[Page 17]

The town of Olshan, previously known as Holshany, was mentioned as a community in documents from the 15^th century. It belonged to Lithuanian Grand Prince Norgmund and Algemindov–Holshanski, thus the name Holshan. The Algemindov castle was constructed on a well–designed fortress near the town and was completely destroyed, but the fortress remained. The people called it Horodishche.

The local peasants related various legends about this fortress, where annual ceremonies were held. Farmers would dig up pieces of glass and faience and remains of the foundation, but they feared to move these remnants ‘because the spirits of the dead princes were watching their property𔃾 and taking anything might cause some disaster in the whole area.

In mid 15^th century, the Holshany property, including the town of Holshany was involved in a quarrel between Sigmund–August and his daughter– in–law Anna, the wife of the Vilner Voyevada Bogdan Sofieh, who had inherited the Olshan property as well as the town of Oshan. Pavel, the son of Voyevada who was the Lithuanian vice chancellor, became the ruler of the Holshan region.

In the 18^th century, ownership shifted from the Sofiehs to the Jobis and then to the Korsaks. In the last half of the 19^th century the town was bought by Gorbunov. We have no documentation of when the Jews first settled in the old community of Olshan. They were probably there in the 18^th century, because there was a significant Jewish population there in the 19^th century, which numbered 336 by 1877. According to the census of 1897, there were 2183 inhabitants of Olshan, including 1049 Jews, 48.5% of the total.

“Polski Slovnik Geografitshne”, volume 3, which appeared in 1882, describes Olshan at that time: Holshany, a town in Oshman province, near Lake Lusta or Dzhianka, 18 viersts from Oshmen, 92.75 vierst from Vilna. The town includes a police station, a public school, a post–office which handles all correspondence, baggage, a Catholic church of St. John, and 2679 inhabitants, 1040 men and 1639 women. The Christians work on the farms or make woolen goods, sacks or so–called Olshan ‘shpenzers’. The Jews, like everywhere, are busy trading or in brandy sales. The free–spending Olshaners sell more than 10,000 rubles worth of brandy annually. There is also a small brewery which employs five workers; four brewers who serve only Jewish families, one janitor and two loaders.

It is puzzling why the “Polski Slovnik” doesn't record the number of Jews, as it did for other towns. So we don't know how to estimate the real numbers of Jews at that time.

[Pages 19-39]

I belong to a generation which emigrated to America in 1906, at the beginning of this century. I had already had significant life experience. At 14, I had already studied in the Yeshiva and was firmly rooted in traditional Judaism, and then I broke away from the religious life, progressing to the broader world of Hebrew and Yiddish literature.

These were the popular names among the young people of the town. Not many of my generation remain. I will try to recall some episodes and vivid personalities and revive some images of Jewish life in Olshan.

The town of Olshan lies between two hills, as if lost from God's attention. On one side, up to Drum–Tzu, flows a sluggish little stream [maybe it's cleaner now], flanked by weedy grasses since primeval time. One day along came Leib the miller, who hammered together some branches, created a channel and utilized the water power for the large mill, grinding out the flour for the local peasants.

On a summer Shabbos after dinner, the Jewish men, their wives and children strolled and filled up Trober Street, singing popular songs of the day. Like men with status, they paused in front of the mill. The wheel rotated and splashed against the setting sun and broke into sparkling rays. When it became darker, the younger folks gathered on the other side of the mill. There a group was singing, providing opportunity for enthusiasts to take off their caps and boots, and for enamored couples to flirt, out of the public eye. Only when the stars came out did they all get up– it was time for Maariv [evening prayers].

On weekdays, both young and old bathed in the river. They engaged in contests to see who could swim faster to the mill. The great cathedral was surrounded by many stalls; the vendors waited until Sunday, when the peasants from the nearby villages brought in their wares: flax, roof thatch, pig skin, chickens and eggs. On Sundays, the market was busy. Bearded Jews, women with scarves around their heads shop, examine the chickens, and bargain. The stalls are filled with wares. The church bells are ringing, horses are prancing, drunks are quarreling just like their fathers did. Merchandise is spread out on the tables: candles, graters and other metal wares made by Naftali the metal worker. At his place in the market Chatzkl the shamesh [synagogue warden] sells his torts, taiglach, [honey–dipped confection] honey cake and candies.

Next to the Olshan market was the place for the women peddlers. Sweating in summer they sat by their bundles and chatted. In winter, next to a pot over glowing coals, they wore old worn–out clothes, head wrapped in rags. They dealt mostly in greens or fruit recently harvested, so that their menfolk might sit in the shul studying Torah, getting ready for a seat in Paradise, if they survived for 120 years.

In Olshan the Jews made their living from the markets and small businesses. The local peasants brought produce into town, fruit, pigskin, housewares, etc. The merchants and shoppers bought these products or bartered in exchange for other products, and sent them to Vilna. The peasants also made their purchases at the Jewish stalls. There was one other profitable enterprise especially for women, namely selling geese. They tied them so they couldn't move much, then stuffed them so they'd get fat and sold them. An offshoot business was feather plucking. The children enjoyed the gravy. After preserving the schmaltz it was poured on the gravy for the children to enjoy.

In Olshan there were also craftsmen–shoemakers, tailors, most of whom worked alone. A few of these experts even employed apprentices, and they would work late into the night, especially when it was necessary to dress up for the holidays. There were also those who hunted in the forest for greater incomes. In my time, the youth of these professional craftsmen didn't have much status. A craftsman in the family was considered a necessity. Mothers wanted their talented children to become 'people', to become Torah lovers and scholars.

Like most Jewish towns in Lithuania and Poland, in those times, Olshan had traditional institutions including a Beys Hamidrash, several societies, a prayer group, a Talmud Torah for poor children who couldn't afford tuition, a public bath and a Mikveh.

In my day, Olshan featured great teachers, Kollel activists who were leaders in troubled times, who resisted the wild demands of the Tzarist Pristov, an enemy of Israel. Certain members of the community were punished by deposing a rabbi who was not allowed to read from his prayer book on Shabbos, until the state official compensated for the damage done to a Jew in Areman, and the congregation wouldn't agree to a fund to support orphans.

The shuls in Olshan were filled with enthusiasts, who prayed fervently. A big celebration was held whenever a new chapter was read from the Torah. Young and old danced in the streets when the new book was carried into the shul. In the same way, weddings were celebrated. Everyone was jubilant, because all the Jews in town were related.

Olshan Jews had their own special religious traditions, based on the ‘Jerusalem’ creed from Vilna. The small–town Jews, merchants or shoppers, thirsted for higher values, and the villagers consistently sought sons–in–law who were Torah scholars. When Avrohom Yedidias had accepted a son–in–law for his daughter Golda, it was rumored that he was a brilliant scholar. When he was called up to the Torah, he delivered a magnificent very impressive reading, which, it was said, was a masterpiece. He had combined Torah with knowledge. Isaac Hertz the tailor had gotten his son–in–law from the Voloshin Yeshiva. Of course, not all were scholars who could be acknowledged at this level. In those days, 60–70 years ago, there were wealthy, middle class and poor people in town.

So what was it like for the average Jew in Olshan? The home consisted of a large four–cornered room, with a dried earth floor. On holidays, this was decorated with yellow sand. A quarter of the dwelling was taken up by beds with straw mattresses. The adults and children slept in this bedroom, as in Avrohom Reisen's song, “A Gezindel zalbe Acht”. Much of the room was taken up by a large stove. [In upper class homes, this was ringed by white benches.] Near the stove was a bench where ten people could sit, and at night it served as a bed. In winter it was comfortable and warm.

In the long winter evenings, parents, children and friends sat and told stories about the good Jews who had been rescued through prayer and fasting, and who had defied a decree. They also told worldly stories, of a girl who had been thrown out by her parents, because they objected to her intent to marry her beloved, so she killed herself. The demonic spirits who occupied the bathhouse near the Beys Hamidrash prayed during the night, and disappeared at dawn at the first rooster's crow– these were old traditions fostered by the average Olshan Jews.

Olshan also had many talented people. Chaim Gelkes, all skin and bones, had cut out a large crown decorated with leaves, to honor the coronation of the last Nicholas. My mother Liebe, the dyer, had sewn little colored tassels, woven by peasant women. She was outspoken in shul; on holidays she sang Zunser's songs. Her remarkable fantastic tales about saints who could separate the righteous from the devils and spirits, were famous in the town, stories retold for hundreds of years, now re–animated by her talents. Moshe the butcher, red–headed with a dignified face had been ordained as a rabbi, and settled in the shtetl Bal–Kicho to make a living. He was the father of the writer and co–editor of the New York ‘Daily Morning Journal’, and son–in–law of Shalom Aleichum–Ben Zion Goldberg.

I remember old Rabbi Moshe Shimcha Rabinovitch, called the Tinkevitch genius, bearded, a great advocate for good deeds, who knew nothing of worldly conflict. He was deeply religious, a great scholar. When he learned a page of Gemorah, he didn't use any reference, even Rashi. His fellow students imitated him, but didn't understand a single word. However in his comments, he thought they understood the same as he. He radiated benevolence and holiness. In the course of the year, he read only one sermon, on ‘Shabbos tshuvah’. He didn't have a clear knowledge of the ritual, but he spoke out with special clarity words with religious content such as repentance, compassion, and the Holy Name. Most of his audience didn't really listen to him, but they spontaneously stood up to honor such a Talmud scholar, when he came off the pulpit.

On Friday nights, we had a minyan in the rabbi's house; we were cousins. After prayers, we talked about politics. In the Rabbi's house, the ‘Hatzfirah’ had already arrived, and he, the Tzadik, didn't see any conflict with his piety and faith.

Once a woman with a young child came to Olshan, and she locked themselves in the Beys Hamidrash. The little girl started squawking like a chicken. It was said she had been taken over by a Dybbuk. Some money was collected in the shtetl so that they might be helped bosom Jewish authority. When the old rabbi, Mordechai of Oshman, arrived at the shul, he saw how the child was being tortured by the Dybbuk. He told the mother to slap her hands and order her to stop being foolish.

When a notice was posted in the Olshan shul signed by r' Chaim Brisker, addressed to the whole congregation, warning against mounting any National collection boxes because that conflicted with the order of r' Meyerl Bel–Hanes , the Olshan rabbi tore down the notice, proclaiming, “Rev Chaim was in charge in Brisk, but I am in charge in Olshan.”

It was rumored that the old rabbi had become a Zionist. When we Yeshiva boys told about this in our classrooms, everyone roared with laughter– it was unbelievable that such a great Tzadik could be a Zionist.

In Olshan on the eve of Pesach, the sun is warming. It is Spring, deep blotches appear on the snow. The bakers have already kashered their ovens. All the laborers are hard at work. Pious Jews on their carts are bearing sacks of flour to bake certified matzo. Near the clear little stream, young girls polish copper pots with cloths, then take them to the bathhouse, to have steaming hot embers thrown in the water to kasher everything for Pesach. On Seder night, the streets are empty. All Jewish families are sitting at their holiday tables. At the head sits the father in his elevated seat, wearing his tallis. The great epic drama of the Exodus from Egypt is related in the family circle. The singing of the Hagodah is heard from every home and echoes in all the streets and alleys of Olshan.

Every holiday is certainly observed. During Purim, the children, then the Yeshiva boys perform theater, presenting Mordechai with his long beard and Esther, ‘the young girl from Shoshan’. On Shavuos, the young folks gather greenery, to decorate the homes with the beauty of the forest and field, since Shavuos is the feast of regeneration, when fruits ripen in Israel. On Shavuos night we youngsters go to shul to read Tikkun Shavuos. It is the festival of the giving of the Torah and we wait with eyes closed for the heavens to open to reveal the future.

As I write these memories I'm in a room where a TV stands in the corner, and on the screen I see the American cosmonaut flying into outer space. In the next room is a kitchen with a refrigerator, an electric oven, and another half–dozen electrical gadgets, to assist the American housewife. She has time to read books, relax, rest, and not work hard at cooking like her Bubbe in Olshan. Now I imagine how difficult it is to reflect on my life and experience during childhood in Olshan and bring out the Jewish experiences from those times and those Jews who will be immortalized by my remembrances in our memorial book.

I was born in Volovike, a little town near Olshan. In those days, the smell of the night lamps in a house meant you had arrived into a civilized place. In those days we still used a candle stuffed into a crack in the wooden wall of the house for our illumination. My duty as a 4 year old was to cut off the charred end of the candle so it wouldn't burn out. In the town there were two Jewish families, mine and Nachman, a nice family, supported by an inheritance. Nachman also dealt in horses. Our home was in the center of town, with a roof of straw. My mother was busy, and father helped make a living by sewing ‘ bagdim’, skins for the peasants.

After the Tsar's edict decreed that Jews could not dwell in the towns, we were forced to leave Volovike. I recall how we gathered together our belongings, loaded them on to a wagon and rode into Olshan. I was five then, my mother held me by the hand. So, on foot, we walked into the shtetl on Oshmen street, direct to the market. A new world opened up for me. The huge market place, on one side was surrounded by several two–story houses, and the stalls on the other side were laden with all sorts of goods.

My mother Feina Liebe supported the family. When we left Volovike for Olshan she went off to Vilna and learned how to dye garments. She became noted as ‘Feina the Dyer Lady’. Peasants from the towns brought in their own woven materials to my mother and she transformed them into various vivid colors.

It was a hard life. Alone she had to drag the water from the fountain near the Rev's house, while father spent weeks away in the town. Mother also dragged the heavy barrels of water needed to warm on the oven.

I became an Olshaner, and started cheder, taught by Elia the Borovik [in Olshan everyone had a nickname]. He was an angry teacher, who sometimes used the stick but also knew how to evoke a child's ambition to be first in class. He didn't promise the children any immediate benefits like a piece of candy but told them it was a ‘Mitzvah’ to be first in class, and one would get eternal honor, as well as a piece of candy in the future for the top student.

We also benefited from the goat's products. Every morning, mother drove the goat to market, and that produced milk for the family. A shepherd with a stick and a whistle took the goat and led it out of town to the pasture. The blow of the stick, the melody of the whistle, the bleats of the goats and cows always distracted me so that I was late for class thus wasting part of my chance for fame.

The years passed, we studied in the cheder from dawn to night. When we went home at night, the stars were sparkling above, and we lit our way with lanterns made from materials with fantastic colors. When we learned Chumash, we experienced these biblical figures and their deeds. We felt we were with Eliezer Svita, wandering together with him to Arm Naharaim to find a bride for Isaac; we crawled in the water up to our necks until Moses parted the sea; at Mount Sinai we gratefully received the Torah.

At that time I was very religious and followed all the laws [mitzvahs]. I owned a little mirror, an important item in my childhood possessions. I had left it in my pocket while going from shul on Shabbos. After a struggle between good and evil I left it on the street, because on Shabbos one must not carry anything. But we also played like children of our age. The girls played at drawing in classes. We distinguished ourselves by hopping on one foot, and played with sticks. In this game, one lays a stick on two stones. With a cut off board, the stick is flipped into the air to be caught by one of the players.

Our greatest success was with the Shli–Shlach game, because here was a chance to show off skill and physical strength. Two armies opposed each other, and saying ‘Shli–Shlach’, declared war. The soldiers attacked in order to break through the ranks of the other side to win the battle.

Today, the Passover games are played with assorted nuts in a cap, the daily games with buttons of all forms. My brother became a 'button millionaire'. He won a collection of various sizes, forms and colors–red, green,yellow–worth a fortune!

When it was warm in the month of Tamuz, we all marched to the pond and jumped naked into the water, made waves and had fun chasing each other. In another game we imagined the little pond was a great ocean and we pretended to be creatures in its depths.

And that's the way the childhood years passed in Olshan. And now I was a Gemora student, learning from Moshe Elieh, the Gemora teacher. There were several levels; I was ambitious and quickly rose to the highest rank. Besides Gemora, Moshe Elieh taught other chapters from the Hebrew literature. To this day, the teaching of Moshe Elieh and his face remain in my memory, how he swayed his body, shaking the bench on which we sat. With a sweet sad Niggun, he sang the song of Joshua's rod,”Woe to all you sinners”. And we actually visualized his tirade against the people.

In those days I became deeply rooted to the world of teachers, of yeshiva boys. It was a grand event for me when Reuben Katz came from the yeshiva and presented a beautiful Pilpul Drash, a talmudic discussion, much of which I didn't understand. There was joy that such a large group had come from Olshan; mothers who had sent their children to the yeshiva looked with happiness at this 18 year old dark skinned boy who had swum through the Talmudic sea with such skill. His father Simon Italas had also been a great teacher. Katz listened several times to my Gemora recital.

When I was 19, I started to read books, which I used to buy from a dealer. He laid out his wares on a table at the shul, offering various holy books and also short novels and other writings of those times. The Dreyfus Affair was then going on in Paris and a paper had come out describing all the details of what had happened to Captain Dreyfus. We took all this in avidly. We went on to read Mendele Muter Sforim and one evening I read it for my mother until she fell asleep.

And that's how my life started to change. My friends and I started to think that besides Tanach, Talmud and Midrash, there was another side to being Jewish, a great and interesting world. We were more mature and started to get interested in social problems, and national Jewish history. We were also shocked by the Kishinev pogrom of 1903.

Bialek's “Moshe Nemirov” in which he exhorted Jewish youth to self–defense had not reached us yet. But we received a letter from Gitel Isaacs from New York, containing clippings from a Jewish newspaper [the Forwards?], with pictures showing how New York Jews reacted to these events. There were speeches by Jacob Schiff, the prominent Jewish banker, and quotations from other highly placed American officials angrily attacking the Tzar for having allowed this. Later there were mass demonstrations with signs “down with the Tzar and his pogroms”.

In those days messengers started coming to Olshan who spoke about the newly arisen Zionist movement, about Herzl, and the first Zionist congress. The rabbi excused us from cheder and we went to the shul to hear a speaker from Vilna. He gave us the news about Hersh Lekertz shooting the governor of Wall, who had beaten and shamed the Jewish revolutionary youths who had organized the first united May Day demonstration.

And that's how the first spiritual changes occurred in the lives of the Jewish youth of Olshan.

A teacher, I think his name was Levinson, taught us Yeshiva boys about the new Hebrew literature. He set out for us ‘Mshabbos Lshabbos’, a weekly paper by Nachum Sokolov which had been printed in Hatzfirah. Our teacher was attracted to Sokolov's language virtuosity, in which the Mishna and Midrash were expressed in a modern newspaper style, which would perhaps clarify the daily events of politics and history and the new currents of modern European literature. We read the Hatzfirah with great interest, and books from the new Hebrew literature. The new books resounded together with the Gemora– we didn't feel as sharp a conflict with the traditional teachings as in other settings.

We were inspired by the modern Hebrew style of Reuben Brainen, became familiar with ‘Al Parshas Drochim’ by Achad–He, who was more interested in Sholes Hay'hudas than in Shalos Hayehudim. The greatest influence on us was Peretz Smolensky with his ‘Hatueh Bdarchi Hachaim’ which cleverly featured our yeshivah boys life. He influenced us to look within ourselves to develop some certain goals.

Avrohom Mapu, with his ‘Ahavos Zion’ inspired us with Tanach style, to become ambitious, and had awakened us to a love of Zion. We read the Hebrew press but at the same time we read “The Friend”, a daily Jewish paper, published in Petersburg. The yeshiva boys took to reading Yiddish and were captivated by the new Yiddish creations, by the Yiddish and classic literature. Even mimeographed illegal sheets were brought in.

After the holidays, the yeshiva boys scattered, to Radin, to Voloshin, Telz, and I went to Vilna. The cart driver sat me on top of his wagon, piled high with merchandise like on a house boat. It was a cold night, the sky was glittering with a million stars. My feet felt like pieces of ice. The driver wrapped them in a blanket, otherwise they would have frozen.

I arrived in Vilna at the Ramailah yeshiva. I spent a lot of time in the library, yeshiva, and studied Gemora, a little Russian, arithmetic, geography, history and other subjects. There my thirst for knowledge developed. I spent a lot of time in the library and read books too difficult for a 15 year old, like ‘Conventional Lie’ and ‘Paradox’ by Max Nordau in Hebrew translation. I became attached to the works of the German philosophers Kant and Schopenhauer and read about Spinoza and his philosophical heresy.

The yeshiva boys' lives began to change. Many of them started to work. They had gotten instructions on teaching Hebrew, others got jobs as student teachers, usually from rich neighbors, who wanted their children to know more about Jewishness than a little bit of Hebrew prayer. I took such a position with a rich merchant in the town, not far from Vershbalova and I taught his sons Chumash, Rashi and a little Hebrew.

It wasn't easy for these yeshiva boys to adjust and we tried to find a way for ourselves in the ideas and arguments of those days, at the start of this century. The old ideas of our fathers had become remote, and the new ideas of the Haskala were a mish–mash of thoughts, violent words, nothing useful to put your hands on.

A girl from Vilna came to Olshan and told us about Hirsch Lekert who had fired on the Vilna governor because he had punished the demonstrators on 1 May. That led to talk of a workers union, and that's what arose in Olshan, the “Bund”.which attracted a few of the yeshiva boys and the poor student teachers, who had experience working long hours in the cramped shops of the shoe–repairmen and the tailors. In those days I was a Zionist and sold shekels to the workmen. When I asked Lazar, who had been learning tailoring from Avrohom Isaac, to buy a shekel, he declined. He took out a book from his pack, “A World with Planets”, and turned to me with the words, “Now I know everything about how the world was created. There is no god. We must throw off our chains of slavery”. That's what he told his boss Avrahom Isaac. Lazar had fought against Avrohom Isaac's authority against his prayers. He wanted to throw all his past away.

Conspiratorial conferences were held in a house in a distant corner of the town. There were sharp discussions between the S.S. (soviet socialist), the Zionists and the 'Bund'. This is how these meetings took place. After sunset, all of us, Zionists and Bundists went immediately to the ‘Zostzienik’, a meadow. A little path climbed up from the town. Both sides were surrounded by wild grasses and a little forest.. That's where the boys had their discussions, and also some flirting with the girls.

That's how it started in my time. I closed my Gemora and became a revolutionary. In my house the ‘arsenal’ was hidden, mostly revolvers, while we waited for the next pogrom. I collected money from the bosses in town for self–defense. For this sacred task I dressed up in a jacket and on my hat was a ribbon. In demanding money, I didn't beg, only threatened. Later, they told my mother they hadn't expected that “your Yankl, so quiet and studious should become such a firebrand.” At that time I belonged to the S.S., which held that Jews must find a place, a territory, not necessarily Eretz Israel. My assignment was to collect money to buy arms for the forest people.

Eruv Pesach in Olshan. the shoe store and the tailor's place were cluttered with preparations. Really a big deal! Yom Tov Pesach, commemorates the exodus from Egypt. Everyone saves up scrupulously for new clothing for the children of the angels, and also for themselves.

Several apprentices were working at Bruch the tailor's. Some were advanced and were supposed to become masters; others were just beginning. Bruch the tailor was not rich; at his tailor shop; he developed other business. He dealt in cedar, and he bought cloth from the peasants to send to Vilna. He was also not such an expert. The tailor apprenticeship lasted three years. In the first year, the apprentice learned little of the trade, he weighed the material, he carried out the remnants, cared for the sod in the summer. Only in the second year was he allowed to handle the material and by the end of the third year he was a master apprentice. The trainees didn't know any limits on their work hours. Sometimes they worked all night.

Among the yeshiva boys who became revolutionaries, was the son of Bruch the tailor. He had just finished the Ramailah class and came to Olshan. He organized the first strike in Olshan, and it was in his father's washroom. There remains in my memory a picture.

It was 1 AM.The yeshiva boys who had come to Olshan to celebrate Pesach with their families were going to study all night. But some of them had with them their text books of Russian grammar, and the ‘Bauer’ in German by Moshe Mendelson. The purpose was to learn the German language so they could be accepted into a Swiss university. In a corner the tailor's son. thinks and plans. He looks in his bag for a mimeographed sheet he had gotten in Vilna. He reads and whispers with his closest friend. They decide to close down Bruch's night shift. The two friends went to Bruch's washroom. On the way they met Freydel the cantor's daughter, a seamstress, a Bundist, who had just arrived from Vilna. It was rumored in the town that Bruch's talented son was almost ready to be ordained and had been walking around with the attractive cantor's daughter.

All three went to Bruch's laundry room and at 2 AM, they signaled the apprentices with a whistle, that they had to tear apart their work. They knew about this ahead of time so they were already outside and had left their work.. Bruch the tailor didn't understand what was happening. He ran outside without his coat, in his talis–koton and saw an unbelievable sight. His own son stood there, whistle in hand, and declared loudly “ You workers are the makers of all this.” Bruch exclaimed, “My god, what I see is that I won't be able to finish the work. God in heaven, my own child has destroyed my Holiday!”

Bruch woke his wife Esther, to see who was leading the apprentices astray. When Esther saw this, she fell into a faint, as one related later in the town. That dawn, when the drowsy Olshan Jews came to the market–place to open their stalls, they heard the news, that a strike had occurred at Bruch's tailor shop–and their new clothes could not be sewed for Pesach.

The young folks drove in from the big cities. That Pesach had been historic in Olshan. Police patroled the town. It had been a disrupted holiday; in Olshan had occurred the organization of the “General Jewish Worker Union, of Lithuania, Poland and Russia “.

The revolution against the Tzar did not spare Olshan . The whole land was on strike and there was a demand for a constitution and a democratically elected parliament. I was then an activist in the S.S. organization. We had declared the way, an important beacon to affect the course of the revolution. We issued decrees; no one was to enter or leave Olshan, no one was to work, bake bread, conduct business until the revolutionary Tribunal, as we called it then, said the strike was over. I wrote up these points and posted them in the shul and the market place.. We locked down the Monopol, the state–run brandy store, organized a demonstration in the market, set up platforms where speakers could clarify the edicts. There were cries, “Down with local government, Down with pogromists, Long live Free Russia”. The speakers were surrounded by our Bayevoi Otriad, combat companies, that protected them from attacks by the police and their agents.

We argued a little, fought over the questions of “here” or “there”, i.e. whether to uphold Jewish life here, or emigrate to Eretz Yisroel, to create a Jewish national home there. The Bundists maintained that Marxist principles did not justify a Jewish National Home outside of Russia. Since we already have a home, we need only fight for freedom. In my opinion we were influenced by Joshua and other heroes, and that we must defend the repressed and downtrodden. The yeshiva boys of Olshan had more common sense and followed the heroes rather than the Marxists whose works we hadn't read.

These are the Yeshiva boys of those days, inscribed in my memory.: Old Reishke, tall and generous, a good student like the others. He had noted the negative aspects of our new laws and discussed the contrast in schoolboy style with the other boys. Pesach Chaim later became a fighter in Israel. Both died in N.Y. Lazar the sad shoe–maker's son, died in a yeshiva in 1904. Reuben Mshalas, a dandied –up, handsome lad, a boss's son chose to stand with us, the poor class.

From the yeshiva I remember Nashke Geles, a fine conversationalist; he knew how to gain entry, to establish a relationship and to win sympathy. Thanks to him we lived in a fine house, furnished by a rich Vilna Jew. He had left for a dacha for the whole summer. This became a camp for talented children who were imbued with Jewish ideals.

Avrahom Chaim, the cantor's son, was not inspired by the times. He had a fine voice and became a cantor somewhere in Lithuania.. Bruch Gershon had worldly interests, he became a professor and got married. When I departed for N.Y., I saw him, with tallis and tefillin in his arm, walk into the shul, with sure tread, just like a prosperous official in the town. We regarded him with some envy. Ashram, a brother of Motel from Ashmen Street became an Olshan expert, settled in Minsk and was active in the social revolutionary movement. Together with the great Gershon, he was a sick man who came home to convalesce. During the short time he was in Olshan, he set up a camp for the perpetrators of the strike, who were penalized by being forced to whitewash the walls. He was an extraordinarily noble and ethical person. Chaim Leib (cf. below) and I saw him again when he taught in Minsk, and he helped us a lot. He died too young.

Toviah Isaacs had been renowned as a scholar. In 1904 he got ready with his family to join his father in NY. He suddenly became ill with typhus. I'll never forget his enthusiasm in the heat of summer, his fantastic willpower for his voyage to America. After the voyage over stormy seas, his father could hardly recognize him and brought him to a home in NY. There he learned a trade, later became a manufacturer, employing hundreds of trainees. He climbed higher and higher, became rich and famous. Everything that Toviah had imagined during the heat in Olshan came true. He eventually became a shirt manufacturer. He died young–he hadn't foreseen that, when he was delirious with fever.

I remember Moshe Yose Michles, when he was still a only a sentimental argumentative boy. He was a believer, but also a doubter. At age 9 he asked questions; whether the Tzadiks would wear their crowns on their heads in the Garden of Eden and teach Torah, how long would they sit, one year, 100 years, 1000 years–how long? When he was older he philosophized about the concept of 'Time'. He labored over this concept which the great thinkers had sought to define. He died in NY.

In conclusion, I am reminded of one of the chief leaders with whom I spent a day as a yeshiva boy: Moshe Elieh the Teacher he was called. I was 12 years old when I entered his house. It was the time when R. Isaac Reineses's yeshiva was founded in Lideh. There besides Talmud, one learned modern subjects. Moshe Elieh chatted with me about T rah principles and clarified the need for worldly subjects in the yeshiva. When the student learned about worldly subjects in the university, the professor would declare: Nature is like that–nobody can change it. But if you study science in the yeshiva, the religious teacher will conclude: “You see how complex and logical the world is constructed, how precisely and perfectly the planets orbit. All this harmony and synchrony is regulated by God.” In 1911, I met Moshe Elieh in NY, but know nothing more about his fate.

Chaim Leib Avrahom Isaac (Hyman) Sneider was my close friend since the age of four. He was charming, with rosy cheeks, a nice voice and a distinctive personality. We grew up together in a house which seemed like a ramshackle warehouse, the home of Avrahom Isaac, a son of Moshe the tailor. On Friday nights, when the lights had burned down and we came home from shul, the singing of ‘Sholom aleichum Malachi Hashiros’ could be heard through the open windows in all the streets of the town. That's how Avrahom Isaac and the children celebrated holy shabbos with singing. Chaim Leib's voice sounded the sweetest and strongest.

When we came from the yeshivas and filled the shul with the Gemora Nigguns, Chaim Leib's “Tanu Rvonin” filled the whole space with his sweet tenor. When we, his friends, were captivated by the new winds of Hebrew and Yiddish literature that blew through the streets, Chaim Leib was among the first of our group. He became close to the workers and Zionist organizations.

Here he is at 14, with sensitive face, proclaiming lofty ideas about freedom and tearing off the chains of slavery. He cited Karl Marx, but what did his tender vibrant soul have to do with ‘capital’, with ‘gaining wealth’? It was simply a revolt of the Jewish youth against the old exhausted concepts.

Chaim Leib's strength was in his tender romantic soul, his dear countenance which inspired his audience. Before we looked around, took our eyes off him, he had snapped up the prettiest young girl in our circle, Rachel, the shochets daughter. The boy's attention was diverted from us. When we used to meet him on the ‘Zostienik’, embracing Rachel, it seemed as if we had caught him stealing. In those days, the foremost principle was that the whole person belongs to the movement, it was not proletarian to be distracted by ‘love’.

After the 1905 revolution, when the great emigration began, Chaim Leib moved to New York, where there were already compact Jewish communities and cultural life. He became part of a Jewish circle which determined to strengthen the new generation to maintain Jewish traditions and principles. That was the Shalom Aleichum Institute in which Chaim Leib had become rooted spiritually. In that circle he made friends and admirers.

As soon as he appeared, he became an object of interest, and when he settled in, one of his friends said,”Chaim Leib, sing something!”. He started a sweet melody and the whole group was enlivened. He also had important duties in the formation and maintenance of the Olshan community organization before the first and second world wars. He helped create aid for the Olshan victims. I was present at a meeting of Olshaners where he presided. It was evident that he provided the spiritual strength that cemented and maintained the organization. And then Chaim Leib passed away. In the big city of New York, where most people are not noticed, when Chaim Leib died, in mid–week, hundreds of people came to the last rites. The Olshaners mourned–he had been their shield, their talented child. His friends who were enthralled by his personality, and I who had been together with him from the earliest youth–were inconsolable. In our Yizkor book, our Chaim Leib shall be remembered. We must tell our children about this man, this Jew from Olshan who lived, created, and brought joy to all. Gone, long before his time. Chaim Leib, we will always remember you.

[Pages 40-44]

Our family lived in Olshan for about 12 years. We came and left for other places, and had no family in Olshan. Perhaps it might be of interest to Olshaners, how their town may have appeared in the eyes of a child like me. My father was from Denburg, which was re–named Dvinsk. He was the older of two sons of Itze Noteh, a teacher, a bitter opponent of the Chassidim of that town, and an intense scholar. My mother was the daughter of the Drevitz rabbi. Her family lived in Vilna. As soon as my father was ordained, he became the shochet in the little town of Barun, near Olshan, and soon after my birth he became shochet in Olshan.

By the time I was 10, my father had left for America, and the family was already looking for shipping routes to join him. In the few years that we were waiting I went to school at the Lider yeshiva, then for a while in Volozhin. I stayed with my grandfather in Dvinsk, and came to Olshan only at holiday times. So how much could I remember about Olshan in such a short time under these circumstances?

But now the Olshan families have created an eternal memorial for their shtetl and they gave me the great honor of asking to me to write about Olshan, to describe how the town appeared to a young boy, now fifty years later at the start of the 20^th century.

I see Olshan at that time: a shtetl with four wide streets which intersect at the Market. A square where a beautiful large cathedral stood. The Jewish market stalls stood near the cathedral grounds. The other two sides of the market were taken up by various shops, with access to the market. Each of the four streets had two names. The first street, leading to the Market, was named Oshmen Street, since that was the road to Oshmen. On the other side of the Market, the street was named Schloss Street, because that was the road to the former Prince's castle. Another street, named Trober Street led to the town of Trob, while on the other side it was named Baruner Street, leading to the town of Barun. There were many little alleys branching off. I have seen enough cities and towns to conclude that Olshan was laid out nicely, if not quite modern.

In one such alley, near a lively lake, was the Beys Hamidrash, the shul and the public bath. These were the only public buildings in Olshan, if you don't count the Goyish places like the Post Office and the Police, the priest's enclave and private companies. The Jewish registry recorded births and deaths, and handled passport changes, valid or faked. And the rabbi's house to which one came not only for advice or Torah law, but also for salt and spices, which were the rabbi's monopoly. The rebbetzin handled those items, for which there was a fee.

I must say here that I have seen many instances where rabbis charged fees, even when the rabbi got his income from an atheist communist power. I think that the Olshan system of giving the rabbi a monopoly in such matters, was not so bad. Thus the rabbi was not dependent on the rich and powerful people in the town, as is the case even now in America. The religious leader didn't have to wait for contributions to be sent in, he only had to pray to God that the Jews should have enough to eat, and would have enough salt and spices. He didn't have to be concerned with every little part of his dominion. The rebbetzin was the only one to handle such transactions.

[Pages 45-48]

From 1920 to 1939, Olshan belonged to Poland. This area was called the Eastern district, the border lands. The Ziganke river streamed past the town, through gardens and orchards, surrounded by meadows and flowers, and was used for a watermill and to generate electricity. There were two smaller streams that flowed through the town; their clear waters arose from the hills near the fields. In summer, the flow was minimal, hardly evident. On Passover eve, when the snow was warmed in Spring, the current rose and overflowed its banks, spilling into the houses. Both streams emptied into the Ziganke.

The shtetl was surrounded by fragrant verdant forests, tended by gardeners and planters, giving rise to a beautiful fresh aroma. There the young Jewish folks used to enjoy themselves. From summer to late fall, The Ziganke was used by bathers, men, women, children, Jews and Christians from the neighboring towns. On the edge of Schloss Street, was the historic castle of Pavel Sapyeha, the great Lithuanian vice–chancellor.

Because of the course of events in Olshan between the wars, the shtetl's appearance changed. Instead of old wooden houses, brick walls and modern houses were built. The Jews lived in the center of town, and the Christians dwelt in the side streets and alleys. On one side of the market place, near the Catholic cathedral, stood a row of centuries–old wooden houses that belonged to Jews. The stalls were hated by the Catholic clergy, and in 1934 a mob of peasants, incited by the Catholic priests, inflicted a pogrom and damaged the roofs of some of the Jewish stalls and houses, which were then torn down by the Polish authorities. In their place they walled off two rows of stalls in the middle of the market place, dividing them among the Jewish merchants.

Market day was twice weekly. Peasants from nearby communities brought various products in to sell, such as eggs, butter, chickens, cows, horses, calves, sheep, flax, seeds, wood, straw, hay, apples. Everything they needed, they bought in the town stalls. There were two shuls in town, one new and one old. The Torah ark in the new shul was a work of art. There was also a Tarbos school and a Kavshechne school where many Jewish children attended. In order to get to a middle school, Jewish children had to go to Vilna, 70 kilometers distant. There was a Gymnasium in the area in Oshmen, 20 km away, but Jewish children were not welcome there, especially in the last years before WWI.

On the edge of the shtetl, in the forests and meadows, the Olshan Jews with wives and children used to take walks every Shabbos afternoon or between Mincha and Maariv, to enjoy the beautiful luminous landscape surrounding the shtetl. The fragrant air was filled with sounds of children laughing and playing. Boys and girls used to go further into the woods and various spots along the river. Joyous shouts, Jewish and Russian songs filled the air.

Today, Olshan is ‘Judenrein’. The Jewish houses are all occupied by Christians. There is no trace of our past. The two shuls and the bath have all been sold for wood. The Christians have destroyed the cemeteries, the trees all cut down. The more ornate grave stones have been taken down, smoothed and re–sold. The simpler stones were used as paths in the basements of buildings. And there where former generations had rested in eternal sleep, cows and horses graze.

The last Jewish families left Olshan in 1958.The hundred remaining survivors live mostly in Israel and America.

Jewish Olshan was composed of varied occupations: farmers, horse stable operators, shoemakers, tailors and a certain number of dealers and merchants. The Jews got along well with the Polish and White Russian peasants. Hundreds of Christian laborers, men and women, were employed in harvesting, binding and pressing the flax for the farmers. The relationship between the Christian workers of those days, and the Jewish farmers was good. There were no conflicts. The Christian inhabitants of Olshan had become accustomed to their Jewish neighbors. And that's why the Olshan Jews reacted to any affront by the Poles and White Russians, to organize anti–semitic policies in the town.

In Tsarist times there were instances when the bold Jewish youths beat off attacks by anti–semitic hooligans, discouraging them from future anti–Jewish excesses. It is worth remembering the battle that took place on Pesach eve, 1906, when Tsarist agents organized a pogrom against the local Jews. The young Jewish men bravely repelled an attack, and defeated the ruffians. The pogrom had been organized in response to a demonstration by the Jewish youth against the Russian rule. The demonstrators had forced the leader of the opposition to surrender his horse, which was then led off, bearing a red flag.

[Pages 48-50]

The revolutionary movement which stirred Tsarist Russia 1904–1905 also affected Olshan. The shtetl , which was in the Vilna district, was influenced by the revolutionary fervor there. Yaakov Kaplan has described the revolution's beginnings among the Jewish youth of Olshan . The next segment tells about some of the individuals who created and led the organizations of the Bund and the S.S.

In 1904–05, our town had two parties, the Bund and the S.S. Both parties were founded by activists from Vilna. They had gathered in the young workers in the tailoring, weaving and shoe repair trades. Most of them belonged to the Bund. The S.S. attracted former yeshiva boys, who had dropped out to follow worldly Yiddish and Russian literature. Of these comrades, I remember: Chaim Leib, son of Isaac the tailor; Pesach Chaims, son of a tailor; Beilah, daughter of a teacher. I was then active in the S.S., which had been started by the teacher, Dolinski.

The comrades of the S.S. party formed a charity group, concerned with helping the poor and ill. They also organized a savings and loan bank, which was supported by various outside Jewish organizations, and provided low interest loans to merchants and farmers. Later, the head of the bank was Polanski.

During the pogroms of those days in Russia, Olshan was relatively quiet. There were only occasional attacks on Jews. Ruffians sometimes broke windows with stones. It could be that we avoided pogroms because the Christians knew that we had secret weapons. The head of the Bund at that time was the teacher, Comrade Samson, who had been sent from Vilna to energize the party. He had a strong effect on the town and the region, but one day he shot himself in the heart. The reason for his suicide was unknown. His funeral turned into a huge demonstration, comrades came from all over, to sing revolutionary songs, to accompany him to his grave. Other Vilna activists were a Tzerna woman and finally Dolinski.

In 1902–03, the Jewish organizations of socialist worker parties greatly increased. They called themselves S.S., which meant Zionist socialists [in Russian 'sionisti']. This organization was quite active, and sponsored lectures and discussions, with support from the Bund. We remember those discussions about the thoughts and ideas that influenced the Jewish youth of Olshan and what became of them. The activists from the Bund asserted that Russia was the home of Jews now, and they should not seek new territories. If the revolution would succeed in Russia, the Jews would be free, and there would no longer be a Jewish Question. The Jews would be liberated, equal, autonomy would be secured, with development of Jewish culture. That was the mantra of the Bundists.

The S.S. proponents argued that no revolution could fully solve the Jewish Problem; as long as Jews had no territorial center, they would not be able to develop their economic and national interests. This center didn't have to be in Palestine, but could be created in any land with scanty population. But how long should Jews have to struggle in Russia together with non–Jewish socialists to win a free democratic destiny? What would be most helpful in getting such a land?

One of the organizers of the Olshan S.S. party was Chaim Leib. His father, Isaac, was a tailor, who had given his son a strict religious upbringing. Chaim was a good student, and at the time of the 1905 revolution he left his studies and joined the S.S. He was an activist and a good speaker.

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