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The Volp Synagogue (untitled)

On the surface, it would seem to be a town like all other towns, but in many ways, it was nevertheless different and unique, not even mentioning its very unique synagogue, to which people thronged from all corners of the world to see.

The Jews comprised the majority of the population in Volp, and their livelihood was drawn primarily from providing necessities to the farmers in the surrounding vicinity, for a radius of between 15-20 km. In my time, there was no electricity in the town, and consequently, there was no factory, but there were plenty of butchers, wagon drivers, tailors, carpenters, builders, and especially storekeepers. There were no lack of movements, just like in a big city.

The streets of the town didn't have names, and they were called according to their location, that is to say, a given street would take you in the direction of the village of Lazi, would be called Der Lazier Gasse, etc. And indeed, people were not called by their family names, as was the usual custom, but rather in linkage to their father or mother's first name, depending on which one was the dominant one in the family, like: Shmuel Chaya-Mikhlah's, David Leizer's, etc.

The Jews of Volp had their own unique system of governance, apart from the general regime to whom all paid allegiance. This system consisted of a single officer, who was Jewish, called a Soltis, that was selected by the Jews. In addition to this, there was a community council that dealt with the needs of the Jewish community: a Rabbi, a Shokhet, bath house, mikva, study houses, and the like.

The Rabbi would adjudicate disputed between Jews in accordance with torah law, but in the case of more serious disputes, or disputes over land holdings, one turned to the government courts in Grodno.

Having arrived at this point, I realized that I would not be able to provide an ‘objective’ portrait of my town, without injecting a personal point of view – it's just not possible, and so, from here on, I will also tell about myself, my upbringing and experiences in Volp, with the kind indulgence of the readers.

I was born at the end of the twenties of this century [sic: the twentieth], in a house all of whose windows were broken by the shrapnel of all the warring sides: Russians, Germans, Bolsheviks and Poles. This was a house constructed of typical wood, whose roof had two large gables to prevent the snow and rain from penetrating. There was a storehouse that also frequently served as a stable, and a sort of room that served as a retail store, which during the Sukkoth Festival was turned into a sukkah with the opening of its roof, and with the covering of the ceiling space by branches and skhakh. At the end of the eight days, the roof would be lowered, and the sukkah reverted to being a store again…as it is said, “the ordinary and the sacred are used interchangeably.” There was also a storage facility where scales stood for weighing of grain, flour, potatoes, etc. During the winter, apples were also stored there, wrapped in a great deal of straw, and also a copy of Josephus Flavius' book on the War of the Jews, in a magnificent cover. Apparently, whoever decided to acquire books, felt that this one was also sacred….in the Storehouse – the stable, two to three cows were quartered, and there was a special place for the horse and the wagon.

The entrance into the house was through the kitchen. There were two bedrooms in the house, and a dining room (today called a ‘salon’) and I recall that in the dining room two large pictures hung – of the Gaon Rabbi Eliyahu of Vilna, and of Baron Hirsch. Why these two people were selected to decorate the house – I do not know, but I do recall that Baron Hirsch was bare-headed with a barbered mustache.

The form of the house provided an insight into the source of income of the household: agriculture and a sort of inn. The peasants who would come to the fairs, would bring their horses into the storehouse, and they would sleep over in the living rooms and salon, on straw that was spread on the floor. They

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could also get a meal in the house, drink (that was mostly vodka), and something for dessert. Between 20-30 household establishments made a living this way.

Many of the Jews in Volp also owned parcels of land, and my late father told me how they acquired them, and this is his story: In 1861, during the reign of Czar Alexander II, after the serfs were freed, they began to divide up land that had previously belonged to the nobility – the owners of estates, and among others, they presented some free land also to the Jews. There were Jews, my grandfather among them, that refused to take any. By the end of the previous century [sic: 19^th century], my grandfather realized that owning a piece of land was good business, but the land that we now own, he was forced to buy. His parcel was in an agricultural section, at a distance of 2-3 km from town. During the thirties, under the Polish regime, a law was passed that did not permit Jews to buy agricultural land. The Jews were only permitted to sell agricultural land, and only to gentiles.

Opposite our house, stood a house very similar to ours, with one exception – the roof of the storehouse was made of straw. A widow lived in this house, whose daughter married a shoemaker. From the early morning hours, until twelve at night, this shoemaker would sit on a footstool, with wooden nails in his mouth, in one hand swatches of leather, and in the second hand – a hammer. Whoever ordered a pair of boots measured up in the morning, could get them, perfectly made later on the night of that same day. The widow's home also served as a lodging for the indigent who came through the town. There were such indigent, who demanded charity in the form of money, that is to say, pennies, but there were those who were satisfied with only a crust of bread. These crusts of bread which remained, were sold for pennies and used as chicken feed.

There was a law of compulsory education in Poland, and it was possible to go to public school for free for seven years, but the Jews of Volp did not take advantage of this, and many sent their children to study at the Torah VaAvodah School, and paid tuition. This school was maintained by the Jewish community, and by contributions from the United States. The language of instruction was Hebrew, and the Polish language was taught as an added subject. After six years of study in the Hebrew school, I learned together with 12 boys and girls at the public school. I rebelled against the participation of Jewish students in the study of the Catholic faith, taught by the local priest, and after a while, I was ‘excused’ from this subject.

The only connection of Volp to the larger world, was by way of ‘Nioma the wagon driver and his son. They had a scheduled run to the train station in Ros’. They would also bring the mail and the newspapers. In time, as anti-Semitism grew stronger, the franchise to deliver mail was taken away from them and given to a Christian.

The bath house was an important community institution. As distinct from all the other buildings in the town, the bath house was constructed from red brick, and Nieta the Bath house Master, held sway with a strong hand. Beginning Thursday morning, he would begin to work the pump by turning a wheel that was attached to a piston that went up and down, and emptied the water into a large cistern near the boiler, and from there to pipes set in the walls.

When the Jews were transferred to the ghetto in Volkovysk, the Germans assembled seventy feeble Jews at the bath house, on the assumption that they did not have the strength to make the journey on foot, and would bring them by wagons. In the end, instead of taking them by wagon to Volkovysk, they were taken from the bath house to the cemetery and killed.

I recollected the magnificent Volp Synagogue at the beginning of my remarks. This was one of the wooden synagogues built in the districts of Bialystock and Grodno that were built at the beginning of the 18th century. It was 15 meters high, and 20 meters wide and long. Talented engineers, stone cutters, and first class wood workers all were

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involved in the construction of this magnificent synagogue. I can recall even in my childhood, I would see artists and photographers who would come to preserve the image of the synagogue in drawings and photos. Frequently, the roof of the synagogue would fall into disrepair, and it was repaired with the help of donations from America.

Many times, I would visit the ‘Museum of the Land’ in Tel-Aviv, and see many people standing around the picture of the Volp Synagogue, and wondering at the sight before their eyes. I was moved to tell them, that as a boy, I would climb the two towers that stood by the entrance of this synagogue, and I was moved to tell them that I went into the genizah, where damaged sacred texts were stored. But I refrained from this, so as not to appear frivolous in their eyes.

One of the first acts by the Germans, when they entered Volp at the beginning of the Second World War, was to burn down this synagogue, along with two adjacent study houses.

I am just now reminded, that several days before the Germans invaded Poland, I read an article in the daily paper, Heint, by the Zionist leader, Dr. Joshua Thon, and his headline was – ‘They Wouldn't Dare!’ – that is to say – the Germans would not have the nerve to invade Poland. It would appear, that despite his article, they did have the nerve…

It is worth telling a little about the various youth movements in the town, and the intensive activities that went on in their midst (I myself was the secretary of HeHalutz HaTza'ir), and also about the activities of the Zionists parties, but this would not add much that is new, and what took place in Volp was the same as what took place in many other towns.

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