[Page 401]

Our Poor Town

… a small town in Volhynia province, Kremenets district, lies on the right bank of the Horyn [River] between two large lakes … known for its ancient fortress, and its history is closely tied to the history of the famous princedom of the Wisniowiecki Korybuts.

Near the fortress that was built, the town of Vishnevets was established in 1395 by Dymitr Korybut, the Sewacy prince, whom Prince Witold drove out and gave areas with estates in Volhynia; and there he built the nest for his dynasty.

Some ascribe the founding of the fortress to his grandson, who was named Soltan.

The town itself and its peripherals appear only in the light of the fires of wars. It was first mentioned in 1494, when a small Polish unit was based there by Crimean Tatars.

In 1500 it was turned over to Ivan the Terrible, as the Tatars had ruined some of his towns, among them Vishnevets, which the Tatars had totally burned, and they had taken 5,000 people from the area captive.

In 1502, the same chronicler relates, 9,000 Tatars attacked it at the point of Mongolian arrows, and destroyed the entire area surrounding Vishnevets with fire and sword.

Only on April 28, 1512, did the Poles repay the Tatars for their two defeats, when a Polish army of 6,000 under Hetman Mikolai Koniecpolski's command penetrated the Tatars' 24,000–man army lines two miles from Vishnevets, near Lopuszyna. They killed many and took 16,000 soldiers as prisoners.

From then on, the enemy did not dare approach the walls of Vishnevets for more than 100 years.

In 1672, the fortress was restored by Jeremi Wisniowiecki, after which he fell into the Turks' hands because of the Jews' betrayal.

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In 1744, after the death of Michal Serwacy, the last of the Wisniowieckis, his estates went to his daughters, Oginska and Zamoyska.

In 1781, King Stanislaw August visited Vishnevets for the months of October and November to conduct discussions with Prince Pawel of Russia. It is said that the town rabbi entertained him with passionate speeches in Latin.

In 1867, we find Vishnevets as a town built of wood, rich in trade, and poor in industry. There were one fabric factory and a few tanneries. The population was then 5,000.

… In 1765, the Vishnevets community registered 475 Jews in the Old City, 26 in the New City, and another 163 Jews in the surrounding villages.

As it is told, the Jews in Vishnevets were slaughtered in 1653 by the Tatars, who had returned from Berestechko, and their homes were totally destroyed.

In New Vishnevets, the Jewish community numbered 3,178 in 1847 and 2,980 in 1897, out of a population of 4,196.

1. In the Register, Vishnevets is called Vishnits, which is in the Volhynia voivodeship.

2. In 1597, a rabbi writes there:

“… and with God's help I didn't give up, and the conference in the holy community of Vishnits, Lutsk province, when all the leaders (heads) of the four holy communities traveled to meet. Those are Ludmir, Kremenets, Lutsk, and Ostra. Also, on 18 Adar we ventured there to renew the curses and decrees.”

Here he refers to boycotting rabbis who purchase their seats (positions) for money and rabbis who are preoccupied with Kabbalah.–Chayim Rabin

From a treatise in the Council of Four Lands over Volhynia, which took place in the town of Vishnevets in 1635, we learn that Rabbi Y. T. Lipman Heler (the commentator Yom–Tov), town rabbi of Ludmir, laments heavily that there are too many pretenders to rabbinic “posts” here in various towns and that the provincial governors and village elders are making a business of selling such posts and getting rich from it.

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The commentator Yom–Tov received compensation from the Volhynia Jewish Community Council to set restrain this and prohibit the sale of rabbinic posts, which was having a detrimental effect on the various communities.

The meetings of the Council of Volhynia Assemblies took place in Kozin, Korets, Kremenets, and Vishnevets.

The chief business of the elected was the just distribution of taxes.

Antiquities of Volhynia, by Dr. Zigmunt Mormits; Art and Antiquities of Volhynia, by Dr. Yozef Piotrkovski, originally written in 1923 and published in 1929.

… In the broad valley of the upper Horyn, 22 kilometers from Kremenets, lies the town of Vishnevets, with 3,500 residents.

… The road from Kremenets to Vishnevets is very surprising. It goes through wide, fruitful fields along the foot of the high plains with no trees or forests. About midway along the road, we travel through the village of Horynka, at the source of the Horyn River Volhynia's large, beautiful river, which flows from it.

… You can see Vishnevets distinctly only when you come down the last hill before the town. From the hill, we come down into a deep valley. Then the town shows itself as exceptionally paintable, as the Carmelite church steeples rise over the roofs of the small houses.

Vishnevets is the nest of the mighty Wisniowiecki family principality, which stems from Prince Dymitr Korybut, son of Algirdas.

At the end of the 14^th century, he founded the town of New Vishnevets near the village of Old Vishnevets.

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The land estates of Vishnevets belonged to the family until its demise with Michal Serwacy's death … the governor of Volhynia province, who died in 1744. Then Vishnevets and all its possessions went from the Wisniowieckis, as a dowry from his granddaughter Katarzyna, to the Mniszech family. The gift consolidated their family and remained in their hands until the beginning of the 19^th century. Then Vishnevets and its periphery went over the Plater family and in 1852 was sold by Baron Andrzhei Plater to the Russians.

The Vishnevets principality extended over an area of 900 square kilometers and included several towns and 16 villages. Vishnevets is located on the most northerly bank of the Horyn, which creates a lot of small lakes, which are dirty, muddy, and mostly overgrown with thick aquatic plants.

Just like Kremenets and Pochayev, Vishnevets possessed very old buildings, characteristic of Volhynia towns in the 18^th and 19^th centuries. The houses were built in the classic or empire style, of wood covered by brick on the outside, the roofs high and the fronts decorated with balconies and balustrades. The small houses that ring the market square and spread along the little side streets are among the loveliest houses in Volhynia.

The most excellent bit of antiquity in Vishnevets is the palace. It was built by Michal Serwacy in 1720 on the ruins of Jeremi Wisniowiecki's old fortress. At first, the palace was built in the late Baroque style. In the Mniszech era, it was enlarged and rebuilt in the rococo style. According to the memorial plaque hanging in the entryway courtyard, the rebuilding was completed in 1781 with money from Michal Wandalin Mniszech and his wife, Urszula, of the Zamoyski family. The Mniszech family also had an exhibition of the most famous paintings in the world there.

The receiving room, the stairway, and the ballroom upstairs were adorned with 45,000 Dutch porcelain tiles, framed by figurative garlands. In one room was a gallery of portraits of the Polish kings, and in another, likenesses of various local governors and other famous people. The rococo room with its mirrors was wonderful, as were the dining room, some of the lower salons, and the special libraries, whose shelves were decorated with artful paintings and portraits; in the rooms where Stanislaw August and Pawel I had stayed, there were framed plaques on the walls.

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Until the first half of the 19^th century, when the palace was occupied by the Poles, it was really a kingly palace, but under the Russians it gradually went to ruin.

The contents of Marina Mniszech's famous art gallery were sold to Moscow and Kiev, and along with that they let go the largest part of its artistic magnificence. The remaining art collection was saved by General Demidov, who owned the palace at the beginning of the 20^th century. Although he himself was Russian, he honored the historic and artistic memories of Vishnevets.

During World War I, Baron Grocholski bought up the estate and the palace.

In 1920, with the Bolsheviks' invasion of Vishnevets, the palace was completely ruined and its beauty stolen. All that remained of it were empty walls. The last artistic decorations were gone, along with the valuable collections, and on the lower floor they ripped the valuable porcelain tiles off the walls.

After the war, the Kremenets District Committee bought the palace for $40,000 and restored and redecorated it for use as a trade school, orphanage, and hospital.

The huge orchard at the palace–planted on a hill that sloped down to the Horyn and broadened into an area of about 3,000 dunam–was one of the largest and most beautiful orchards in Volhynia.

The palace stands on the site of the Vishnevets fortress, whose protective ramparts and dugouts are still there to this day. Prince Jeremi Wisniowiecki, the king's father, was born in the fortress. In 1640, he built a protective palace on the fortress site; in 1672, the Turks completely destroyed it and uprooted all the town's residents.

On that bank of the Horyn, opposite Old Vishnevets, a village of 1,900 replaced the former settlement.

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Even if a man dies on a ship, his soul goes to his ancestors.–Rabbi Tanchuma

Just as it is important to know a person's roots when you talk about him at his funeral, it is also important to know the history of the land of your birth, especially when it has been destroyed along with its martyrs. And we can never hope in a hundred years to make the traditional Jewish request of our children–to “lie with our ancestors”–because there is no sign, no tombstone, where our precious, dear ones lie buried, or where you can go to an ancestor's grave to shed a tear or murmur a prayer with a heartbreaking wail for their holy souls. And just as a blind person is prohibited from reciting the “Creator of lights” blessing because he can't see the light of day, we can't fulfill the commandment to pray at the holy spot or near some clearing in the woods where their scattered bones found their rest, or measure their graves and absorb the same air that their soul does.

Yet there is salvation for the soul, a consolation that we can claim to redress their souls, along with the souls of all the generations who were murdered as martyrs to God–by binding our hearts with an eternal flame for their holy memory, and through charity, lovingkindness, and brotherly love, which is the ethical and noble concept of remembrance and an allusion to the saying “to break your heart is to open it.” Time and life cannot extinguish the sacred yahrzeit candle because it belongs to the eternal light of God–the human soul.

I won't and can't add to this lamentation–“do not blame me in my grief”–because I don't possess the wealth of words to express in human language the tragic extinction of our beloved ones: the feelings of our great loss are too deep and the wounds too fresh for words to comfort. To depict such destruction of humanity, one must be the God–blessed mourner who possesses the great religious pathos of an Avraham Ibn Ezra or an Ibn Gabirol, who could bewail the void in pain–clad verses, and I believe that one can only rarely find a comforting word about the great Jewish catastrophe of all time and generations in all the penitential poetry since the beginning of time.

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The unique “Be comforted, be comforted, my people” is spiritual nourishment for Zion and a healing that our ancestors' souls live on in the sanctity of our holy land in the Land of Israel, which we have with the help of the authorities who helped redeem and strengthen the belief that “the Eternal One of Israel does not lie.”^[1]

Having finished my weeping and my funeral oration for our victims and martyrs, I accept the invitation to share a few memories. They, too, are not about material matters, and occupy an honored and respected place in our experiences of the old home–and of Vishnevets in general.

My memories stroll with me, away from the American hustle and materialist hubbub to Vishnevets, to my grandfather Noach, may he rest in peace.

To a certain Friday between the suns, when one throws off the day–to–dayness and prepares to welcome the holy Sabbath–the Sabbath queendom. Each time the enchanting “Come, my beloved”^[2] song rings in my ears, my fantasy carries me back to Vishnevets. Before my eyes float the distinguished figures of our parents, may they rest in peace, whom Heinrich Heine so masterfully portrayed in “Rabbi von Bacharach.” It's amazing that in all my travels over the great world, I haven't found a single town with so much Jewish charm and people so folksy and dear, on whose faces was etched the symbol of “blameless, honest, and God–fearing” as though they were transfigured from the descendants of Rabbi Shlome Alkabets, the popular Kabbalist and author of “Come, my beloved.” No wonder their children have inherited their good characteristics and the lovely ethical intention to “pursue justice and loving–kindness.”

As we prayed the afternoon service, the sun shone on the cherry trees as it continued to sink, darkening from the rare, lovely, enchanted, fiery sunset heat, and the prayer leader–a simple–hearted Jew from town who longed for the joy of the Sabbath so he could throw off the weekday yoke–began to sing “Come, my beloved” with enthusiasm and joy. And the others praying caught up the sweetness of the words and sang along: “Sanctuary of the King, royal city, arise and depart from amid the upheaval; too long have you dwelt in the valley of weeping”…. And the singing carried them to other worlds and brought balance to their Sabbath souls.

Another glorious image will not leave my memory.

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That is after eating on the Sabbath, when lovely women and charming girls went for a stroll with their husbands and fiancés in the fine, natural landscape around Prince Wisniowiecki's old, historic castle and sang Yiddish folksongs with great feeling. And a few–under the influence of the romantic surroundings–even allowed themselves to sing a Russian love song by Pushkin or Lermantov. And since love doesn't know time or look at a clock, they dallied until the sound of their fathers and grandfathers singing “God, Master of the universe” after the second Sabbath meal reached their ears. They then had to sacrifice their romancing under the starry heavens and the perfumed environment of the forest and trees and hurry home, only to arrive for the last words–if only not to grieve their parents, because respect for elders is held even higher than personal happiness.

Speaking of Vishnevets, I regret that I was only able to find a few sparse facts about the history of the town in Russian archives, and these are as follows:

Prince Michal Wisniowiecki, who drew his lineage from the ancient 13^th–century Polish dynasty, inherited the old castle and settled there with his three sons in the 16^th century, gave the settlement the name of “Vishnavits,” after his family name.

In 1640, Vishnevets almost became the capital of Ukraine when Prince Michal and his three sons organized huge Ukrainian armies and marched to Petersburg, conquering Podolia, Kherson, Poltava, and Kiev provinces and half of Moldova.

Returning from his triumphs, one of his sons lost his mind over a Jewish girl (her name was not given). Soon after that, Michal left to do battle against the Tatars, Khazars, and Karaims and brought many of them back to his castle in Vishnevets as slaves.

He had a friendly trust in the Karaims–who practiced certain Jewish customs and recited their prayers in Aramaic (Targum)–and befriended a few of them–the Pney–and allowed them to settle in the town among the Jews, whom he dealt with in friendly and respectful terms.

[Page 416]

The population of Vishnevets of that epoch was small and very dear, it seems, not only to the Wisniowieckis, but also to certain Polish and Ukrainian poets, for example Taras Shevchenko. In in his famous poem “Day of Judgment,” he depicted a righteous Jew named Moshe who bore the whole pain of his people, but his heart was full of consolation and hope for redemption. The thought that a Vishnevets Jew had found a reverberation in his poetry indicates that the Vishnevets Jews lived in peace, had respect and a means of earning a living, and were under the Wisniowiecki dynasty's protection and later that of other rulers.

Even at the hands of the terrible Ukrainian tyrant and thief Bogdan Chmielnitski, the Vishnevets Jews suffered less than elsewhere in Ukraine, because members of the Wisniowiecki family were always ready to use their influence to help them. It is believed–though without substantiation–that the Jews immigrating into Vishnevets were mostly Ukrainian Jews–right after the Spanish Inquisition (1494). That is an indication that many of our elders prayed in the Sephardi style, while a smaller number used the Ashkenazi style.

Relying on information from our scholars, of blessed memory, that “a man respects his place,” Vishnevets can be very proud that the world–renowned saint and miracle worker R' Avraham Baal Shem Tov, the righteous one of blessed memory, lived in the town for a time and used to go every morning to immerse himself in a river deep in the forest. Under the shade of the trees, he would often sit deep in holy thoughts and devotions and, in his solitude, try to bring redemption closer and bring the Messiah. Pious Jews often traveled from Vishnevets to that river–still known as the Baal Shem's Spring to this day–to make requests and drink water from the crystal–clear spring made holy by the Baal Shem.

We're also proud of the fact that the parents of Avraham Goldfaden–father of the Yiddish theater–were born in Vishnevets. And that the famous poet Yitschak Ber Levinson, may he rest in peace, spent nearly every summer in Vishnevets visiting his sister, and while there wrote his purely poetic or everyday songs.

To close my treasury of memories, I'd like to ask my dear fellow Vishnevetsers to forgive me if I stumble into the sin of imprecision or defect in my writing.

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My intent–to create a work of love–was certainly clear, and I hope to find a reward for my work in celebrating your golden jubilee with you today, and the millennium if God wills it, the joy of the 75^th in proportion to the joy I have felt while editing the journal, because, in that atmosphere of kindheartedness and brotherly love, I have long sought to recognize the soul of my father, may he rest in peace, and to find my own redress.

His faithful grace will comfort me from all my sighs and griefs; the memory of a good name will be given to me in my house and in the congregation of the Lord. My first property is my inheritance to my children and the children of my children; Eternity forgives, and amen.

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Which Vishnevets shall I recall?

The Vishnevets of the quiet summer days, out in nature in the misty evenings?

Or the Vishnevets in clouds of smoke from the flaming fires of its destruction?

The Vishnevets of past settled times, with a few well–established town proprietors and the rest of the town half– or full–fledged paupers?

Vishnevets on a holiday. Ayzik, unique in his generation, with his sharp pen; the entire Talmud and Bible in his head, which we, his students, used to beg for: tell him the first word on a page of Talmud, and he could finish the whole page by heart.

Or the Vishnevets of youth longing for the larger, laughing world, to save themselves from poor, lonely bachelorhood?

The Vishnevets of Arke Little Key, who ran the banking system in town, sitting by himself in the kloyz^[1] with a chapter of Mishna verses, or the Vishnevets of the Sabbath Jews who wondered, who's taking me for the Sabbath?

The Vishnevets of the Russian police commissioner, the local police, or the Vishnevets in terror of Petliura's pogroms, the highwaymen, and the brave young men who used several methods to avoid being murdered, and succeeded … better than in other towns and districts at that time.

Or even the New York Vishnevets, with its own four–point program just 30 years before Truman: help for our own from our own, help from society for those who have none of their own.

And Mordekhay Rosivkier “the holy,” the joker of Vishnevets, characterizing the help from America so succinctly.

Yisrael from Gatovitse built a fine house with money that his wife's brother sent from Chicago and etched his name in Polish letters.

Mordekhay Kheslivker said, “You see where he built the house–Coolidge Street” (Coolidge was president at the time).

“So maybe the Vishnevets in New York–made up of the lucky ones who left in time–thinks to mention the name from time to time and to save the last remnant.”

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And maybe the less–eminent Vishnevetsers, those who might sit near me in a subway car, on a bus, or even in a theater a seat away from me, and we don't know the relationship between us; is it entirely possible that both our grandfathers got a maftir^[2] in the kloyz or drank a toast together for the rabbi's yahrzeit?

Which Vishnevets should I think about: the uprooted one, with no hope of rising? Or its rise in America, with no hope of “roots,” floating in the air, with no attachment to the past–no aspiration for a future, no spiritual enrichment … which? Which? Without a clear answer, a voice still calls out: “Vishnevets! Vishnevets!”

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A little town, the midpoint of a productive, blessed region, dripping with the juice of fruits and vegetables in summer, the fields in autumn heavy with grain and bread aplenty for the population and for export, fine and nicely warmed through the previous winter's snowy incubator–here Jews set up their tent for long generations and lived hand–in–hand with the Ukrainian population–mediated, traded, and developed a standard of living, established workshops for all kinds of trades, current and necessary for their agricultural goals, did not strive to be rich, dealt honestly with their customers, and led a separate life. Who can forget our hardworking craftsmen and village traders, who spent the whole week in the villages subsisting on a piece of dry bread and water, and on Friday returned home on foot for the Sabbath. Summer in the heat and winter in the cold and frost! And thus the threads of life's existence were woven; some had something for the Sabbath, some really had nothing, and so Jews established family homes, bore children, taught them, reared them to a purpose, married them off, grew their families, and got help from grown–up family members. There was light in the Jewish tents. Friday evening bore the sounds of songs of praise; the Sabbath candles burned on the table, and the pure white tablecloth and white challah provided light and a shine, courage and strength to go back into harness for the coming week!

And a short little episode:

[Page 421]

When the Slovak nationals ruled the town for a short time and declared a rebellion against the war, our family had three people lying sick with typhus, and we weren't allowed to go to Rashevski's pharmacy in town to get the medicines we needed for the sick. The patrol was posted near Avraham Lemish's house. I went in and approached the soldier and pleaded for mercy so they'd let me through, but the answer was “Go away. No.” It was forbidden. Standing there in despair, I called out, “Comrade Rebel, if you let me go through, I'll give you a gift.” “What kind of gift?” one of them asked me. “A white roll, very fresh,” I answered. It was a Friday after candle lighting. So, a deal. “Go through quickly and come right back.” I went, came back, called the soldier to our house, and gave him the promised gift. That wasn't enough for my mother, of blessed memory, and she said to him, “You have a gift for your humane deed. Now you get another: a cookie sprinkled with cinnamon; and put out the lamp for me, too.” “Thank you, thank you.” He did so and said happily, “A good night!”

Yes, regardless, the town's Ukrainian population developed, in a cultural sense. The young people were relatively educated, and they became aware of antisemitic echoes in the land, especially Pochayev Lavra's^[1] hateful propaganda or Vitaly Ilyador's pogrom leaflets. But there was no particular expression of this sentiment.

World War I broke out during that time, and that also contributed to the storehouse. In every case, the outward beastly hatred weakened during the occupation of Poland, which put the Poles in the position of a minority, so they were hanging their heads.

Times began to normalize. Trade grew due to greater use by the Ukrainian population, and Jews made a living.

With a penny in the pocket, yours or someone else's, you don't have to fret and sweat about the Sabbath, and Jews began to consider practical goals. Young people especially–some went away to study at yeshiva or university; some took jobs in larger towns.

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Those who stayed in Vishnevets also got organized and did general social and cultural work in the national and Zionist spheres, creating Zionist organizations, a public library, a theater group, and lectures under the name “Week to Week,” carried out with their own energies. They founded “Lovers of the Speech of the Past” in which the members spoke Hebrew among themselves–of course, in an Ashkenazi dialect–on the street and in the open. There were even a few extreme members who spoke only Hebrew to servants and Christians. Others in the household had to translate their words, so they taught Hebrew to gentile girls.

I recall that once when returning home from a stroll, I was suddenly ordered by a policeman to go to the police station with him. The police chief received me on a high note, thinking that he knew that I was the organizer of the seditious group that spoke a seditious language among themselves: “I'll present you to the director of investigation according to the paragraph concerning operating an alliance against Tsar Nikolas.”

“Your honor, Sir Chief,” I answered, “that's incorrect. We're not politicals. We study our Bible. And since we have to learn many chapters by heart, we listen to one another so that we're ready for our examination.” “Oh, the Bible,” the chief said. “You're really learning the Bible? If so, go home, young man, and sit and study, and recite the Bible with your friends in your language.”

Who among us doesn't remember the Sabbath evening strolls near Demidov's “castle”–it, the castle, seemed orphaned and lonely then; the gigantic building with its mirrored salons stood hollow and empty, lifeless and without vitality. The huge park and its fine, tree–lined avenues issued their chords and sighs solemnly and jealously in their solitary aloneness from human steps; the Sabbath evening sun moved off the complex of buildings once a week and came to walk with Israel's sons and daughters for the holiday, here on the winding and flowing pathways. The river opposite was calm and clear, and reflected the strollers. The chapel to the right of the hill stood mute and small, and the young birch trees waved their little leaves, half green and half white, with grace and sympathy and did not even listen to Alter the Convert from Zarudnia with his wooden leg, who was just coming from his work; he crossed himself and bowed to this dummy.

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This had gone on for generations. Because Jews had not only built themselves, but also raised the non–Jews from level to level, higher in everything.

Until Hitlerism came and extracted the latent poison and hatred from the Velokhs, Ivans, and Maxims. They took their portion hand in hand with the arriving murderers. Their action was carried out precisely … they all killed, burned, and robbed our homes and possessions.

Who doesn't remember … near Demidov's “castle”

Not one of you Ulans and Maxims could hide just one Jew, as we now read in Jewish community records how Christians hid whole families of Jews, even though doing so might lead to the death penalty.

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Today you are “Jew free.” But the angry winds will root out and carry away our soul, our spirit, and our footsteps from every corner. Demons and witches will rule over our ruined habitations. Jackals will reside there at night. Drunks will loll in your gutters and, unable to bring the word “Jew” to your lips, you will kill one another. The angels of destruction will come down from heaven and will write in red with bloody knives and axes, “God has numbered the days of your kingdom, and it is finished.”

And you, Vishnevets brothers and sisters, lie in peace there in your temporary grave. We have registered you as Israeli citizens. A portion in Israel calledB, Yad Vashem has been created for you. The time will come, as soon as possible, when we will also carry your dry bones into your land.

We have etched the Jewish town Vishnevets on parchment and installed it in the state museum of the Land of Israel among all the hundreds of destroyed communities. It remains the property of the people of Israel and the Land of Israel.

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I see my Vishnevets from great America, and I long for it.

I am called Arthur Walker now; I live in a suburb of Chicago. In Vishnevets, they called my father Yisrael “Ally.”

I have been in America since 1937, having left as a 21–year–old youth, but I remember Vishnevets even though I studied in Kremenets for years and came to Vishnevets only for Jewish holidays and vacations.

It was a small town, named for the palace built nearby by a Polish prince named Wisnowiecki. Others explain it differently: it was called that because of the cherry trees planted all around the town, which in Polish are “vishnie.”

Vishnevets street, May 3

[Page 426]

I remember that once, as I child, I couldn't cope with the thick mud, and an older boy had to pull me out; once I lost my boots in the mud.

In the winter, it was very cold, and most of the boys sledded over the snowy, hilly streets on their little sleds. Others skated on the frozen stream that divided Vishnevets in two: the Old City and the New City.

To get from one Vishnevets to the other, you had to walk over a little bridge, which we called the dike. In summer people went swimming at the dike.

Jews went strolling to refresh themselves. They strolled back and forth near the palace (zamek).

Vishnevets was small: only two or three people had a telephone, and a total of one had a radio. But it had a very broad spirit.

I recall numerous Zionist organizations, from the most leftist to the most right. The spirit for Zion was high, and many Vishnevetsers for whom the Land of Israel was a dream now live in the free Jewish state, Israel.

The Jewish population of Vishnevets was materially poor. A few were tailors, a few shoemakers or capmakers; others had shops where they sold various merchandise, especially to Ukrainians from the surrounding villages.

Once a week, there was a market day. The peasants came into town to sell their grain, cows, chickens, and geese and to buy clothing fabric and grocery items.

My father used to buy small red baskets, which he later delivered to Warsaw, where the women used them as shopping baskets.

I don't know why, but I often think about a vivid figure of the town, Shimon Lifshits, a man with a beautiful beard who lived in the center of town. He spoke Polish and always represented the Jewish population to the local administration.

Nowadays, in America, everyone talks nostalgically about life in the small towns, especially since the performance of the play “Fiddler on the Roof.”

[Page 427]

I remember life in Vishnevets well, but I doubt very much whether my children–born in America–or my friends' children, born in Israel and Argentina, would ever understand what that was like, the little town of Vishnevets.

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