtetl took up the declaration of war against the Zionists on the side of the rabbis, and every pious Jew took it as his obligation, if not his mitzvah, to fight Zionist thought and everything that has to do with it, because in their eyes, it was simply heresy. But

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the upcoming youth rather saw a final solution to the Jewish question, and on this ground sharp conflicts between parents and children occurred in dozens of Jewish homes.

While the working youth found its way in the left Poalei-Zion, or in the trade union (communist), the Zionist movement had to get its strength from chasidic circles. The religious parents did everything possible to keep their children from becoming infected with Zionist ideas. More than one parent fought an internal battle with himself. On one side, the nationalistic instinct dictated a positive attitude to the very idea of restoring the old-new homeland, while on the other hand, they had to deal with statements from prominent rabbis whose authority and importance they greatly respected. It was lucky that, among the rabbis, there was no consensus on the matter, and the Zionism-inclined chasidic parents used to relax their strict orthodox attitudes in favor of Zionism, referring to the Zionist orientation of a number of prominent rabbis. I am reminded of when I found a letter from the Gerer rebbe, z”l, to his chasidim. The letter, in the form of a printed notice, called on the religious Jews to buy a plot of land and settle there, basing his call with citations from the Talmud and other holy books. “The last redemption will come via nature,” the rebbe argued in his message, and “first you have to settle, then the Messiah will come.” This letter was published after the rebbe's visit to Eretz-Israel in 1924 when he bought land himself in Jaffa. It seems that the pressure from the members of his entourage, and from the chasidic world in general, was strong on the Gerer rebbe, and a little while later a decree to hide the letter was issued. I personally carried the letter around for a long time as if it were a treasure. After my father confiscated it from me, the letter disappeared into thin air.

Had our chasidic parents more understanding of the dreams of their children, that Torah and religious tradition can go together with Zionism, many Jewish children would have remained religious Zionists. But the disputations between the parents and the children caused the latter to break the artfully erected barriers, and each one of them found his own way according to his intellect and aspirations. Zionist ideas

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continued to more forcefully affect the chasidic youth and influence the national liberation concept. The struggle between Zionism and Chasidism in Markuszow ended with the victory of Theodore Herzl's adherents.

In 1929 several activists of the Zionist organization–Abraham'tche Eidelstein, Pinchas Laks, and others, left the movement and established a Revisionist party in Markuszow (Hatzohar) and a youth organization–Betar. It didn't take long, and practically all the members of the Zionist party and its youth went over to the Revisionists. Only Pinchas Liebhober and Israel-Itche Raguski remained loyal. Both organizations, having no choice, found themselves in the same locale. At the evening meetings that took place very often, the Zionist representatives were inundated with questions that they always answered. Markuszow became a Revisionist fortress. The local activists allied themselves with the central in Warsaw, and speakers came down.

The very fact that uniformed Jewish young people were marching in military step down the main street singing Hebrew songs attracted the young people standing by the side. The simple person in the shtetl, to whom the idea of Eretz-Israel was not foreign, saw in this nationalistic youth both Jewish strength, and consolation and hope against the antisemitic hooliganism and boycott actions.

The Betar youth also often organized get-togethers with their brother organization in Korew, Wawolnica, and other shtetls around. Betar projects always attracted a lot of people whether it was a Herzl commemorative gathering, or the yortog of the hero of Tel Chai, Yosef Trumpledor, as well as literary readings, amateur plays, lectures and kestl evenings.^[4]

In those days, in Polish cities and shtetls, there was a strong drive on the part of the Zionist parties to buy products from Eretz-Israel. (Totzeret Ha'aretz” action). Markuszow stores began to display the first products from there: Halvah and candies. We, the Zionist youth

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in the shtetl, decided to fight to make sure that all the shtibls, the besmedreshes and certain individual Pious Jews should, for the coming Sukkot, obtain only etrogs and lulavs that come from Eretz-Israel. We openly warned that if any etrogs were brought in from another country, we would destroy them without mercy. We reasoned that an etrog from our land can also be beautiful, and in addition, we would fulfill the verse' V'lakachat lecha–mishelcha.” The religious Jews, who were bitter opponents of Zionist thought, and held that everything that came from Eretz-Israel was treif, actually brought in foreign etrogs. When our youngsters went to shul the first day of sukkot to bless the etrogs, we bit the pitems^[5] off. Now Markuszow was left with no etrogs.

The next year, our chasidim imported etrogs from Eretz-Israel.

In 1931, a split occurred in the Revisionist movement. Such an event soon had an effect on Markuszow. Almost all the Hatzohar supporters went over to the A.G. Grossmanists (Jewish State party)^[6]. Only Betar remained true to Jabotinsky.^[7] But the frictions in the organization also led to personal fallings out. Friends of yesterday could not and would not work with opponents of today. The Grossman organization became smaller, especially after several activists made aliyah to Eretz-Israel. The parent Zionists and Revisionists let Betar have the locale, and it remained practically the only organization in the shtetl.

When it came to voting for the Sejm,^[8] the gemineh or for other general political actions, the organization worked alongside the older Zionist and sympathizers. There were other separate committees active for Keren Kayemet, Keren HaYesod, Keren Tel Chai. Money for them was raised during every celebration or gathering of a large number of people.

1. Followers of the secular Jewish movement, the Haskalah. Return
2. Secular Zionist educational institutions. Language of instruction was Hebrew. Return
3. Return to Zion Return
4. A kestl is a question box that was hung up prior to a meeting where answers were then discussed. Return
5. Protuberance on the blossom end Return
6. Meir Grossman (1888-1964) split from the Jabotinsky Revisionists and established his own party, the Jewish State Party. Return
7. Ze'ev Jabotinsky (1880-1940) eminent Zionist leader, writer, poet, and soldier. Return
8. Polish parliament Return

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Our parents could not, under any circumstances, come to terms with the idea that their children, the apple of their eye, would join the Zionist organization in Markuszow. For them it was certain that the moment the child stepped into the “union”, it departed from the path of righteousness, and no longer followed in the ways of the parents. The son stops being a besmedreshnik, and the daughter stops saying a perek Shabbes on waking. It was on this issue that conflict arose in almost all the Jewish homes in the shtetl, and more than one household had its peace disturbed. If the father were a real fanatic, he would sit shiva for a son or daughter who set foot in the organization, as if they were no more.

As if there were not enough troubles to endure as a Zionist, the opposing parties spared no effort to cause injury to each other with frequent attacks and condemnations.

The most active in fighting us were the left Poalei Zion. Whenever we held our discussion evenings or lectures, they would send their comrades outside our windows who would carry on “concerts” and interfere with the normal progress of the evening. But the following two events are etched in my memory:

Our drama club was getting ready for a performance on the 11^th of Adar. The rehearsals, the procurement of decorations, and other jobs related to such an undertaking, were a great difficulty for us. It was decided that all the money from the performance would be given to Zionist causes. The big fireman's hall was rented, many tickets were sold in advance, and success was assured. But a group of supporters of the left Poalei-Zion showed up, led by a comrade who is in Israel today, and who is very dear to us (I don't want to give his name), and spread themselves out not far from the stage. As soon as the curtain was raised, and our performers began the play, a hail of rotten eggs and potatoes rained down on us. Understandably, we were not silent.

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They expected this as well. Chairs began to fly through the air, and a fight was underway, where there were, miraculously, no serious injuries. The police were alerted and mixed in and separated the fighting sides. The performance was however interrupted. We left for home, disappointed and embittered.

The second case as I recall, took place in the area in front of the besmedresh when we were assembled for the yortog of the Zionist leader, Theodore Herzl. The same hecklers, this time strengthened by a group of communists from the trade union, immediately provoked a fight, and blood flowed. Again the police intervened, and again it was a miracle that there were no serious incidents, because passion and party ambitions, especially in fighting, was not lacking in anyone.

It was under these difficult conditions that we had to conduct Zionist activities in Markuszow.

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