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Pleasant and melancholy memories of youth float into my consciousness. My heart burns with pain when i think of all our loved ones from Riteve, a town which like all the Jewish habitations of Europe went up in flames.

I well remember my early youth, when my friends and I studied in the cheder and, later, in the yeshiva where my late father was headmaster.¹ I remember, too, the girls school, which was an excellent school and an example to all, run by my dear respected friend Alter Levite. My dear sisters, who are in America now, also studied there. When we meet, and we are no longer young, we recall fondly the days of our youth.

Yes, there was indeed a wonderful town called Riteve, and now one's heart constricts with pain and anguish when one recollects its fate.

I remember the hot summers when we strolled around the city and bathed in the River Yureh. In the cold winter we would slide in sleds through the streets and on the icy lake, which was situated opposite the church. On wintry days, when there was ice and snow outside, we, the children of Riteve, would gather in the Beit Midrash by the warm oven, and sitting crowded on the long benches would listen avidly to the stories cold to us by the elders of the town. I remember the wonderful walks in which young and old joined on Sabbaths and festivals. We would stroll through the town and in the woods, or in the Oginski Park with its antiquities.

I shall never forget Sabbaths at the Beit Midrash, where the learned as well as the dignitaries and the ordinary folk of the town gathered together. The Beit Midrash rang with their learning and their prayers. Where are all these dear folk now? The sounds of joyous children are no more. Only shadows ol bereavement and mourning fill the deserted town. I wonder – does the sun still rise in our town? And does the moon, pale and pure, still shine down on it?

A cry tears at the heart:
How solitary is she now, our town!

How securely Jews dwelt on the banks of the rivers Yureh and Nieman, and how was it that they were blotted out from under the heavens on one swift and bitter day!

On 22 June 1941 the terrible conflagration was kindled by the barbaric and so–called ‘enlightened’ Germans.² Fathers and mothers, how will we ever forget

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The Scout Group in Riteve–not to be confused with the organization founded in England by Lord Baden Powell. The top photograph is a group not wearing uniform- possibly taken in its early days- and the one below shows the troop in a far larger group, all except a few in uniform, in a forest setting.

you? You were uprooted from your homes which had been your haven and left without hope of salvation. How shall we forget the cry of Jewish children, of handsome sons and daughters who had dreamt bright dreams of the future? How can we comprehend the desperate feelings of fathers and mothers who were unable to save their loved ones? Merely to embrace their children and to he permitted to die together was not always granted by the Nazis. Mothers, weakened and sickly, became as strong as lions, and dared to steal out of the ghetto by night to seek refuge for their children with the peasants. They would leave them with a peasant for any amount of money they could scrape together in the hope of saving their lives.³

It is difficult to write about a town of which not a trace is left. One has to draw on one's memory of 40 years ago. Memories … A horse harnessed to a cart treading slowly from Gorzad⁴ – to Riteve, a stretch of 40 kilometres. The journey was fraught with difficulties: dust and mud, and having to lie in the open cart unprotected from the elements. Both in summer and winter there was heavy rain and we started our journeys mainly at night. The monotonous movements of the cart and the sound of the raindrops on the covering created a pleasant lilt which, with the fragrant smell of the hay on which we lay, put us to sleep. By morning we arrived at a little inn standing desolate on the main road and owned by Jews. My father would wake me to have a hot glass of tea and a fresh bun. This was a wonderful experience. We continued on our way with our destination drawing nearer. I would watch the horizon to see if I could spot the white church spire standing in all its glory in the midst of the town, opposite the entrance to the town, in Memel Street (named for the German city Memel on the Lithuanian border). We arrived at Gorzad, the town from where my father's large family had originated many generations earlier. Suddenly the church spire appeared on the horizon, and my heart would jump with pleasure and expectation at the prospect of meeting my beloved grandfather, who would come smiling happily to greet us.

My grandfather's life was filled with tribulation. His only daughter, who was our mother, had died in his home aged 32 years, leaving behind four young children aged from 6 years to 3 months. My grandmother, Sheina, fell into a deep depression as a result of this tragedy ard she too passed away not long after. My grandfather was very lonely and his only comfort was his grandchildren and letters from his son in America. My grandfather was an upright, naive man. He loved nature and was firmly rooted in his surroundings. He got on well with the gentile Lithuanians with whom he did business. He was modest in his needs and divided his time between communal activities like the Beit Midrash and the Chevra Kadisha and earning his living. I remember how he would have his breakfast of black bread and porridge and then would take his stick in his hand and set out for the surrounding villages with his wares. He dealt in colourful kerchiefs and small fancy goods which were required by the farmers. He would buy

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his merchandise in Memel and for his journeys there he would always dress in his best clothes.

The Jews lived securely in Riteve. The Lithuanians were mainly illiterate farmers who lived in the nearby villages. They would sell their produce in the market square where little shops, workshops and saloons were situated. The Jews earned most of their living on market days, and there were jokes about how they got the better of the peasants. The Jewish shopkeeper would speak to his wife in Hebrew, so that the uncircumcised ones could not understand.

There was no entertainment in the town except for a silent film show once a fortnight. The audience had to guess the plot of the film as the figures moved across the screen, and each one did so according to his own understanding. The musical accompaniment was a single violinist who apparently knew only one tune. This tune accompanied me for many years.

Although we did not have much enteriainment in our town, we were never bored. The schoolchildren put on plays, usually on historical themes like Jephthah's daughter, played most successfully by Rachelle Linde of blessed memory, who eventually made her home in Kibbutz Amir in Israel. There were beautiful natural sites in Riteve like the park with its winter garden covered in glass, which has been described in books. Another spot which enchanted me in my youth and which was only a few minutes' walk from the study house was alongside a stream, where a white, round building with a circular roof and coloured windows stood. I imagined it to be an enchanted castle. I never enquired about it or its functions.

Three generations dwelt together in the houses of Riteve: the elderly, the middle–aged and the youngsters. Of course, the older people observed tradition and religious practices as of old. Our parents were more progressive and there were some who had learnt a foreign language like German. The young generation was mainly educated in Hebrew and belonged to Zionist youth movements.

Many jokes were told at the expense of the rather funny characters of the town. The Posel sisters, Leika and Esther, were the chief entertainers. We loved to gather on long winter nights in their spacious kitchen and listen with much enjoyment to their sketches and humorous presentations. Leika died in Haifa of a malignant disease at the age of only 28, but she continued to entertain and amuse others till the end. The very talented Esther died at an advanced age in South Africa.

In Riteve, as in the other towns of Lithuania, Jewish life was vigorous and the Jews were very proud. The youth was well educated and strong. There were links with the outside world because a number of the little town's sons and daughters had emigrated to America and South Africa to seek their fortunes. We, the last generation before the Holocaust, yearned to find happiness in the Land of Israel.

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My soul is greatly cast down by the catastrophe which overlook Riteve like a thief in the night, as it overtook other dwelling places of Israel. Riteve, you are desolate and forlorn with no living creature in your midst, but you live in my heart. I remember your joys and sorrows, your learned men and your simple folk, your while winters and your fragrant springs, your scented summers and your sad autumns, the green hills arojnd your abundant gardens, your vigorous youth who yearned for knowledge and new horizons and all your inhabitants who were burdened by the yoke of earning their living in a spirit of silent forbearance.

How can one tell of the suffering which you bore with silent humility? My dear father, you sat night after night with the Mishnah Tractates Chulin and Sabbath, and with the holy Zohar.⁵ You would take only a brief respite. You would be strong as a lion, rising early lor morning prayers. You sang in a voice full of longing in which we would hear the echo of the Levites in the ancient Temple. And you, my dear mother, always absorbed in the care of the household and the children. This town of ours succeeded in enveloping itself in a mantle of ancient sanctity, by candles that radiated holiness from every home and by the sounds of the shofar in the month of Elul.

We, the young ones, drank to the full from the age–old cellar in which the ancient ‘wine’ of Torah was stored. But we also rejected the old conventions and went our own rebellious way. We were perceived as having overthrown all authority when we were drawn to the Zionist ideal taught in the Hebrew school. We were seen as having breached the age–old fortress built of hewn stone over many generations to prevent the decline of Judaism. If you had not nurtured in us the love of Zion, would we today be in this land of hope? How did the cruel reaper pass among you, the innocents?

We had among us a troupe that staged plays from time to time. Amateur groups would visit and they would transform the day into a festival of youth. A group of young men, among them Dr Bendet Saks, Hillel Zaks, David Fundiler, Nathan Ploksht and my brother Alter at the head, brought the Hebrew school into existence. There was much opposition from orthodox circles who argued that there was no need for a Hebrew school; the children should study in the cheder, and as for the girls, there was no need to teach them since their role was to keep house until their marriage. But time changed all that. The school was established as well as a kindergarten. A start was made to collect books for a library, which pleased the youth. The opening of the Hebrew school raised the problem of providing more books and study material, but for this, too, a solution was found. Shimon Varkul who returned from German captivity was an expert in the ‘hectograph and the spirograph’. The hectograph was set up in our

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In this photograph, the Scout Group is larger still and includes some younger children. It was taken in the shtetl, possibly in front of the Hebrew School, which was replaced by a brick building in 1934.

The publishing of the books spurred on the youth and they, too, wished to make a contribution. Under the leadership of my brother Alter, who was the moving spirit in the town, they began to organise the youth into an organisation known as Tsofin (Scouts). We used to meet a number of times each week and we held lectures and discussions. We also went on outings in the forest in an attempt to draw the Riteve youth to us. We became quite a large and well–organised movement, establishing contact with the central organisation in Kovno which sent us their representatives. I remember one of these representatives, Tsvi Brik by name, who arrived in Riteve on Shabbat Nachamu (the Sabbath following the Ninth of Av). He was a strong young man who joined us in our outings and talks in the forest. The adults of our community were not pleased with him and his influence on us. He was accommodated in our house. When my late lather arrived at the synagogue, he was surrounded by worshippers who said: “Welcome to your important guest. ” And when he asked whom they meant they answered: ‘The young man in your house, who collected our sons and daughters, particularly on the special Sabbath Nachamu, and went

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with them into the forest!’ My brother gave his all to the movement. He took great care in locating the sites of our camps where we could commune with nature. In the winter we would go out together to the lake, where we would clear away the snow and pour water on the ice and then skate on it with great enjoyment. He was our leader and the guide who directed all our activities.

I remember a national camp which took place at Tsitibian.⁶ There were an enormous number of tents. Singing anc dancing did not cease. The campfires rose higher and we thought that the meals we ate there were the tastiest of all. We bought the ingredients from the friendly neighbouring farmers. We established contact with the Hashomer Hatzair movement⁷ and all who had given their loyalty to the movement publicly were now sworn in and became bound by its decisions and demands.

The youth was well aware ol the happenings in our town and its surroundings. We felt that anti–Semitism was on the increase, and that the position of the Jews was deteriorating. Commerce was being taken away from us and our lives were becoming greyer and more depressed. A large business had been opened in the centre of the town and the priest used to preach continuously that the gentiles should not buy from the Jews whom, he said, cheated in prices and weight. This endless preaching found fertile soil in the minds of the gentiles and hatred of the Jews increased. A number of Jews lost their sourer of income.

The idea of Hachsharah (preparation for life in Israel) inspired me when I was still young. Happily for me there was a joint camp with the Blue–White movement⁸ near Memel and I joined this camp. I had to battle with the central organisation to permit me to join the Hachsharah. My family was thunder–struck by my joining this group and leaving home. This took much courage on my part. My parents could not bear to think of my leaving home. My mother became ill from aggravation and all the letters from home constantly harped on the subject of my homecoming, for only this could make my mother well again. My brother Alter wrote to me that while he agreed with my action he had to leave the decision to me, while my sister Miriam continued to urge me to return home. As for me, I was more than ever determined to go to the Land of Israel but my conscience bothered me for many years. In our group, because of which I had caused such a cloud in my home, we worked very hard. The preparation activities lasted for four months and, when I had to return home, it was difficult for me. It was a Friday and my father was still in the synagogue. People there had already informed him that I was home. He entered the house in tears and stood at the door opposite me. I asked: ‘Father, will you take me back?’ He stretched out his arms and embraced me and we both wept with happiness.

I remained in contact with the movement and, after a few months, I was informed that I must do another stint of Hachsharah, this lime for a longer period. I made up my mind that this time, too, if I did not obtain my parents' consent. I would go ahead without it. I spent nine full months at Hachsharah and

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In the original book, this photograph was entitled “Youth in Riteve.” The clothing suggests the late 1920s or early 1930s. As the background is a typical painted scene used by photographers of the period, possibly five friends went together to have their picture taken. Right to left, top, David Salzman, Leib Katz, Eliezer Lande; below, Gutman Shmole and Asher Erman.

My lather suffered greatly on this account. The whisperings and the gossip in the synagogue continued, since all knew that I was about to join a kibbutz and, for them, kibbutz life was considered to be wanton and lawless. His pain knew no limits and he used to say: ‘I am no longer able to show my face.’

Although I endured very great hardships in the Land of Israel, I was happy with my lot. But I retained the memory of Riteve in my heart. Our home there served as the youth centre of the town. My brother Alter was talented, knowledgeable and untiring. He was busy on all fronts and any emissary who came from the central office or from Israel would obviously be accommodated in our home. My brother would draw the young people of the town into the circle of activities. Alter was the secretary of ‘Ze'irei Zion’⁹ and its main driving force until he moved to Tverige.¹⁰ Then my sister Miriam filled his place. She taught in the Hebrew school and was responsible for all the cultural activities and Zionist endeavours.

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It was customary in Riteve that when the mail arrived in the afternoon all would gather to read newspapers like Yiddishe Shtimme Hapoel–Hatzair Juedische Rundsriau, the Davar¹¹ from Israel and many other youth and general publica tions. Then our house would become one large reading room. All were interested to know what was taking place outside of Riteve and especially in the Land of Israel. When they completed their reading, they would play chess. In summer there would be outings to the fields and forest until late into the night. We had an orchestra in which my brother played the violin and the mandolin. There was a guitar player, too. Every minute was planned and well used.

My mother was young in spirit, despite the fact that she was observant. Every Sabbath she would go to synagogue and in the afternoons she would read aloud to the ladies from the popular women's Bible, the Tze'enah Urenah. There were many women who were illiterate but Feiga Basha Velves knew it all by heart. The prayers my mother read left a strong impression on the women, specially the Yizkor prayer. My mother was very busy on Holidays when she would cook and bake and don her special wig. The youngsters would gather around her table and the gossips in the synagogue would complain to my father: “Why do you permit those idle ones to eat and drink in your house and also the boys and girls who dance together? ”

I remember a Hannukah celebration at which Alter, my brother, delivered an emotional address about the Maccabees. He and Dr Bendet praised the courage of the Maccabees who endangered their lives for the national cause. My father overheard him from the next room and then spoke his mind to the older folks saying: I do not understand the opposition to our young people. They are involved with our history and they succeed in inspiring our children to appreciate the heroism of our ‘people Israel.’

The fact that emigrants from Riteve, whether in America, South Africa or the Land of Israel, retained their connection with their home town proves the degree of cohesiveness which Riteve engendered. It led to mutual concern and great willingness to assist their brethren in times of need. It seems to me that Riteve can be compared to a magnet, and that the values which it inspired became a source of longing for its inhabitants. Even after the Holocaust, the sorrow and bereavement, the Riteve of the world to come, the ideal Riteve of our memories, remained alive. It forever embodied all the good and positive qualities which to this day unite all its dispersed children.

My family was not born in Riteve. My father, Shmuel Tzvi, was born in Loknik.¹² My late mother, Sara Frida, was born in the village of Tans near Pyora.¹³ My

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father, even before his bar mitzvah, studied in yeshivot in various towns and ate days (i.e. was given free board in different houses during the week), as was the custom then. Later he studied at Kelm¹⁴ –– at the famous Talmud Torah. We lived in a village near Riteve and, just before the First World War, we moved to Riteve. My father was employed by various timber firms and supported his family well. There were numerous forests in the area, where the trees served the paper indus– try in Germany. When the firms changed hands, there were periods of unem– ployment, but we did not feel the consequences at home. Father often said that we children had much more than he had had.

The sons studied in the yeshiva and Father supported them generously. Despite his business preoccupations, he found time to participate in communal activities with the help and encouragement of my mother. My father was well liked by all, excelling in wisdom, integrity and sincerity and was often chosen as an arbitrator in disputes. He was a committee member of both the girls' schools and the boys' Talmud Torah and he took care of the yeshiva students in the town. He would use wood that he received from his firm to distribute among the needy for heating in winter. He built a modern mikveh (ritual bath) from contributions which had been given anonymously by Feige Rachel Hirshowitz who was a generous and active communal worker. Before the outbreak of the Second World War he managed to complete the wooden roof of the summer synagogue, also with anonymous contributions.

When my mother died in 1933 1 remember that, on our return from the funeral, my father, weeping bitter tears, said: ‘You, my children (there were eight of us), have accompanied your mother to her eternal rest – who will accompany me?’

Indeed, he was buried with his sons – the eldest Shlomo Yaacov and his youngest Israel Ezekiel – in a mass grave in Telz.

My town Riteve, in which I was born and which is clearly etched in my childhood memories, lay among forests. The roads to the large cities, Memel, Tverige and Telz, which were 40 kilometres or more away were dust tracks and transport between the cities was by horse and cart. Often the drivers were compelled to pull the cart out of the mud. In the winter, covered toboggans slid through the snow which covered the ground. The town belonged to a Polish aristocrat who did as he pleased with its inhabitants. Many stories are told of the suffering which the Jewish inhabitants endured on account of their ruler's whims and fancies. On the other hand, he also took care of the needs of the town, supplying it with electricity before any of the other towns. Riteve's

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streets and the marketplace were paved with river stones. There was a summer garden with well–established hothouses where the temperature was kept under control so that tropical and subtropical plants could be cultivated. Trees and beautiful flowers surrounded the aristocrat's palace and the whole town. With the establishment of the Lithuanian state after the First World War, the garden became an agricultural college.

The Jews ol Riteve made a living from the small trade which they conducted with the farmers of the district, who flocked to the market held twice a week and on Sundays and festival days. The peasants would come to sell their produce and also to pray in the church which stood in the centre of the town. The proceeds of this trade were meagre and, in the absence of hope for the future, the young people emigrated to faraway lands overseas, especially to South Africa. These emigrants were an important source of help to their families who remained behind since they sent them money from their savings. The centres of commerce were Memel, Lithuania's only seaport. Telz and Kovno, the latter being the temporary capital of Lithuania. These vibrant centres of Lithuanian Jewry exerted a strong influence on the life of the community.

Riteve, being small and poverty stricken, could only afford to maintain primary educational institutions, and, in the main, the youth obtained their higher education outside of its boundaries. Memel was a source of Western cultural influence. Kovno a Zionist national influence, and Telz a moral and religious influence. The Zionist activities, for example, were many and varied. The National Funds (Keren Kayemet and Keren Hayesod) were not merely fundraising instruments, but also played a vital educational role for the national ideal. This led to the Aliyah (emigration to Israel) of large numbers of pioneering youth of all persuasions, who today are spread throughout Israel and constitute the saving remnant of Riteve.

During the Holocaust I lost all the members of my large family, except for my brother Gabriel, who had emigrated to South Africa in his youth. My parents had come from learned stock. My father, Nachman Zaks, was a scholar and was possessed of outstanding qualities. His sincere counselling was much respected and often he was the arbitrator in differences of opinion. He also served as the treasurer of the synagogue. By trade he was an experienced dealer in flax. My mother was also of a generous nature and a good–hearted lady. She helped the needy and was devoted to her family and to her friends. She was concerned with educating us in the virtues of sincerity, honesty and caring for others. My brother, Yoel Dov, studied at the Telz yeshiva and was ordained as a rabbi. He was the editor of the paper Agudat Israel and was also a gifted orator and knowledgeable in areas other than the Torah. My brother, Bendet, also studied at the Telz yeshiva and then went on to higher university education, becoming a successful medical doctor. He was an active Zionist and headed the student association in his time. My sisters. Sheina, Rachel, Feiga, Rozelle and Masha,

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received religious and Zionist education. But the hand of the wicked murderers put an end to these young, innocent and vibrant lives.

The town, Riteve, our beloved town, suffered total annihilation.

The remnants of the Jews of Riteve, who are no more, were destined to serve as a living memorial.

Although our parents were not steeped in Jewish history and Zionist ideology, they nevertheless followed intently all that was happening in the Land of Israel. They also spoke of it longingly, yet the gip between dreams and reality was wide. The impression was formed that life there was difficult from the economic point of view and this served to deter emigration. Even among the many Zionist parties this view held sway. Communal activity and donations, yes – but to realise ones dreams and to emigrate, no. The reports that reached us from the Land of Israel about bloodshed and unemployment cast doubt on possibilities of a future there. However, real efforts were made to put the ideal into practice. The Hebrew school encouraged a lively interest in everything connected with the Land ol Israel. In our home hung a large pictuie of Dr Herzl. I keenly absorbed everything told to me by my late brother and sister, who were active in the youth movements.

In the Scout movement, we were taught to serve others and to love our home– land. The Linat Tzedek, which helped the sick, was a particularly important feature of our lives. I remember how we would volunteer to sit up at night in the homes of the ill so as to give the members of the family some relief. In the Hashomer Hatzair movement, we were taught to love the Land of Israel. In this connection, I cannot fail to mention the name of Abraham Linde of blessed memory. It was his nobility of character and dedication to the national ideal that inspired many of us to go on Aliyah to the Land of Israel. He and Sarah Levite were the founders and devoted leaders of a large movement. It is the greatest tragedy that the parents and families of these emigrants did not foresee the tragic end in store for them and thus did not leave Lithuania.

Our lives in general were led in a spirit of tranquillity and we loved our town in all its beauty In the front of our houses fruit trees grew and it was great fun when the children in our street helped us to shake the fruit from the trees and gather apples. The plum tree in the yard was very beautiful in spring when it was full of white blossoms. At the edge of the yard, where a fence separated us from our neighbour, Mrs H Galaun, there was a large expanse of lawn. We spent the days of our childhood amidst natural beiuty and we loved our town very much. We would look at the ruins of the palace with great admiration. It held great

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magic and enchantment for us, with its winter garden and its walls of glass, and the steps leading to the nursery surrounded by lawns and shrubs, where we spent happy and tranquil childhood days.

We were not aware of anti–Semitism. Unfortunately, we had no contact at all with the lives of the Lithuanians. We were indifferent to them and this later added to our downfall. When the Holocaust came, the Lithuanians were unrestrained and unsurpassed in their cruelty.

Riteve, a vital and culturally rich town, possessed a well–stocked library which was far in excess of the requirements of its population. This cultural activity is today carried on by its sons in Israel.

May this book published by Riteve survivors serve to keep alive forever the values that the martyrs stood for, so that our children will cherish the memory of their forebears.

Forty years after leaving Riteve thoughts of my childhood there still pass through my mind. It was a small but beautiful lawn, surrounded by forests, in which we spent Sabbaths and festivals. We would collect blackberries there. The girls of Riteve were renowned for their beauty.

The youth strove to rise above the problems of life in the Diaspora. One could hear Hebrew spoken in the streets. Some of the young people went to Memcl to study and to work. The Hashomer Hatzair movement prepared its members for life in Israel.

We went on outings to the garden which belonged to Count Oginski and enjoyed the fruit of the trees. I can picture the River Yureh which flowed by before my eyes. I would sit on the river bank, reading a book or watching the women washing their clothes. Near our house there stood a long bench, where in the mornings those who came from morning prayers would sit and chat, and in the evenings loving couples would meet there. The village watchman would drop off to sleep there and we would hear his snoring.

My parents were simple, good–hearted people. My father would rise early for prayers; most ol the week he would travel around selling flax. My mother bore the responsibility of the care of the children.

One of my brothers completed the teachers' seminar in Kovno and served as a teacher in Yorburg¹⁵. Sarhai, Meretsh, Mariompol and Shavli. He assisted the family with his earnings, and my sister, Miriam, joined him in Yorburg. My brother was very good–hearted and on an occasion when he was travelling by train he found a man freezing from cold since he had no coat. My brother gave him his own newly acquired coat, although he did not even know the man. This

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Sons of Riteve– students of the Telz yeshiva. It's of interest that two groups of these young men, at different periods, went together to have their photograph taken for friends and family at home, indicating their closeness while away studying. Above, right to left: Shalom Saks, Shmuel Peskin, Zvi Gillon, Moshe Ballin, Shlomo Babush, Shlomo Jakov Salzman. Taken Nisan 5688 (1925). Below, right to left: standing: Chone Babush, Shimon Friedman, Jehiel Tollman; Peskin; Baruch Strass; seated: Chaim Itzkowicz; Ze'ev Heiman and Izchak Wolf. From the clothing, this was probably taken some years later, maybe even in the early 1930s.

was characteristic of him. He was the pride and joy of the family. He was also active in the Ze'irei Zion youth movement, but fortune did not shine on him. He was put to death at Bergen Belsen.

My brother, Shalom, completed the yeshiva at Telz at an early age and both he and my father were ordained rabbis. Shalom became head of a yeshiva. He had also studied mathematics and languages. He was much respected for the advice he gave to all who approached him. My brother, Aaron, left home at 15. He emigrated to South Africa where, after initial difficulties, he became successful. My sister, Esther, being the eldest, shouldered the responsibility of caring for the family. She, too, died in the Holocaust. My sister, Yocheved, had wanted to go to Israel, but was persuaded to join our brother in South Africa where she died in Cape Town. I left home for Hachsharah training and then went to Israel. My parents were not happy with my leaving home, since they seemed to sense that they would not see me again.

The Holidays left a deep impression on me, especially the preparations for Passover. After the hard winter, all the household goods were taken outside and thoroughly cleaned. The children took part in the preparations and then enjoyed the wonderful ritual of the Seder. The melodies of the traditional Passover Seder could be heard all around, and our hearts were uplifted with the joys of the festival. The Sabbath, too, with its rituals, the challah and the tsimes (a dish made of sweet carrots), all left an indelible impression on me.

Our house was full of children and friends, and a spirit of love and concern for each other prevailed. But the joy did not last long.

My heart is with our dear ones in their eternity.

Zionists and pioneering Jews of Riteve, where are you?

From my earliest youth I was taught to care for my fellow human beings. The Hashomer Hatzair youth movement, the Linat Tzedek (overnight stay with the sick) and the atmosphere at school also strengthened this feeling. From my house I could easily observe the pulsating life of the school. My teacher was Alter Levite who invested much energy and talent in the education of the children. I remember how he carefully demonstrated to the class a pencil box which had arrived from America and was regarded by all as a wonder.

Riteve: I remember its clean streets, its green fields, its beautiful flowers and its sparkling lake; its population was mainly Jewish. The River Yureh divided the Jewish population from the gentiles. I remember its market days with the Lithuanian peasants bringing their produce for sale and its Sunday cinema shows with the kleizmerim playing their eternal melodies nearby.

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What more can I say? My heart is broken at the thought of these dear innocents who met their death at the hands of those beasts of prey in the shape of humans, who murdered without mercy, young and old, fathers and mothers, young scholars and students. And there was no one left to mourn for them.

My father, my brothers and sisters and my whole extended family never dreamt that they would fall prey to those murderous hands.

Jews of Riteve, martyrs to G–ds holy name – farewell to your ashes.

A community lived there, died in flames and lives only in our memory. We shall not forget them. We will not allow them to be forgotten. Dear G–d, gather them from their graves in Giroli¹⁶ unto Yourself. Bring them near to us in the Land of Israel and keep their memory bright among all the martyrs of our people.

This book is neither an autobiography nor even a biography, but a book of personal memories. We ask ourselves why we have raked up the past. What has motivated men and women in the autumn of their years to write their memoirs? The answer lies in the subconscious. We wished to save memories from the flames, memories which were hidden in the depths of our hearts. They were personal memories, but are no longer private ones. They are memories of a reconstructed past. Memories are not history; nostalgia casts a spell over the past. But perhaps, being dredged up from the heart and the head, they are indeed the very stuff of history.

I tremble when I recall that all my friends, colleagues in communal and Zionist causes, and townsfolk, young and old, were led to the slaughter. The little dark, deserted houses to which their inhabitants did not return, the blue and white boxes which hung on the walls alongside pictures of the Rambam, the Gaon of Vilna and Dr Herzl are all abandoned and now spiders spin their webs undisturbed. Our good neighbours inherited a windfall in the houses which remained ownerless.

What was the fate of the Beit Midrcsh which absorbed years of devoted prayers, and what of the Holy Ark beautifully engraved and of the Eternal Light in the south wall, by whose light Jewish scholars sat devouring the pages of the Gemara, which they regarded as Holy Writ? There too we had listened attentively to many orators, religious or Zionist. It is impossible to believe that all this is no more.

In the Beit Midrash all sections of the community met, be they working Jews of tradesfolk. All were partners in the study of Torah. Riteves beauty derived from an inner wealth. Life was conditioned by customs that had passed from generation to generation. Its joys were mixed with sadness. Even bridal music

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was bitter–sweet, since under the bridal canopy the sobbing of the Jewish mother and grandmother was heard. Even good news would elicit tears. Music was ever present be it the chanting of the yeshiva student, or the tailor over his cloth, the shoemaker at his last, or the rabbi humming before his lesson to the congregation.

However, life was not limited to religious ceremonial alone. Not only Sabbaths and Holidays had their rituals. The special dishes that were prepared for certain days, or how one put on and took off ones shoes – each activity had its appropriate wording, its own melody.

Troubles and misfortunes were many. Although bars were to be found in the town, Jewish drinkers of alcohol were practically non–existent. They did not look for solace in drink, but in study. After a hard day's toil, a Jew found comfort in his Gemara and its commentaries. The popular lullaby ran: ‘Torah is the best merchandise.’

The new–born baby was welcomed with the words of the Shema (Shema Israel). When the child was brought to cheder he was wrapped in a talit (prayer shawl). The prayer book was the common mans way to the Divine. It was holy, every word a precious stone. There was pleasure in observing the commandments.

Who in Ritevc spoke of faith? Who could not sec that G–ds glory filled the earth? It was superfluous to ask these Jews to keep the commandments. To live by the tenets of the Shulchan Aruch (Code of Jewish Law) was a natural thing to do. Life without Torah and commandnents was a life of emptiness.

I remember my first meeting with my grandfather. I was confronted by large eyes whose brilliance almost blinded me. I was a young boy, greatly awed by a bearded presence. ‘How ae your studies?’ he asked me gently Shyly I smiled and replied, ‘Fine’. ‘ And do you love the Holy Torah?’ he asked. ‘Yes, Grandpa. I do.’ I replied. I wanted to stroke the snowy beard and come close to the wonderful tenderness that surrounded him. He took my hand in his and then blessed me.

I grew up and was about to emigrate to Eretz Israel. I went to Grandpa to receive his blessing. The tears welled up and overflowed. He was not embarrassed. ‘Go in peace to the Holy Land, and build it with pride,’ be said.

My heart is overwhelmed by sorrow at the thought that all those innocent people, family and friends, went to their graves unshrouded. No memorial prayer (Kaddish) was said in their honour, no period of mourning was observed, No garments were rent. And like those precious souls, so the holy books were defiled and lost. I am comforted by the thought that Riteve folk in Israel have

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not forgotten and that this book will serve as a living memorial (Yad VaShem) to our community.

Whoever peruses this book will find in it faithful descriptions of life in Riteve – a life in which hard work and study of Torah were inextricably bound, a town which raised its sons to Torah excellence; a town materially poor but rich in spirit, a town whose inhabitants worked hard all week and found spiritual upliftment on Sabbaths and festivals.

The book in all its various sections sheds a great light which serves not only as an emotional release, but enlightens in depth and with great skill. In reading this book, forgotten memories of many generations are awakened, the sounds and sights of childhood are brought to life and they cause a shudder of delight. In the book are to be found the Jewish archetypes of the town who were nurtured by their ancient Jewish sources: the Jewish mother in her devotion to her family, the home of a Jewish father, where the Divine Presence dwelt, and family life that remained pure. Friendship and love, generosity and an aristocratic bearing, love of nature, love of all living creatures, were the values which were cherished. The heart weeps for all that is no more. Although the pain is not assuaged, the purity which shines forth from this hook will last forever. It is important for the sons and daughters of Riteve who knew the reality. It is important for the young generation who will find in it the very soul of its people. The book is a sad one; it is a prayer book; a hook of lamentation. It is a perpetual light in memory of the martyrs of Riteve; it is a testament and an eternal resting place for the spirits of the departed.

I remember, as in a dream. Riteve's quiet narrow streets, even though 35 years have gone by and all has vanished.

Riteve has been destroyed, its life obliterated. Thorns and weeds have over– grown its once lively streets. I am overcome with emotion when I remember the old days; the streets appear before my eyes. The broad marketplace, the small shops, the shul (the synagogue) with its carved wooden Holy Ark. Images float before me of Shabbat and Yom–Tov, Mother and Father, attired in their Sabbath clothes, walking slowly and gravely to shul.

Riteve, the Jewish shtetl, has disappeared in a flame, leaving only derelict ruins of houses, through which the cruel winds blow. From these ruins, a spirit of holiness had once emanated: hymns of the Sabbath and Havdalah (the ceremony of transition from Sabbath back to working days) – the ‘G–d of Abraham’ prayer, which was tearfully offered by our mothers and grandmothers – all this was extinguished after the final ‘Shema Israel! ’ of our unforgettable martyrs.

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Who will visit the graves of our fathers? In winter they are covered with snow and in summer overgrown with weeds. The rain alone will shed tears over the graves. Our tears cannot reach them any more.

How can we forget our talented children? I remember the eminent scholars, the various political groups, the school with its high educational standard, the library, the shops, the bank and the welfare institutions.

Marriage celebrations were shared with all the townsfolk. I remember the wedding processions: the musicians accompanying the dancing: ‘machetinistres’ (mothers–in–law) dancing. I remember the funerals: mourners with their sad laments, the cries of ‘Charity saves lives.’ of the beggars, the weeping women and men with bent heads, like a black forest.

I remember the families of Riteve, their joys and sorrows, their hopes for better days. I remember Riteve, steeped for so many generations in its Jewish ethos, a town whose great–grandfathers, like ancient trees, were rooted in their Jewishness. Today the silent streets resound with the haunting echoes of the Jews of Riteve.

Let us remember the people of Riteve at their work and at their Mincha and Ma'ariv prayers and at study. Among them were many great Talmud scholars.

Accompany me on a journey, my brothers and townsfolk from Riteve, through the empty streets, past broken windows, which used to be lit up by the Sabbath candles. Let us together remember Riteve's great past. Generations of our brethren toiled and strove with great energy and diligence to make of Riteve a truly Jewish town, whose people had great pride and much love for their Jewish heritage.

Riteve is no more; all its vital forces have been destroyed. No longer do we hear the sounds of joyful children, nor the hustle and bustle of the town, nor even the peaceful silence of the Sabbath.

The earth can no more absorb our tears
Nor can the heavens still our pain
No longer is there any trace nor remnant.

Our book is presented with pain and sorrow, as a memoir of the Riteve of the past. Let us not forget them!

I have been away from Riteve for many years. This little town in which my forebears lived and died remains vividly in my memory. I remember the streets leading to the baths: Schiler. Memel and Plungyan streets – especially the main street

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leading to the square of the two brothers, the Dukes Oginski. For many years they held the Jews in subjection like Oriental tyrants. The very name Oginski was enough to throw Riteve into a state of alarm. Not only the 200 Jewish families, but also the peasants in the region, lived in fear of the Oginskis.

Yeronim [Irenaeus] Oginski, the father, was a well–known Jew–hater. Any Riteve person still alive today remembers clearly the church bells announcing the good tidings that Oginski had passed away in 1859. The tyrant had taken his own life minutes before the Cossacks arrived to arrest him as a Polish traitor. This caused a double celebration on Purim – the downfall of Haman was completely overshadowed by the downfall of this Polish duke, who had oppressed the Jews more severely than Pharaoh of Egypt.

I do not have first–hand knowledge of the despot Oginski, but I have heard much of his autocratic actions, and that he ruled with an iron fist. I did how–ever meet his two sons who inherited their father's authority. I will never forget what happened one Sabbath after lunch The congregation had gathered in shul as usual, some were praying, others were reading from the Psalms while others were listening to reading of legends, some were nodding over the Gemara. Old Reb Mischel sat in a corner with the ‘Alfas’ (commentary). Someone else was perusing a secular book and Leibchik, the astute one, and Getzka, the young genius, were studying a collection of commentaries. Suddenly into this peaceful Sabbath quiet broke Wolfe the shammas (the synagogue attendant) at a run. Breathlessly and with a half stifled cry he announced, ‘Oginski has sent in his men to dig up our cemetery!’ So it was. The brothers Oginski had indeed sent their men to dig up the graves while they themselves were supervising and enjoying this act of mindless vandalism!

In spite of all the adversity, Riteve produced many internationally renowned Jews, among them great rabbis, famous musicians and eminent writers of Yiddish and Hebrew as well as great specialists in medicine and mathematics.

Riteve was one of the most beautiful towns in Lithuania and it is possible that living surrounded by so much natural beauty its inhabitants developed a fine aesthetic sense. The high spires of the church could be seen at a distance of three miles, enveloped in clouds. Beautiful flowerbeds were planted on either side of the bridge. A large rectangular–shaped pond separated the town from the Oginski residence. On all sides of the pond were beds of flowers and lawns. On the far side of the pond there stood a beautiful palace which could take its place on the Champs Elysees, Piccadilly or 5th Avenue, New York.

The houses of the town were tastefully laid out with flowerbeds in the front gardens and fruit trees at the hack. The trees were full of nests and towards evening the birds filled our ears with song.

Here I spent my childhood and here I was known as the Riteve prodigy, although I did not deserve this honour.

The Oginskis had spent great sums of money to make Riteve into their

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family seat, to turn this town into a little Paris, a gem. Here all could enjoy the beauty of nature.

It is difficult lo write about the destruction of one's home, about the annihilation ol one's family, friends and relatives of whom nothing remains – only scattered ash and grassy mounds over their graves. In those dark years of terror and humiliation, when the Angel of Death had spread his black wings over most of Eastern Europe, we were made aware of the fate of our former beloved homes. They had been destroyed and our dear ones were wiped out. As the appalling news reached us, our spirits were filled with sorrow and woe.

Come, my townsman, and let us stroll through Riteves' streets on a Friday afternoon. Let us see the townsfolk, who all week long are wrapped up in the struggle for existence, and in what princely fashion they welcome the Sabbath. Women with their baskets and bags filled with Sabbath provisions rush home– wards. Sounds of fish being chopped, shoes and boots being polished; girls are shining up the brass candlesticks and children are having themselves scrubbed and cleaned while protesting loudly. There is a coming and going from the ritual baths. The men arrive with clean clothing carried under the arms; they emerge scrubbed and cleansed in honour of the Holy Sabbath.

At home, mothers kindle the Sabbath lights with reverence, together with their daughters in their Sabbath clothing and with their hair neatly plaited. The young men accompany their fathers, festively attired, on the way to shul. When the eyes of the young girls and boys meet, the girls blush modestly.

After the shul service, the Sabbath meal with us white challah and the participation of all the family in the Sabbath songs linger on in the memory. The ‘Shabbcs Goy’ lights the oven, his wife milks the cow; the household prepares hurriedly to go to shul carrying their prayer books and talitim. Young men and women hurry around to take home their cholents from the baker's oven; the mingling of the delicious smells emerging from the cholents enriches the Sabbath atmosphere.

After the Sabbath meal, the whole village drops into a deep slumber. The enjoyment of the Sabbath afternoon sleep is in itself a great Mitzvah. The young, however, stroll in the woods. They read the works of Sholem Aleichem and Peretz in discussion groups and end up singing together joyously. Towards evening they take a Sabbath stroll, enjoying the fresh air. When the first stars appear, the men return home from shul and all participate in the Havdalah service.

Oh my hometown Riteve, where my childhood memories linger as in an

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unfinished symphony! I remember ihe sun–bathed days, the town sunk in a sea of green, and at a glance I can see fields of corn, orchards with fruit, gardens with flowers and the shimmering lake.

It was a small, modest town, hut full of life and intense vitality. It had Jewish merchants and artisans, all leading decent lives and carrying out their communal and moral obligations. It had its study houses and schools. It celebrated its Sabbaths and festivals. The people lived to the full, celebrating their joys and sharing their sorrows. It had exceptional young people who were keen on learning, education, building and creativity.

This was a community of studious Jews, both rich and poor. I remember their celebrations; their Shalosh Se'udot (the three meals on the Sabbath, especially the third one); their taking farewell of .he Sabbath with sorrowful melodies. I remember the Passover Seders and the joyous procession around the bima with the Torah on Simchat Torah nights; I remember our gentle and tender mothers – all the mothers and the bobbas (the grandmothers) – their sincere devotion to Jewish traditions: their gladness as they welcomed the Sabbath, their sadness as it ended. I remember, too, the daily struggles for existence – for a livelihood. I remember the Linai Tzedek which helped the poor and healed the sick; the Hachnasat Kalah which provided dowries for poor brides; the Gemilut Chesed which gave loans to those in need; Maos Chitim, the organisation which provided matzot for the poor at Pesach.

In Riteve every type of communal organisation nourished – from the Folksbank, to the learned study groups in which men, after a hard day's work, could find spintual uplift in the pages of the Gemara. I remember Riteve from the most orthodox circles to the most lively political parties.

Footnotes

1. On Rabbi Moshe Shurin see Chapter Six. Return
2. On 22 June 1941, the German army invaded the Soviet Union. Shortly afterwards the Germans began to carry out the extermination ol Lithuanian Jewry. Return
3. See Chapter Nine. Return
4. Gorzad (Gargzfai) was a small town on the border with Germany where about 700 Jews lived prior to the Holocaust. Return
5. Zohar (the Book of Splendour) – the central work in the literature of Kabbalah (Jewish mysticism). The book is a collection of several sections which include short midrashic statements (rabbinical commentary on the biblical text), homilies and discussion. It was probably composed by Spanish Kubbalists at the end of the 13^th century. Return
6. Forests near the small town of Tsitibian, in the Raseinai district, central Lithuania. Return
7. On Hashomer Hatzair see Chapter Seven. Return
8. Blau–Weiss was a Zionist youth movement established in Germany in 1912 and was the first Jewish youth movement. It followed the pattern ol the German youth movement Wandevogel. The Zionist ideas of the movement penetrated into circles of Jewish youth of assimilated and semi–assimilated families, and helped them find their way to the Jewish, people and to Zionism. Return
9. Ze'irei Zion was a Zionist Socialist movement formed n Russia at the beginning of the 20^th century by young Zionists. They emphasised the necessity of redirecting the Jewish masses to productive employment and the establishment of a Jewish labor commonwealth in Palestine. They were organised in East and Central European countries and later also in the USA, Argentine and South Africa. Return
10. A district in west Lithuania, on the banks of the River Yureh, near the Lithuanian–German boarder. Return
11. Yiddishe Shtmme was the acknowledged organ of the Lithuanian Jewry in the inter–war period. Since 1919 it had been published in Kovno by the General Zionist Organisation ol Lithuania. Hapoel–Hatzair (‘The Young Worker’) was the first newspaper of the labour movement in Palestine, 1907, as the organ of the Ha–Poel Hatzair movement, a labour party founded by the first pioneers of the Second Aliyah. Juedische Rundshau was the organ of the Zionist Federation in Germany. Founded in 1896, it had a profound influence on Zionist activists in Germany. During the Nazi period its editor Robert Weltzsh helped to strengthen the Jewish morale. In 1938 the newspaper was banned by the Nazis and ceased publication. Davar was the organ of the Hitsadrut Ha–Oyedim (General Federation of Labour in Israel). Founded in Tel Aviv in 1923. Its first editor was Berl Katznelson, one of the most outstanding leaders of the Jewish Labour Movement in Palestine. Return
12. Luakeve Lithuania. Located in northwest Lithuania, in the Telz district. Return
13. Located in west Lithuania, in the Tverige district. Return
14. One of the most famous small towns in the Jewish world, known as the centre of the Musar movement in Lithuania. Located in central Lithuania, in the Raseiniai district. Return
15. Yorburg – a district city in western Lithuania; Sarhai (Sierijai) a town in southern Lithuania, where 200 Jewish families were living before the Holocaust; Meretsh – a small town in southern Lithuania, 10 kilometres Irom Alytus. Return
16. Giroli– a village near Telz. On 29 August 1941 all the women over the age of 50 and the boys of Kiteve were killed there by the Germans. Return

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