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When I arrived in Warsaw, the winter of 1910, to organize guest performances for our troupe I found theatrical barrenness, duped. This “barren woman” already had a theatrical midwife who evoked labour pains. This was in the person of Dr. A. Mukdoni, who arrived in Warsaw a year earlier.

In his memoir “Memories of a Yiddish Theatre Critic” (archive for the history of Yiddish theatre and drama), Dr. A. Mukdoni says this about himself:
“Mid-summer, 1909, exactly 20 years ago, I, a young doctor, filled with energy, as full as an animal skin container filled with liquids, had great plans and a passionate desire to serve Yiddish culture, I arrived in Warsaw…From all the important, great missions, which I felt I was born to fulfill in my lifetime, the theatre mission was the closest and clearest…I arrived in Warsaw still fresh with influences from European theatre, and I was extremely well read in theatre literature. Arriving in Warsaw, the first thing I did was throw myself into Yiddish theatre.

Peretz Hirshbein – the great dramatist, author of dozens of theatrical works, story teller and novelist, was born in 1880, in a village near the Kletchel in the province of Grodno. His father was a miller at a water mill. Hirshbein began writing in Hebrew, mainly dramas. He later switched to Yiddish and began to write short stories and novels. In 1908 he founded and ran an artistic theatre in Odessa. After two years of raging successes as well as failures, in 1910, his troupe had successful performances in Warsaw, however shortly after crumbled, and remained in the history of Yiddish theatre as a pioneering exploit. Hirshbein, together with his wife, the poetess Esther Shumitcher, traveled around the world and wrote about it. From 1911 his home was in New York, later Los Angeles, but he always wandered. He often spent long periods of time in Warsaw, and in the 1920s, almost an entire year. He died in Los Angeles in August 1948.

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Within a few weeks I was completely oriented in the small and poor Yiddish theatrical world in Warsaw, and it is superfluous to say my disappointment was cruel…”
Now, one can imagine how cruel my disappointment was, when I arrived in Warsaw and within a half hour grasped from whom I must request support and warmth for a troupe which had already been living and performing together for a year of difficult experiences and fruitful activities. This “midwife” energetically demanded the barren woman should give birth to a child with none other than her own labour pains.

Nevertheless, I received from the literary society, actually Peretz, travel expenses; rented from Kompanietz his Muranov Theatre for seven performances and returned to Odessa to prepare for our trip.

Alas, what good fortune could I have expected from seven performances in Warsaw. Even if the visit was grand, it later turned out, the seven performances would not enable me to cover the expenses of our large troupe which had to travel to Warsaw from Odessa. Even more so, Kompanietz's own troupe was performing in the Muranov Theatre, and before our performance was nailed together on boards and was a filthy mess, he wanted me to pay him. The conditions he presented were criminal. I already had a year and a half of experience and it was clear to me we were risking too much coming to Warsaw. No longer did the province appeal to me: such a dense Jewish population, with proper Yiddish. It also appeared to me that in Poland the Yiddish theatre was not as strongly persecuted by the police.

Good friends explained to me that it was a small error that my repertoire lacked a complete play by Y.L, Peretz. The best thing would have been to perform “The Golden Chain” in Warsaw. They also explained a few other trivial things…But the truth was, if not for Y. Dinezon and A. Vayter, who without any ulterior motives hoped, that our troupe solve the entire theatre problem, I would have, in the last moment regretted the entire thing. Arriving in Odessa, I did not hide my personal impressions of Warsaw from the troupe. However, the desire of the troupe to leave Odessa superseded my personal feelings. With a heavy heart we began our journey. If I am not mistaken this was in the month of March.

The troupe arrived in Warsaw a few days before the first performance.

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As the performance drew nearer by the hour, the actors became more nervous. We broke our heads trying to figure out how to decorate the Muranov Theatre. When I demanded from Kompanietz everything I needed for our performances according to our contract, he laughed at me. I dragged myself to second hand stores, collecting rags, furniture and decorations. After the first few days in Warsaw I was bent and dizzy.

Wanting to begin thoroughly with a Yiddish play, we made a small mistake choosing for our first performance “With the Current” by Sholem Asch. We were to end the evening with “People” by Sholem Aleichem, directed by Dovid Herman. (Dovid Herman produced this play for us when he was with us for a few weeks in Ekaterinoslav).

There was a huge audience. All of Warsaw's intelligentsia gathered at the Muranov Theatre. Our performers were very nervous; I could not even recognize them. We all felt we had made the wrong decision choosing this play. However, the performance was far from a failure. The audience sat as if electrified. At the end, the actors were animated when they performed the comedy by Sholem Aleichem. It was as if they were reborn and the atmosphere in the theatre was carried onto the stage.

The press, particularly “Der Fraynd” (“The Friend”), wrote a great review. We received the greatest praise from Dr. Mukdoni who wrote for “Der Fraynd” at that time. According to him, the Muranov Theatre was transformed that night into a temple.

The second evening we performed “In the City” by S. Yushkevitch. The performance was strong; an even greater success. Once again, it was Mukdoni who praised the entire performance of our troupe.

From the third performance on, Mukdoni began to sense his mission. He began to speak up about “his own vast knowledge of theatre literature”. He unearthed the animal skin container filled with his own grandiose plans of his important theatre mission, and began to hail upon our troupe with all he had in his inkwell. The other newspapers who hated the literary society, and considered our guest appearance to be an enterprise, were totally reticent toward us. From his tribunal at “Der Fraynd” Dr. Mukdoni cursed and blessed; blessed and cursed and concluded: “the Hirshbein troupe is a stillborn child, an aborted fetus”.

In a very sincere and naive manner I turned to the

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literary society to take over the troupe; even it's management. The only person at that time who possessed a practical approach to the troupe was Dovid Herman. However, at that time he did not have the desire to live the life of wandering Gypsy. And although Mukdoni writes about himself in his memoirs: “In Paris, together with the Jewish painter Abel Pan, I produced a very modern version of fragments of Y. L. Peretz and Sholem Aleichem, and besides this I was infatuated with theatre” – in my opinion, he appeared then like someone who went abroad empty-handed and returned overloaded to our small Yiddish world. He could not conceive that theatre meant education to us.

My suggestion, that Nomberg and Asch should take over the troupe, which Mukdoni now recounts, became a bitter joke… I collected many jokes from our troupe during the few weeks we spent in Warsaw.

It's not that Mukdoni, God forbid, was responsible for the demise of my troupe, although one could surmise from his memoirs that he was blamed. Our troupe received its first knock in Odessa from the chief of police Talmotshov. The second knock occurred in Vilna from the governor's wife. The troupe did not fall apart immediately after Warsaw, as Mukdoni writes. We continued to wander for four months after performing more than sixty shows.

From Warsaw we travelled to Minsk. This was a time for me to self evaluate.

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Oh, Smotche – my home from childhood – Arises in a fleeting glance. Skipping through my blurred memory The wooden steps return. So what, if there is barely any light and air In the angular walled courtyard? Summer evenings the sun would climb Up the chimneys, up high. Shadows seclude themselves in open windows, The window pane flutters like a flag, And children on the steps, snuggle together, Engrossed in the story being told. …a wild bandit rides by, With a sharp knife in his hand” … But suddenly all becomes silent, The sky becomes distant – Children hear a song.

Binem Heller was born in Warsaw in 1908, to a poor Hasidic Jewish family. He was a poet and editor of literary journals and anthologies. From his youth on (he debuted in 1930), until a few years after the murder of the great Yiddish writers in Russia, he identified with the Soviet line, spent the years of the third destruction (the Holocaust) in Russia, 1947 in Poland, 1956 in France, Belgium and since 1957 in the State of Israel. He was one of the most talented poets of the younger generation in Warsaw. Author of 15 collections. His poems are lyrical, romantic, measured in form with clear content. Until 1955 he was pro- Soviet, since then – regretful moods, engrossed in nationalism. Heller wrote his most powerful poems about Warsaw after the Holocaust. The poems we have included here, were written in the early 1930s and express poetically the experiences of a large portion of the pre-war Jewish proletarian idealistic youth in Warsaw.

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A purple reflection on walls and on roofs, And the hammering of shoemakers in a hurry. And the song becomes louder and louder, And – once again quiet for a while. The open windows – occupied by shadows, And a hasty sewing machine. The song about work, about hardship and sadness Is aided by a girl's voice. The children on the steps –holding their breath; …the bandit has left for the forest… In the open windows – thick shadows, Night will arrive very soon.

I often stretch out Carrying myself from flat to flat. It's easy for me To be the carrier - - Here is Smotche, Over here is Muranov. But all streets wind in a circle, The all lie twisted And unending. And somewhere, somewhere, There is no escape From the dark scent of suffering. Sometimes I move – But everywhere, Hanging in the sun Are round rings of dust. And in the quiet nights Blazing on the walls: In disputes, In frightening wails.

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All around Staring from the balcony Are yellow, melted spots. And somewhere, somewhere There is no escape from the dark scent of suffering.   My Way Will it eternally be My way – Like on Zamenhoff Street – In the throngs Of the unemployed, Police, And despondent Jews, Boarded up in long clothes As if in black coffins? It will eternally be My way – just like this, And always, forever In my spine – Like night Chilled with terror? Will the end Also be like this, With black verses, And with large boots, Will the undertakers dance, Will the undertakers stomp their feet, Stomping the earth on my head? And I will not oppose – My years, Murdered In dusty workshops?

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And I myself Will never see: My home – Flowing With rocks from her cobblestone pavement To the windows of the Oyazdov alleys? Will my way Be eternally like this? –

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Jewish Warsaw had its two main centres: the Nalewke Neighbourhood and the Gzhibov Neighbourhood. Naturally there were many rich Jews in Warsaw who lived on the wealthy Marshalovska Street or in the “Krakow Suburb” and other wealthy streets; others, those who were totally or half assimilated Jews, lived on the Oyadovska Alley or on Alley “Shukha”. Simple Jews called these streets “The Christian Streets” or the “Gentile Neighbourhood”.

At the entrance to Nalewke on the Novolipky side stood the religious book store belonging to Eliezer Yitzkhak Shpiro (later: Dovid Kozak), and on the entrance on the Bielansko side stood the religious book store “Akhiasaf” (later: Efraim Gitlin). The Hebrew writer A.L. Levinsky of blessed memory once said that these two religious book stores at the entrance to Nalewke gave the impression of Mezuzahs hanging on the entrance of Jewish homes.

The Nalewke houses were blessed with double courtyards, and sometimes these houses were composed of three giant yards one after the other. In these courtyards, Jews worked day and night, together with their wives and children to earn a meagre living. A small dwelling comprised of two rooms and a kitchen, and was divided into a workshop and living space for “father, mother and small children”. The father dressed in “an undershirt, pants and fringed garment” was the manufacturer, and his wife, between cooking and cleaning helped her husband with his work. The same went for the children; as soon as they came home from Heder, they would eat something and then help their father with some of the lighter work or run errands.

What wasn't produced in these Nalewke courtyards? They produced splendid men's and women's clothing; shawls and neck ties.

Yehuda Leyb Wohlman was born in 1880 in Konskiye – Volyie. From 1900 until 1925 he lived in Warsaw. Later in Israel. He was a journalist, novelist and dramatist. He died in Tel Aviv in 1955. He knew Warsaw very well and wrote a lot about Warsaw's Jews, especially the merchant class.

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They manufacture parasols and walking sticks; large and small mirrors; chocolates and candies; leather brief cases and letter holders; scented soap and shoe laces; notebooks for school children and children's suits; socks, ribbons in all colours and sizes; elegant women's purses and cheap wallets for the simple folk; optical glasses and all types of chains and watches; drapes for windows and all sorts of handkerchiefs; silverware and toys for children; curly Ostrich feathers and sweat pads for women's dresses; men's and women's shoes and elegant hats; combs and pins of all types and dozens of other articles which deafened the courtyard with the noise of machines and the banging of all sorts of hammers.

This all took place during the six work days. When Friday evening arrived, the work stations and the unfinished articles were covered with white tablecloths and then entire dwelling was filled with candle lighting, the scent of two challahs under modest challah covers, the masterful chanting of “Woman of Valour”, the “Kiddush”, blessing of the wine, and the joyful Sabbath melodies. Saturday night, after the Havdalah ceremony the travelling salesmen would arrive, examine the goods in order to send large orders.

In those days, large and vast Russia was still open to Warsaw, and the travelling salesmen, quick and talented youth, sold Nalewke merchandise as far away as Viatka and Archangelsk. Others connected Warsaw with Siberia and Tashkent.

All that was produced in Nalewke happened in very crowded conditions. Besides this there was the Nalewke front. This is where all the wholesale business of satin and silk was located. The most distinguished firms of those days belonged to Yakov Broydo, Leyzer Brill, Eliyahu Fisher and other Lithuanian Jews. These were people with a totally different “gait” then what people were used to seeing in Warsaw. These Lithuanian businessmen, with kempt beards and a calm pace, wore wrinkled short jackets with long un-pressed pants, and on their heads wore hard black hats, which looked like upside-down iron pots, while the Warsaw born wealthy Jews were dressed “business like”, in fine shortened black caftans with slits; on their heads, a small cap from Beynish Postbriv's factory, and elegant pants tucked into shiny boots. Their beards were for the most part trimmed with a scissors. In any event, they were well groomed.

Both kinds of Warsaw 's business Jews, the Lithuanian silk merchants from Nalewke and the Warsaw born iron merchants from Gzhibov, were all

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honest people, who were as trustworthy as an iron bridge. At the same time, both groups were grounded with two feet in Torah good deeds. Both groups knew each other very well. All the more reason for them to do business together. However, a closer relationship, like marriages between the groups happened very rarely. Even more: studying Torah on the Sabbath and on long winter nights happened separately. The Lithuanian Jews had there Talmud Society on the Nalewke and the Polish Jews and their Talmud Society on Tvarde Street.
The most powerful group of manufacturers were on Genshe Street, which was the “left sleeve” of the Nalewke. As we know, after the Grand Duke Sergei, the General Governor of Moscow at that time, placed difficult edicts upon the Jews of Moscow, many Jewish manufacturers from Moscow moved to Warsaw and opened shops on Genshe Street. It did not take long before Russian manufacturers from Moscow became interested in Genshe Street in Warsaw and opened branches of their businesses. Now there were Russian signs hanging on Genshe Street with wide winged Russian eagles. Other Moscow businessmen offered their branches to trustworthy Jewish businessmen. Slowly, it became a sign of prestige for a Russian to open a branch of his business on Genshe Street. After the magnate Sava Morozov opened his branch on Genshe Street at Hertz Hufnagel's (who by the way was a great Talmudic scholar and enlightened Jew), his competitors Zachar Morozov and Vikula Morozov did the same thing (the first one's representative was Novinsky, the son in law of the Moscow businessman T.D. Gurland, and the second's representative was Yosef Levita).

Besides the Moscow merchandise, Genshe Street became the centre of the widely developed Polish manufacturers like Heintzl and Kunitzer, Saybler, Zhirardov and other manufacturers, Jewish and Polish as well as larger and smaller Germans from Lodz, Zgierg, Pabiantz, Ozorkov and Zaviertche. This is how Genshe Street in Warsaw became an important manufacturing business centre, and Jewish merchants from all over Poland, Lithuania, Volhynia, Podolia and parts of White Russia came to buy manufactured goods.

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Very few people have the honour and privilege to be referred to and remembered, not only by their family name, which is the usual way, but also by their first actual name. The name Dr. Gershon Levin falls into this category.

Jews from all corners of pre-war Poland flocked to Warsaw to see Dr. Gershon Levin because they knew Dr. Levin was a great expert in lung diseases, chief of the Jewish hospital and they knew they could receive the best advice and treatment. They also knew he was not simply Dr. Levin, but first and foremost, Dr. Gershon Levin, the folksy man, the Jewish doctor who was not embarrassed by his Jewish name. they respected this even more than his medical proficiency.

They felt deep in their hearts that because he was a Jewish doctor who was deeply rooted in Jewishness, spoke Yiddish to his patients so they could fully understand, they were more comfortable confiding in him and the knew they would receive correct and appropriate advice for their illness.

They went to Dr. Levin as one would go to a great expert and specialist, to find a remedy for their physical suffering and found calmness and tranquility and sociability with Gershon, the doctor, the Jew, who in such ordinary, simple Yiddish explained their illness and what they should do.

They had great respect for the consultation, for the doctor and for his vast knowledge.

Dr. Leyb Leon Wohlman was born in 1887 in Berditchev. He arrived in Warsaw in 1910 and studied medicine. He was very active in the Jewish Medical Society. Wrote books on public hygiene and edited articles. He collaborated on publications from the Jewish Scientific Institute. In 1939 he arrived in America. He was a close friend and colleague of Dr. Gershon Levin (1868-1939) – the Jewish folk doctor in Warsaw.

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They apparently felt frightened and lost looking at the large shelves of books all around the doctor's office, the modern instruments and equipment which he used in examinations. A separation or distance existed between them and the person in the white coat. However, all of this immediately disappeared in the person of Dr. Levin, the Jewish Gershon, the human being, who with his entire appearance, with his Jewish appearance, comforted and calmed his Jewish patients. The fear, terror and sense of being lost in a doctor's office disappeared completely when the great doctor began to talk to them, not in high Polish, but in the familiar simple mother tongue and answered their questions about their sicknesses with true Jewish insight and healthy folk humour. They saw before them a renowned doctor who spoke to them on a personal level in Yiddish, with insight and understanding and this calmed their stressed nerves, quietened their broken mood and they would leave his office believing they would soon be cured…

Dr. Levin did not only speak Yiddish at his home but also in the hospital – with patients and fellow doctors who spoke and understood Yiddish as well as hospital staff.

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For the drama troupes repertoire was not a problem, it was a hardship. They all had the same complaint: there was nothing to perform. I argued the opposite: there is such an abundance of material, I can't decide what to do first: I took it upon myself to provide repertoire for three dramatic troupes for ten years. People looked at this as simply boasting.

Not only was repertoire ready for the dramatic theatre in Warsaw, other preparations were done as well. Due to my initiative a communal theatre committee was established, comprised of representatives from the literary and journalist unions, actor's union, school organizations, culture department, and other organizations that had to be approached: H.D. Nomberg was chosen as the chairman of the committee, as he was the chairman of the literary union at the time. I suggested to the committee they run the theatres at their own expense like the communal committees in Cracow and Riga. The Warsaw committee did not want to take upon itself any commitments pertaining to the actors, but they were prepared to subsidize the drama theatre. The director Y. Barkovsky announced he would establish a drama troupe on Gazhe Street if he would receive a 15,000-zloty subsidy from the committee. The best artists, headed by A. Samberg and Sh. Landau signed a commitment they would work in a dramatic theatre.

Dr. Mikhl Weichert was born in 1890 in Stare- Miasto, eastern Galicia. His childhood and youth were spent in Stanisle. In 1908 he participated in the Czernowitz Yiddish Language Conference. Later he lived in Vienna, Berlin and from 1918 in Warsaw. He was a lawyer, high school teacher, cultural activist and above all a theatre director and producer. He was the founder of the Yiddish drama schools, theatre studios and experimental theatres. He was the educator of a generation of Yiddish actors. He was a theatre scholar and a writer. He wrote books about theatre and his memoirs. His greatest directorial success was the staging of Asch's “Kiddush Hashem”, then “The Dybbuk”, the most often performed theatre piece in Warsaw. During the years of the Holocaust he was in Warsaw, later in Cracow, then in hiding until 1945. Since 1958 he has lived in the State of Israel.

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My drama theatre opened with Sholem Asch's “Kiddush Hashem” with my staging. For a long time, I have wanted to replant this narrative on stage without losing its epic character. I expressed my thoughts in the journal “Litarishe Bleter”, vol. 9, 1927.

Before all else I decided: under no circumstances will I produce a “drama” in acts, and I will not add any text. It occurred in Yiddish and European theatre, that the revisor would patch things up with his own prose when he didn't find what he was looking for in the text. Sometimes, even when he could receive text from the author, he added his own as he deemed it better. In those years in European theatre a fresh partner was brought to the author: the modern director. He too brought his own prose when he felt the need due to directorial ideas. I believed, and still believe until today, this can not be tolerated. In the aforementioned article I wrote: “Language is the deepest expressive material of the poet. The source from which he draws. Adding to his text is like spitting in his well”.

Nothing kills the fluidity and charm of a story more than forcing three or four strongly built acts. I chose the form of tableaus which help illustrate the story. I knew the danger of loose scenes on stage. They entertain the eye but they do not warm the heart of the spectator. They cause a tremble of emotion but do not allow the emotion to develop or expand. Each scene awakens interest and carries you off to the next scene: before it succeeds in warming you up, the third one arrives.

In order to avoid such danger, which was capable of burying the entire production, and not return from the dead, other means were attempted. I considered: the scenes must capture simultaneously the eye, ear and heart of the spectator; they must be short and filled with restrained strength; they must grow to allow each following scene to be stronger than the previous one. They must unroll without hardly any interruption; they must combine artistically into one whole.

I have not found a better way to connect the scenes than music. Obviously, music was nothing new in Yiddish theatre. As is well known, in operettas and melodramas, folk and street melodies justified the entire absurdity of action, situations and character sketch. In dramas, music, according to European standards, accompanied a song, portrayed a mood, illustrated a scene. In all three cases it was an add on, a decoration, negligible. The staging of “Kiddush Hashem” had to be the main thing. This had to sway the entire production. The instrumental composition had to grow organically

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from the musicality of the author's words and interweave the entire performance. After completing the staging I went to see Henekh Kohn in Lodz, read him the text and explained how I envision the music.

H. Kohn had a rare sense for scenic music. He could penetrate the soul of the director and feel the atmosphere of a production in the situation of a scene. He treated the music for “Kiddush Hashem” as leitmotif. Variations of the leitmotifs filled in the short musical introductions to each of the four parts, connecting the individual scenes in such a way, that the music sang along with the last words which rang out in the scene and led to the first words of the following scene. This is how he wove together, in one sound, the vocals and music, the recitative, the song and the instrumentation.

The second medium which had to connect individual scenes was the frame of decorations. The 25 tableaus had to be performed in one scenic frame. The artist V. Vayntroyb projected right and left on a canvas hung between two pillars, tied crisscross over a rafter. This frame remained throughout the entire performance, only small canvas drawings had to be changed as the backdrop as well as pieces of painted plywood on the stage. This took place when the curtain opened, in the dark and did not last longer than a minute. It was carried out with music so the spectator would not sense the smallest interruption from scene to scene.

The scene structure had to be short. The rule was: concise. Each scene did not end, it was cut off. The exceptions were finales of the first three parts. I divided this theatrical vocal-musical composition into four parts just like a symphony is divided into four compositions. Three finales rang out widely, the fourth like a pointed tower crowning the building.

The conciseness of every scene was required for another appeal. Torah study, candle lighting, chanting the blessing on praise of women, praying, performing a marriage ceremony, reciting the hymn of the first day of Shavuot, confession of sin, Psalms, Hear O Israel, Torah Scrolls, wedding canopy poles – were all situations and props used hundreds of times, dishonoured and shamed in operettas and melodramas. Old Yiddish theatre was fond of such scenes, ready to pour and smear ad nauseum. I could not allow this olive oiliness to seep in for even one minute. Cheap words, restrained movements, strong staging, sketch of sets, light styled costumes, music of word and sound, all had to raise the spectacle to romantic realism.

Music also helped the finale. When the tragedy of the Talmudic scholar is endless– like the author –at the Lublin market, where the

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tailor stands in front of an empty shop and sells trust, all became clear to me. However, also Dvoyreh's death in holiness and purity from the beloved Cossack's gunshot could not ring out the dreadful destruction of the Ukrainian Jewish community in Ukraine. Before her martyr's death even the strongest of words would have been too weak. Only music could express the main idea behind this production: nobility and heroism.

Dramatic theatre just came about. And something totally different happened.

At this time the “Vilna Troupe” had just returned from Romania, settled in Lemberik and performed A. Dimov's “The Singer of Sadness”, directed by Yakov Shternberg, produced by Yakov Preger. “Temptation” and Fredrich Hebbel's “Judith and Holofernes”, and Dovid Herman's and Fransisco Langer's “Periphery” directed by Yezhy Valdens. The day arrived and I was approached abruptly by M. Maze, his usual way, to produce “Kiddush Hashem” with the Vilna Troupe.

“How do you know it's for sale? You haven't even heard the play! Who buys a cat in a bag?”

“I trust you”.

“But how does the cat cross the water when she gets out of the bag?”

The troupe is in Lemberik and I am a high school teacher in Warsaw. I can only come to you during Passover when there are no classes for ten days. On the four days of the holiday we can perform in the evening which allow 6 days for rehearsal. I need four full weeks to prepare”.

“The troupe will come to Warsaw”.

“In order to rehearse “Kiddush Hashem”?”

“For this reason, as well. We do not want to remain confined in the province, we want to perform in Warsaw. We need a new repertoire”.

“Your ensemble is too weak for Warsaw. By the way, they are about to crumble. “Kiddush Hashem” is a play for actors”.

“You will have all the actors you will need”.

“Do you know how much this production will cost? Vayntroyb calculated the sets and costumes will cost four thousand zlotys”.

“They will certainly cost more. Artists are hardly mathematicians. But this is not a deterrent”.

“Do you have money for these expenses?”

“Not one groschen”.

“How would you like to tackle the rehearsals?”

“We never had any money when we began to rehearse, but on opening night we did not lack anything the director requested. Your conditions, Dr. Weichert?”

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“I haven't thought about it. I need to think about this matter. I'd also like to consult with Kohn and Vayntroyb”.

“Don't waste your time. I've spoken to both of them and they agree”.

“Are you trying to trick me?”

“As you can see. Think about your conditions and prepare a written agreement. The next time I'm in Warsaw, I'll sign it”.

“In the agreement I will write the names of the actors I want to perform and I'll stipulate four weeks of rehearsals.”

“With the greatest honour”.

Maze quickly signed the agreement. Simultaneously, he signed agreements with Kohn, Vayntroyb and Rechtlebn, who was Sholem Asch's agent, and rented the “Elysium Theatre” on Karove Street. By the end of March 1928, the troupe was in Warsaw. By the beginning of April, we began rehearsals.

After a reading rehearsal I distributed the parts typed on a machine. The Yiddish actor was used to weighing the size of his role in his hands. The more text, the better. Here, everyone received three pages, if not fewer. Only Samberg and Veyslitz received a bit more. It can't be said the actors were excited.

However, during the first rehearsal they were already excited. I arrived with a prepared director – book where everything was worked out to the last detail. The actors poured soul into my visions and filled them with life. It was like an unspoken challenge between the performers, even those with the smallest roles. Each one tried harder to surpass the other in passion, persistence, discipline, clean relationships, purity of words, and tidy movements. It was a pleasure to see and the roles grew form one rehearsal to the next as if they were receiving flesh and blood.

Samberg's Mendl was a strong robust character, like a tree rooted in the ground. Solid and proud, free of sentimentality. Y. Veyslitz's tailor, a folk type, was filled with unending goodness and great love, without the smallest spark of over powering, symbolism or allegory, entirely human and brotherly, even when he spoke about God, trust, faith and Torah. M. Orlesaka and D. Licht,played Dvoyrele and Shloymele. Every one of their words was filled with sensitivity, love and pure modesty. Y. Kamen's Cossack Yerem, innocently stares at Dvoyrele like a saint, desires her and trembles before her. Sh. Natan's drunk, was vigorous in his disgusting revulsions.

Y. Mansdorf and Y. Kurlender, two magnificent types played Jewish communal council members who jump out of their skin when one wants to offend the honour of another.the landowner.

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“Kiddush Hashem” had a few so-called mass scenes. As in every theatre as well as the Yiddish theatre there were professional extras and chorus members. For dozens of years they enhanced all the operettas and melodramas. I had no intentions to allow them on the stage. I prevailed upon the conductor M. Shneour and the manager of the “Folk Choir”, M. Danzikerkron that only two groups of ten young people from the choir could take part in the production. They were to appear on stage for the first time. This did not scare me. They were one hundred times more likeable than the worn-out extras. I worked with them on the script, H. Kohn on the songs, and the Rom sisters worked on plastic. Already at the first rehearsal they showed as much enthusiasm as the actors. They brought a lot of youth and freshness to the performance. Five of them, thanks to “Kiddush Hashem”, became professional actors: Lola Folman, Sh. Osevitsky, Litera and Lemberger concert singers, Yoel Bergman remained and actor in the Vilna Troupe.

The actor's recognized success and brought it with them into the streets, to both fortresses of indulgence and gossip: 13 Tlomacki Street (the writer's union) and 2 Lesh Street (the actor's union) boiled like a kettle. For God's Sake! How could a troupe, with its own hands, bury themselves in the ground? When did Sholem Asch have success in Yiddish theatre? Unless he showed a brothel like in “God of Vengeance”, or prostitutes like in “Motke the Thief”. All others: “The Compatriot”, “Lineage”, “The Inheritors”, “Amnon and Tamar”, “The Sinner” performed in Vilna, “Our Belief” at the Central Theatre, “Uncle Moses” in “Vikt” were disasters. Who cares today about the Cossack massacre of the Jews in 1648? Prostitution gives the theatre audience, prostitution! Since when is Weichert a director? Did he study with Reinhardt? Nothing makes sense! True, he has a shiny pen and is an expert on theatre (in order to put down the director one must elevate the writer) – however, from expertise to directing is a long road. Listen to this fool's idea! 25 tableaus on a small stage, which is miniscule, and he does not even have “shoelaces” (to hang decorations up high on a string). Such a production requires three stages like the “Polski Theatre”. And what a pity on the actors. They are putting everything they have into this and will never swim out of the debt. Obviously, the troupe will fail. Let's hope they don't crawl into a sick bed with a healthy head!

The gossipers were not limited to these two unions. They were also being buried by the high school. Among the conditions the high school teachers fought for was that a teacher with a university diploma should receive a 20% supplement to his earnings. For nine years they payed me this supplement.

Suddenly, the secretary from “Askala”, Mrs. Davidovitch, our neighbour, said to me:

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“Don't resent this, dear doctor, but they are harassing us. Your diploma is not in order. Do you have another copy at home?”

“I don't have a copy, I have the original. I'll bring it to you tomorrow”.

“You don't have to. Your explanation is sufficient. I just want to avoid angry tongues”.

The premiere was scheduled for May 2nd, 1928. At the general rehearsal everything went butter side down. It ended at 6 o'clock in the morning. The mood was oppressive. Miriam Orleska, Maze's wife, cried her eyes out. She remembered what the crows at 13 Tlomacki and 3 Lesh were squawking. Other actors remained calm. There is a superstition in the theatre that says if the general rehearsal is a disaster, the premiere will be a success. People enjoyed these smelling salts.

I approached Maze:

“You're tired. Go home and lie down. But before you go I must tell you something. I could do it after the performance but then I'll be either very important or a bitter failure. It would have a different flavour. A flavour of favour or toadying. This is what I would like to say to you: your conduct during this entire process was of the highest decency. Artistic and friendly. I was challenged. I wanted everything on stage to be fresh and new: the staging, music, actors, extras, sets and costumes. As a devoted friend you went with me step by step. You never said no, although you knew very well how risky every new production is. Therefore, I thank you!”

I shook his hand firmly. Henekh Kohn was living with me. We were both exhausted and walking home we did not say a word. When we entered the gate at 6 Senatorske Street and walked through the courtyard, I lived at the fifth court, Henekh, who was walking ahead of me, all of a sudden stood still. He turned his head to me and said:

“Doctor, there will be an explosion!”

He then turned around and continued to walk. I did not reply. At the premiere the first ten rows were taken up by the press. They came to my funeral. This is what they believed. Serious, tense,

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some with pity on their faces, others with unmasked joy. (A few days later Aron Zeitlin wrote this in an article in “Our Express”). The rest of the rows were filled densely with common folk. When the curtain opened there was a stiff coldness emanating from the first few rows onto the stage.

The end of the first half aroused great applause. After the intermission a warmth emanated simultaneously from the stage and the back rows which only grew. Soon the front rows warmed up. They applauded after every scene. The spectator's eyes shone during breaks. The press had to capitulate. When the play was over, the entire hall broke out into a wild ovation. From all sides they called out: “Weichert! Weichert! Even the members of the Pen Club stood in their places, applauded bravo and called out my name.

I was in the wings. An actor came down from the stage to get me. I did not have the desire to appear. I was dead tired and a strange repulsion stuck in my throat. Maze ordered me at that moment to go up on the stage. I did not obey. Then Samberg came down from the stage and both of them dragged me with force. The curtain opened and closed numerous times. The audience applauded wildly. The faces of the actors were shining with joy. It was an explosion!

“Kiddush Hashem” was performed 250 times in Warsaw and countless times in all the large towns in Poland. Sholem Asch came to the 100th performance. It was the first time he saw this staging. He hadn't even read it before, although he had authorized it. After the third part he came up on stage and gave a speech. He complimented me and the actors. He concluded by saying “Dr. Weichert is the conscience of Yiddish literature”.

At the banquet which the troupe organized in honour of Sholem Asch in the Raspberry Hall of the Bristol Hotel, he said to me: “You should feel very worthy because you have a lot of enemies”. I replied: “I don't know if enemies are a proof of worthiness, I don't have enemies. If others see me as an enemy, I don't give it much thought. I simply don't have enough time”.

(From the book “Memoirs” Volume “Warsaw”, Tel Aviv, 1961).

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