[Pages 179-196]

Reb Israel Shochet was a Torah scholar. When he was not busy slaughtering animals he was studying the holy texts.

He would mainly slaughter the poultry that the town's pious women brought to him. It was said that when an animal had been ritually slaughtered by Reb Israel, the meat was fit for the consumption of the holiest men. He would slaughter in the yard behind his house. Sometimes they had to literally drag him away from a book. He was unhappy when someone interrupted his study asking him to slaughter a chicken.

Reb Israel was also masterful when he led people in prayer. One of the best prayer leaders. On the pulpit he was sweet as honey, a pleasure to listen, especially during the Days of Awe and the other holidays. The words would flow from him like a clear stream of water cascading from a mountain. His intonation was extraordinarily harmonious. He would modulate the tones and tastefully bring forth the meaning of the prayer. He prayed in the large House of Study, which was always packed when he stood at the pulpit.

Those who followed him were mainly from the poorer class of Jews in town, including artisans, peddlers, and small merchants. They were fascinated by every word that came out of his lips. They were sure that the Almighty would hear his prayers and show his mercy to the Jews.

Reb Israel Shochet had a lovely family. His daughters were married to important men in Gombin. His children raised beautiful families as well. Some of Reb Israel's grandchildren would later hold distinguished positions in modern Jewish institutions, including the unforgettable Sarah Golda and her husband Shmuel Leib, and Brocha and her husband Yitzchak Moshe Guyer, who are now very active in the Jewish School movement in Chicago.

However, most of Reb Israel Shochet's children and granchildren were among the six million martyrs, our sisters, brothers, and innocent children who were exterminated by the Nazi murderers. Let my words here serve as a memorial to one of the finest Jewish families that ever lived in Gombin.

Gombin types: Abraham and Yosef Pytel, uncles of Jacob M. Rothbart

Her name was Yocheved Goldberg but in Gombin everyone knew her as simply Yocheved.

Yocheved was blind in both eyes. No one really knew how it had happened. Some people thought that she had been born that way. Others said that she became blind when she was a child. In any case, whatever the origin of her blindness, she was doubtlessly one of the most remarkable personalities in town.

Despite her total blindness, Yocheved had an independent business and helped her father bear the burden of earning a living. Neither business was a gold mine, but they managed to make ends meet. Her father Jacob dealt with “non–Kosher merchandise”. He sold Turkish tobacco, saccharine and other items that were strictly controlled by the Russian government and required the payment of steep excise taxes. But as the Yiddish saying goes, “a Jewish scholar always finds a solution”, and Jacob Goldberg was a bit of a scholar. He had many holy books in his large room. He would always hold a book in his hand and appear to be reading it, pretending to be unaware of what was going on around him. From time to time, he would raise his head and cast an unhappy glance sideways, saying nothing and returning his eyes to the book.

In her store, Yocheved sold sweets to the Jewish children of Gombin. One could buy from her the most expensive sweets and all sorts of candy, shtrudels, and nuts. What sweets could you not buy from her? Her assortment was comparable to anything available in the best shops of the largest Polish cities.

Yocheved's store was on the second floor of a tenement house facing the market square, not far from Poznanski's brick building (which was five stories high and surrounded by a brick wall). Children from all over town came to her place. At Yocheved's, teenagers experienced their first pangs of love in their young hearts. Today it would seem strange and impossible, but in those days young boys and girls hardly ever spoke to one another. They kept up appearances to avoid the risk of a bad reputation. The kids knew that there were people in town who loved gossip and were always ready to speak ill of others. That could hurt your standing and, God forbid, your chance of a good marriage in the future. Everyone tried to behave decently and show respect for each other.

Of course, there were exceptions. A romance would ignite, sometimes even leading to a match and a wedding. But such cases were very unusual. Just the fact of meeting people from the opposite sex made you happy. And if you did fall in love, it was wise to stay quiet, be modest, and wait for a more appropriate opportunity…

Remarkably, despite the fact that she was blind, Yocheved could sense the feelings of the youngsters and made a point of giving them opportunities for conversation. It is easy to understand why everyone loved her. She cared for the young like a good mother, and sometimes more.

Yocheved ran her candy business with great skill and sensibility. Upon receiving payment, she felt the coins in her hand and knew whether they were silver or copper. She calculated how much was owed and returned the exact amount of change, rarely making a mistake. She knew everyone and it would be fair to say that she was a first–rate psychologist. If someone was short a few pennies, she knew exactly who could be trusted. If someone was trustworthy, she would say: come on, take it, you'll pay me later. That was Yocheved, the daughter of Jacob Goldberg. Those who knew her have never forgotten her. She will be always remembered with love and gratitude. She honestly earned it.

Leiser Wigdorowicz was a distinguished person in Gombin. Just the name Wigdorowicz told people that he was an important man. His stature alone imposed respect. He was tall, with a bright face and a nicely combed beard. His eyes were happy and inviting: “Look at me! See my pious ways, how I sway in all directions when I pray, and the dignified way in which I come down the steps from my favorite spot on the synagogue's eastern wall”. Leiser the Hasid admonished the simple Jews to be quiet during prayers. After their Bar–Mitzvah, some boys would wander aimlessly round the House of Study with the tefillin boxes on their heads, trying to show off as “perfect” Jews. Leiser the Hasid would grab such boys by the tefillin box, drag them to the door, and throw them out. Understandably, those boys became his archenemies. But nobody dared stand up to Leiser the Hasid, not even the parents of the boys, who resented the fact that he embarrassed their children.

The respectable Hasid Leiser Wigdorowicz had a dry goods store at the corner of the shochets' street and the market (where Plock Street began). His residence was on the back of the dry goods store. It was a nice house with good furniture. He had several large trunks where, in addition to his own money, he kept the money “deposited” by humble women who were saving to provide dowries for their daughters. These poor women looked at every saved penny as the parting of the Red Sea. What would not a mother do for her children? Was it not true that they would deny anything to themselves in order to collect enough for their daughters' dowries? Saving for dowries was essential to ensure a good match and, since there was no bank in Gombin, the mothers entrusted their money to wealthy Jews who held it in their secure iron trunks. Depositing money with the rich Jews was considered to be safe, and the house of Leiser the Hasid was one of the places where the poor families kept their savings.

Leiser Wigdorowicz did business on a large scale. He would buy merchandise from large warehouses in Lodz, Zyrardov, and Pabianice and he would sell it in Gombin and nearby towns. His dealings included large transactions based on credit and promissory notes with predetermined conditions.

One nice day, the town awoke to find that Leiser Wigdorowicz' dry goods store was closed and sealed with extra large locks. Leiser the Hasid was bankrupt again. Actually, the people of Gombin knew that he had gone bankrupt before. Some of his detractors would even say that Leiser the Hasid went bankrupt “every Monday and Thursday”.

So, what happened to the deposited money that the poor women had worked so hard to save? Leiser's house had also been locked for a few days. But the family eventually returned to town. The poor women came running and, out of breath, knocked at Leiser's door. The respectable Jew and his wife put a sad face, cried, and asked for pity: “We have suffered an unfortunate tragedy, we have lost everything we had, there is nothing left: can't you see good people, that catastrophe befell us?”

To make a long story short, people yelled, screamed and cursed but there was nothing to do. Leiser the Hasid was bankrupt. The poor women lost every penny they had entrusted to him.

After a short time Leiser's dry goods store reopened and was again full of merchandise. The peddlers and the poor women who sat in the market stalls came back, again bringing their saved pennies for safekeeping in Leiser Wigdorowicz' iron trunks.

The repetition of the bankruptcies of this “righteous man” raises a puzzling question. How was it possible that, after every financial disaster, people would come back and again deposit their savings with the “saintly man in furs” Leiser Wigdorowicz? I highly doubt that even the smartest person in the world would be able to provide a logical explanation…

When Hershorn was born he was named after his two grandfathers, of blessed memory, Hirsh and Aaron. The Jews of Gombin were not always accurate in pronouncing names. When they vocalized the two names quickly together, “Hirsh” and “Aaron” were fused together into “Hershorn”, one name.

When he was still very young, not long after his Bar–Mitzvah, Hershorn became a tailor's apprentice. Soon, however, an official of Czar Nicholas I came to Gombin to recruit children between the ages of 10 and 15 for military service. In those times, conscripts had to serve the Czar and the “fatherland” for 25 years. Hershorn was one of the draftees. He was torn away from his parents, sisters, brothers, friends and the Jewish life to which he was so attached.

But he turned out to be luckier than others. The Czarist authorities were always looking for free labour and, since he was an apprentice tailor, he was placed in a soldiers' workshop that produced uniforms for the military. Then they sent him to Vilna, where he worked as a tailor in a large military factory for the rest of his 25 years of service.

In Vilna something happened that made him happy and influenced his whole life. He met Esther–Malka, a smart, healthy Jewish girl whom he married. When he was released from the military, Hershorn and Esther–Malka returned to Gombin with their three full–grown, pretty daughters. In Gombin, Hershorn bought a comfortable home with a large family room on shochets' street. He installed a big white ceramic–tiled oven in the large room. When he lit the oven in the winter just before the Sabbath, his place remained warm until the Sabbath ended. His large family room and oven became popular in shochets' street. During the worst frosts of the winter, Esther–Malka hosted a lot of guests. In addition to their own family, neighbours and other poor people who lived on the same street filled their large room. She would offer the guests a cookie, sometimes a glass of kvass from dried apples, which she would cook before the Sabbath in a large pot. In short, Hershorn and Esther–Malka's house on shochets' street was a very popular place in Gombin.

Their large room was also used to celebrate the weddings of the members of Hershorn's family, which was quite large. Sometimes strangers would ask Esther–Malka if they could use the room for their daughters' weddings. Esther–Malka did not have the heart to refuse anyone. They always managed to find extra boards for tables and benches to accommodate the crowds.

Funny things occasionally happened during these celebrations. At the wedding of the daughter of one of Hershorn's relatives, the bride's brothers and sisters began to set up the tables and benches for the guests. Realizing that there would not be enough places for everybody, they asked uncle Hershorn to help them find more boards for installing benches. Bringing a board, he asked them to estimate the number of people that would be able to sit on that bench. When they told him, he said that the bench would not be strong enough to support that many. They laughed, ignored his advice, and did what they wanted. Then, when everybody sat at the table with the bride and groom, there was a sudden wham! The bench broke, the guests were on the floor with cutlery, food, and golden broth on their fancy clothes, and everyone was screaming. Some of those on the floor were the same youngsters who had dismissed their uncle's warning. Now it was Hershorn's turn to laugh at them” “Didn't I tell you the bench would not hold?”

Esther–Malka had brought with her the Lithuanian Yiddish dialect that she spoke in her hometown Vilna. However, after a few years living with her husband's family and neighbours she began to speak like the other women in Gombin. Very soon her accent disappeared and you would have never known that she once spoke differently. Other traits from her youth did stay with her for the rest of her life, like her sobriety, her strong practical sense, and her calm disposition. She would not get overly excited as the women in Gombin usually did. And she would always take pleasure in Herhorn's comical actions and expressions, despite the fact that it was anybody's guess whether they were deliberate or just a reflection of his naiveté. This continued even when they were older with grown children and grandchildren.

Upon his return to Gombin, Hershorn had discovered that his 25 years in the Russian military workshops had made him an exceptionally good tailor. So he did what the Jews had always done when they had something good to sell. He packed his prayer shawl and phylacteries, needle and thread, a lead pot, scissors, and a few other items and set off on foot to visit the villages of the region's ethnic German farmers. Hershorn already spoke the “high” German of the lowlands and, with the help of God and his natural kindness, it did not take him long to acquire a substantial clientele among the affluent German farmers. In fact, the Germans loved him because he had their same mentality. He was outgoing, friendly, and always ready with a joke or a funny expression. The result? Hershorn got a lot of work. In those times, the wealthy Germans took tailors into their homes until their work was completed. Sometimes they would spend weeks in a German house. On Friday afternoon, the tailor (and his assistant, if he had one) would walk home for Sabbath and the weekend. On Monday at dawn he would pack up his sewing accessories, prayer shawl and phylacteries and return to the house of the German farmer until the end of the week.

Hershorn was successful from the start. His first German client received him warmly in his home. On the first Friday, when Hershorn was preparing to go back home for the weekend, the German gave him some flour and a sack of green peas that he had brought from a faraway place… Vilna! Hershorn returned home and surprised Esther–Malka and the daughters with the prized gift from their hometown, triggering a memorable scene of overjoy and excitement.

With his natural sense of humor, Hershorn introduced a new style to the German homes. He told all types of jokes, making the entire household happy with his whims. In between, he revamped their clothes and their underwear by hand. Sewing machines were not popular yet, and when they finally arrived Hershorn refused to use those “trinkets”, as he called them. “Rather than fooling around with a machine that can ruin the clothes or mutilate my hands, I will sew by hand faster than a speeding bullet and your clothes will be ready before you know it!” He would call everyone in the household including slaves and servants and say: “When my work is done, we must have a party”. And he would make all of them, the homeowners and all the servants without exception, sing the following song with him: “The trousers are elegant; tra–la–la, tra–la–la, the trousers are ready, tra–la–la, clothes made by male tailors, clothes made by female seamstresses, tra–la–la, tra–la–la, tra–la–la…” After he taught them the song they would all sing it together several times. The Germans would roll on the floor laughing. No wonder Hershorn got plenty of work from them!

One day an obese German woman asked him to make extra–wide slacks for her. He stood there in shock. What should he do? He would have to measure her big ass for the pants. He placed his right palm on his cheek, as he always did when he had to make a difficult decision. The German woman stared at him with consternation: what he could possibly be thinking about? She did not know that Hershorn would not put his hands around a woman to measure her. Sometimes he allowed himself to use the household's pots to cook himself some pasta, of he would eat a piece of the non–Kosher bread or cheese made by the German women. For these things he could find an excuse. But how could he put his arms around a woman to measure her, and a German woman to boot? Hershorn could not allow himself to do this.

Deep in thought he suddenly had an idea. He fetched his bag, taking out a piece of chalk and one of the large sheets of paper that he always carried with him to make molds. He then returned to the German woman, who was still standing in perplexity. Hershorn spread the paper on the floor and told her to lie down and stretch out her legs. She did as he asked. Like most German women from the lowlands, she was not shy, so she lay there waiting to see what would happen. Chalk in hand, Hershorn began to dance around her, drawing the contours of her hips and legs. When he was finished with his markings he told her that she could now stand up. With great effort, the fat German woman lifted herself from the floor and a smiling Hershorn told her that when the slacks were ready they would organize a special party.

Water carriers in Gombin

They called him Mulicher , but that was not his last name. A “mulicher” was someone who smuggled people across borders. Since Gombin was far from the border it is hard to understand why they called him Mulicher. But we can leave that for now. Maybe others will want to investigate it. For our description of him, it is not important.

Everyone in Gombin knew Hershele Mulicher. First, because he owned a haberdashery store in the marketplace, right under Poznanski's five story building. Second, because he had a big mouth. He would talk about everybody, always cutting to the quick.

His favourite targets were the religious figures of the town. He would mock the way in which the Rabbi's wife walked to the ritual bath and he would pock fun at the cantor, his wife, and other leaders of the Gombin community.

Hershele Mulicher was surrounded by a group that could not get enough of his jokes. One of his admirers was the writer of official requests, whose beautiful handwriting literally danced on the paperwork. He always took Mulicher's side and often gave him ideas for his jokes.

One would think that Mulicher was an ignoramus or a boor, but the opposite was true. When you walked into his haberdashery he was always reading a holy book annotated by Rashi. He behaved like the other Jews of Gombin. In the synagogue and the House of Study, he would always sit with his gang on the back benches.

In my later years, when I was far from Gombin, I sometimes wondered what sort of person Hershele Mulicher was. Was he an enlightened Jew? If that was the case, why was it that nobody mentioned him when talking about the teachings of the town's Enlighteners? Was he a complete heretic who wanted to avoid hostility in our small traditional town? It is difficult to understand. But one thing is clear: compared to the rest of the Gombin's Jewish population, he was completely different. It is worthwhile, then, to record here the various” types of Jews that one could find in Gombin.

Chayaleh Stolzman did not belong to the old generation of settled Jews of Gombin that I have described in previous chapters of my memoirs.

Chayaleh was the daughter of a wealthy family, the Stolzmans. Her grandmother, who was still alive, reminded me of the matriarch in Jacob Gordin's play “Mirele Efros”. She held the whole family together and her sons, daughters, and grandchildren respected every word she said. With the exception of one son who was a Hasid, all her children were assimilationists. They all spoke Polish and when they had to talk with a Jew they spoke German. There were many ethnic Germans around Gombin, and many Jews spoke Yiddish, Polish and German. The Stolzmans owned a large tavern and their children were among the wealthiest German speakers in Gombin.

Now that I have described Chayaleh's family background, I can tell you about the rest of her life.

In her early years Chayaleh received the best education that affluent “half–assimilated” Jewish parents could provide to their children in a small town like Gombin. They hired private teachers who taught them Polish, German and Russian. Chayaleh was taught to play piano and learned everything else that was deemed appropriate for a Polish young lady of Jewish origin. She was a good student, absorbed everything, and became a passionate reader. Her favorite writers were the German poets Goethe, Shiller and Lessing. She also idolized German musicians like Haydn, Beethoven, Schumann, and Schubert. In one word, she was in love with German culture. In addition to being so well educated, Chayaleh was a gentle person who respected people regardless of their nationality and always sympathized with the poor.

Chayaleh's closest childhood friend was Malka Wolfowicz, from a wealthy Jewish family who were not yet as assimilated as the Shtoltzmans. Malka's father, Zelig Wolfowicz was a forestry businessman. On the Sabbath he and his wife Itele would dress up and go to synagogue. He joined the men downstairs while Itele sat upstairs in the women's section. After prayers, they would meet and walk home together. Zelig was a handsome man. Tall, with a broad body and a full blond well–groomed beard, he looked like a giant beside his wife Itele who was short and thin. This did not stop her from giving birth to half a dozen children. With the exception of one (who was not bright) they were all healthy and talented, including their only daughter Malka, Chayaleh's best friend.

When we founded the Jewish workers' organization Bund in Gombin, Chayaleh and Malka were among the first women to join the movement. Despite the fact that they were only teenagers, they were among the most devoted activists. They began recruiting new members and learning Yiddish in order to read the Bund's documents and publications, but they soon proved to be very useful to the movement in other ways.

The Czarist officials in Gombin had detected that we were organizing a revolutionary movement and it was very important to avoid “falling into their hands” before we managed to expand and consolidate. The two girls were good friends with the children of the Polish mayor of Gombin (who, as we learned later, was not a fan of the Czarist regime). Thanks to Chayaleh and Malka, we got detailed information from the town hall about the activities and plans of the police.

When the girls told us that gendarmes would come from Gostynin to carry out searches in the middle of the night, we immediately took steps to hide all the “incriminating” literature we had about the Bund. Many of our members simply did not go home to sleep that night. Later on, Chayaleh and Malka were able to tell us whose homes would be searched. In a nutshell, the help of the two girls allowed us to survive intact the repression of the Czarist regime. I cannot here include all the details of that memorable episode. Hopefully, it will be possible to do it on another occasion.

One more word about Chayaleh and Malka. After almost sixty years, I cannot stop admiring those fine, gentle and moral women. It is true that all Jewish youth at that time were highly idealistic. The activists of the movement thought little about personal matters. The Jewish youth were prepared to sacrifice in order to achieve human dignity and freedom for the Jews and all mankind. As Jews, they felt they had to fight for the general freedom of all. And they wanted to correct all the injustices and humiliations suffered by the Jews throughout their history. That is why they thought little about their personal happiness when they immersed themselves in the struggle.

Until 1909, three years after arriving in America, I would still receive the occasional periodical from Chayaleh. But I did not hear anything from or about her after that. Then, while visiting my sister in Montreal during the winter of 1947–48, I met a recently arrived survivor from Gombin, Abraham Grzywacz (grandson of Boruch Grzywacz). I asked him about various people and, when I mentioned Chayaleh Stolzman, he told me the following story.

When Hitler's armies attacked Poland and occupied Gombin, they immediately began to mistreat the Jews. They made arrests tearing the men away from their women and children. They stole what they wanted and requisitioned many of their houses, killing, beating and throwing out the half–naked Jews after they took everything.

Chayaleh Stolzman could not understand how the Germans, the people of the high culture, the people of her adored Goethe, Shiller and Lessing, could possibly perpetrate such atrocities. She thought that it was a matter of simple soldiers running wild during wartime. She believed that the German officers did not know what these soldiers were doing. So one day, without telling anyone, she went to speak with the commandant of Gombin. She wanted to inform him what his soldiers were doing to the Jews.

The commandant looked at her with contempt and shouted: “You damn swine Jewess! How do you even dare come to me?” He called his soldiers and ordered them to tie her up. For a few days they tormented her with various forms of abuse, and in the end they tied her to a horse and dragged her naked through the streets of Gombin. The Polish neighbours that watched it were laughing with mockery on their piggish faces. That was how Chayaleh Stolzman gave up her clean soul. Let this be written for all generations, and may the nation of murderers that could perpetrate such atrocities never be able to wash away the blood of our martyrs! Honor her holy memory!

There were many Jews in Gombin named Chaimele, and every Chaimele had a nickname, otherwise nobody would know which Chaimele you were talking about. The nickname of the Chaimele I am describing here was “Keep it going”. You may wonder: how on earth did he get such a funny nickname? Well, this is the story.

Chaimele was a short, solidly built middle–aged man. He had a wife and a house full of children. His older boys worked with him in his workshop, making peasant coats from coarse fabrics of inferior quality. Chaimele was very good at his craft, and the family lived well compared to other Jewish families in Gombin. He was a good–natured, lighthearted man who sometimes would come across as a bit childish.

On Friday evening Chaimele would sit at the table and lead his sons in lively Sabbath songs. Most of his melodies came from the mechanical music of pianolas, music boxes and carousels or from the songs of the Russian soldiers that often marched through Gombin. His tune for the grace after the meal was playful. It sounded exactly like a Russian military march. Later in my life I was reminded of Chaimele – Keep it going when I read the Yiddish writer I.M. Visenberg's story called “A Father With Sons”.

The carousels used to come to Gombin for the summer fairs. They were set up at the German market square and would amuse the town for a week or two. The place was full of children and youngsters, Poles and Jews, who never missed an evening. The carousel was the main attraction for the kids, who loved to climb on the horses and carriages and go round and round with the tunes coming from the music box. They brought every possible penny they could get at home in order to pay for the rides. Some engaged in daring acrobatics, jumping from one horse to another or from a carriage to a horse in the middle of the ride. It was noisy and everyone was thrilled. Chaimele was always there. A man with a beard among all the kids. The Jewish boys would tease him: “Chaimele, I bet you won't be able to withstand one turn on the carousel. You will either faint or fall off the horse. You are a chicken guy who is afraid of everything”. Chaimele held back for a long time. He knew that he was the only grown–up man among all these “rascals”. He felt embarrassed, but he really wanted to get on one of the horses and enjoy the exhilaration of turning round and round.

One evening the young clowns teased him so much that he could not restrain himself any longer. He paid the few cents for the ride and jumped on a horse.

The kids celebrated a great victory. They stood around the carousel and every time Chaimele passed by on his horse they shouted: “Chaimele, Keep it going!”

In short, when the ride ended, Chaimele came down from the horse looking pale and wobbling from dizziness. Well, I am sure that you are already guessing what happened next. Everybody rolled with laughter when they heard the story. Whenever they met him, they would greet him with the words: “Chaimele, Keep it going!” And that's how he earned his nickname for the rest of his life.

It was generally accepted as a fact of life that every Jewish community had a crazy person. Gombin had two, a man and a woman. I will first tell you about crazy Ruchele.

She was a tall woman with a pale face, wacky eyes, long hands and feet, and a lunatic's appearance. She spent her days wandering through the Jewish streets in the rags that she received from pious women. She begged for food and very few turned her down.

Where did Ruchele live? No one knew. There were homes that offered her a place to sleep on cold winter nights, but she always refused.

Hardly anyone knew where she came from. Did she have relatives, sisters, brothers, family? It was simply a mystery, and few were interested in those questions. There was a house for the poor in Gombin, but she did not want to go there. She just wandered through the cracks and ruins of the Jewish streets of the town. Christian women would tell us that they sometimes saw her in a barn with the animals. The summer months were not as bad, but people wondered how she managed through the winter. She did not live long, but during her short life she was a rarity even for a secluded town like Gombin.

One night, a few years after she passed away, I was coming home from the Heder of Mordechai the teacher with a lantern in my hand. It was dark and raining. As I turned into the shochets' street I heard someone plodding behind me. I turned my head and saw crazy Ruchele. I began to take faster steps. The faster I walked, the faster she ran after me. I “knew” that dead people assembled after midnight at the nearby synagogue and stayed there until the first crow of the rooster… But it was still early in the night and I was overcome with fear that she would take me who knows where, maybe to the demons. When I finally reached my house, totally pale, my good mother Sarah of blessed memory was alarmed. “What happened my child?” I told her crazy Ruchele had tried to snatch me. “What are you talking about my child? Ruchele has been dead for a long time and dead people don't snatch children.”

A funeral in Gombin

Crazy Yosele was the opposite of crazy Ruchele. His madness was of the melancholic type. He would wander around town in silence. He hardly ever spoke to anyone but he would do bizarre things. For example, in the summer he would sleep on the stretcher that was used to carry the corpses to the cemetery. The stretcher had a top cover made of a ripped black cloth that looked like a carriage awning. The bottom was like a bed mounted on posts, with front and back handles to carry the corpse. Since it was quite a distance to the cemetery, they would lift the stretcher and carry it on the shoulders of six or eight men. When the carriers got tired, others would take over. In those days, they did not use wagons to bring the dead to their final resting place.

The stretcher was kept in the anteroom of the synagogue, standing on legs that opened and closed. The burial society was unhappy about the fact that Yosele liked to sleep on the stretcher. Some members would scold him but, when they did it, the other members silenced them. They said that he should be left alone. Why bother about a mad guy?

What Yosele probably did not know was that, in Gombin, some people believed that every night the dead came to the synagogue to read the Torah and celebrate. There was a story that, one night, a Jew was walking by the synagogue and heard their prayers. They called out his name to bestow him the honour of reading the Torah. The man knew that when the dead call you, you have to go. If not, you could drop dead in the middle of the street. And when you enter the synagogue, you must go straight to the pulpit and bless the Torah without looking around. You have to keep your eyes closed and, when you are done, leave the synagogue without looking back until you are safely out on the street.

This legend and others did not make a difference for crazy Yosele. He slept on that stretcher for years and the dead never disturbed his sleep. They left him alone…

In the cold nights of winter crazy Yosele would lie on a hard bench near the warm oven in the House of Study. He slept there through the entire winter.

Yosele did other crazy things. Every day he would go from house to house begging. The women would give him some grits or a piece of bread to eat. Sometimes he got more bread than he could eat. What should he do with the leftover bread? Throw it away? No! Perhaps the next day he will not get anything and go hungry… Where to hide it? He looked for cracks and holes and stuffed them with bread. One of his favorite hiding places was the Holy Ark in the House of Study. There were many small niches… a perfect place to stuff the bread. The result? Lots of mice running around the House of Study!

Shloime Jacob the house's custodian, investigated where all the mice were coming from. He knew that it was not allowed to bring food to the House of Study. He questioned the boys who sat there all day studying the Torah. Maybe they knew something? Maybe it was them that were bringing food to the place? Shloime Jacob was desperate to solve the mystery.

One night, as some boys were deep into their studies, Shloime Jacob heard some rustling near the Holy Ark. He ran to see what was happening and saw crazy Yosele with his head inside the ark. “Yosele, what are you doing? Did you put something in there?”

When Shloime Jacob finally saw what was going on inside the ark he was shocked. Oy! There were pieces of bread stuffed into every corner… It took him a lot of work to clean the Holy Ark and get rid of the mice.

Yosele did this and other crazy things. It was hard to bear. No one could figure out how to stop him and his antics.

This story goes back to when I was very young. I was a pupil at the Heder of Mordechai the teacher. One day, when we finished studying the portion of the week and were ready to go home, Reb Mordechai told us “Children! Tomorrow, God willing, will be a great day. You do not need to come to school.” The rumblings about the new chandelier had been going on in Gombin for quite some time. The people in town had been talking about the need to beautify and decorate the synagogue, which was very old and everyone loved. They decided to hang a big light fixture to brighten and enliven the building.

They collected money and everyone gave what they could. The enterprise took a long time and, at one point, people began to lose hope that enough funds would be raised to buy the fixture.

But the day finally arrived. A young man from Gombin went to Warsaw in order to look around for an appropriate light fixture. If I remember right, it was at Elstein's chandelier factory that he found an antique fixture that was exquisite and the price was right.

He returned from Warsaw and told everyone about the chandelier and its cost. A committee was formed to handle the matter. Everyone was talking about this rare antique even before it arrived from Warsaw.

When the chandelier arrived in Gombin, the committee decided to turn the day into a holiday and organize a parade to take it to the synagogue. I cannot recall who was in charge, but the best director could not have put together a more beautiful mass scene. At the front was a large wagon with the fixture. Following the wagon were the rabbi, the cantor, the rabbinic judge, and other scholars from town. After them came the synagogue administrators and the wealthy Jews, the members of the burial society, elderly Jews with grey beards, middle–aged men with black beards, younger men with incipient beards, and excited children of all ages. On the side of the street were the women, young and old. Everyone was happy, imbued with the feeling of a divine presence, but trying not to display too much joy (Jews are not allowed to be too happy).

In my later years I saw paintings of Jewish artists that illustrated mass gatherings of Jews. I remember one that was called “Diaspora”. It showed a large group of Jews walking in the desert. Tired and distressed, they dragged themselves through the wasteland, with disheveled twisted beards, chased by the storm winds.

But I never saw a painting depicting the mass of Jews with happy faces that I saw that day in Gombin when they brought the chandelier to the synagogue.

When they hanged it on the chain that had been prepared in advance, and lit the lights which hung with polished glass on all sides, the synagogue looked majestic. The wooden carved Holy Ark, covered by a blue satin curtain trimmed in gold, stood out more radiant than ever. The coloured glass on the windows took on a new regal appearance as the whole synagogue came alive.

[Page 197-200]

I will never forget that Jew from Gombin. I remember him from when I was a small boy. Every time he looked at me I felt a throb in my heart. He would often pull me towards him, place his hands on my small shoulders and stare at me from under his thick white eyebrows. His fingers grasped my shoulders tightly and when our eyes met I saw sadness in his eyes. I felt he looked at me through and through. All that lasted barely a second. He would then loosen his fingers and let go my shoulders. I left in silence. I was seven or eight years old at the time. This man would come into our house every day, sit in the same place and observe my father's tailor work.

My father and Arieh Zilberstein spoke rarely, and when they did speak, it was always about the same things. My father spoke about his two sons who had left Gombin and were living in America, and Arieh spoke about his son Shloime and his children whom he missed very much. Shloime and his family were by then also in America, living in Detroit.

I knew this conversation between Arieh and my father by heart. Arieh's beard was white as snow. My father's beard was also white. It was difficult in Gombin to guess someone's age by their face. Every young man already had a beard. The majority looked undernourished, they dressed in rags, and they hardly ever smiled. Most people's eyes were sad, families were large, the children numerous. It was common for a couple to have half a dozen children or more. The parents lived with their married children and hungered together.

There were cases in which the sons and daughters who went to America would not send support to the families they left behind. In such cases the situation of the parents was bitter. Only a few received help from their children in America. Arieh Zilberstein belonged to the lucky few.

By the time of my Bar Mitzvah I began to understand what it meant when they said that Arieh's son was successful in America. His name now was Solomon Zilberstein, he lived in Detroit and regularly, every month, sent money to his father. Arieh did not suffer hunger. He felt secure, protected and proud that his son provided for him. Yet, he continued to live as modestly as before, when he barely earned a living. I heard him tell my father that he does not allow his wife to peel potatoes because she peels off to much flesh. “I peel them, and then sell the peel to the farmers to feed their pigs”.

On another occasion I heard him say: “My wife eats too much. A person should not eat in excess, they should always leave something for the following day”.

The last couple of years before I left for America, Arieh and his wife would come to our Passover seders. When I said to him “Next Year in Jerusalem” he looked at me and said: “No, next year you will be in America”. I will never forget that. The year was 1913. A silence fell over our table. Arieh shook his head and looked at my father. A few minutes later he said to my father: “Don't sin, it is God's will”. My father turned his head to me, then to Arieh and said in a trembling voice: “Yes Arieh, it is God's will. We must accept it”.

Arieh sat in silence. He looked at his veiny hands, lifted his head and looked far away. A few weeks later a bunch of legal papers arrived from America. We could not read them, but the accompanying letter said that I had to begin to prepare for my voyage.

We read the letter many times at the table. Arieh was sitting there with a gloomy face as white as his beard. His hands, which were resting on his cane, were shaking. By the time that we finished reading the letter he looked very pale. I saw how he lifted his head to the sky and his lips mumbled a soft prayer. I looked in his eyes. There were two crystal tears in the corners of his eyes, and they fell over his beard like a strand of pearls.

That day Arieh remained with us longer than usual. He whispered something to my father, then called me over and said: “Yoinele, this evening you will come with me to the synagogue to pray the evening prayers”. I looked at my father. He nodded his head and said: “Yes”.

When Arieh and I left the synagogue after prayers, the sky was filled with stars and the moon shone bright. After we walked a few steps Arieh turned around and motioned me to follow him. We sat on the steps of the synagogue.

Arieh stood up and looked at the sky. His lips began to move, his beard trembled and he said this to me: “God created a beautiful world. How nice it is to look at the sky, at the stars, at the moon. Even in darkness there is so much beauty. Only man's heart is heavy. It is filled with sadness. You know Yoinele, I don't suffer from hunger. But no one can look into my heart and see the longing I feel for my son Shloime and his children”.

He was quiet for a moment and then nervously said: “You Yoinele, will soon see my son and my grandchildren. I am sending with you a piece of myself. My feelings, my longing… I am planting in you a piece of my soul”.

He sat down beside me and put his hand on my knee. He looked me in the eye and said: “Tell my son that I pray for him day and night. I pray to the Almighty that he and the children should be successful, that he should find happiness in everything he does, that he should be in awe of God, and that he should remember that God always listens to my prayers. But please don't tell my son and grandchildren that my heart is broken from longing”.

Again he was silent. Suddenly I heard him say something, not to me but to himself: “Why must we be separated? Why did the Master of the Universe give us a heart that suffers so much? Why can't I see my son? It is all so bizarre, my child. We are forbidden to question the ways of God”.

It was very sad. I did not understand clearly what Arieh said, but I felt the pain in his heart, his loneliness, his gratitude to his son Shloime and his pride. Of the things he said the words that moved me the most were: “Why do we have to be separated?” I realized that soon I would also be separated, torn away from my family as I left to America.

Arieh removed his hand from my knee, stood up and said: “Good night Yoinele”. He walked slowly to the street where he lived.

I remained seated and watched him vanish deeper and deeper into the night's darkness. My head was filled with the words he had said to me. His steps were becoming softer on the cobblestones. My knee, which he had held with his bony hand, kept burning until I no longer heard his steps, until he was swallowed up by the dense night.

Arieh Zilberstein was a candlemaker by profession. He was a strong man. He always looked fresh and healthy. When I left to America he was close to eighty. Many people in Gombin were jealous of his dear son Shloime. People said that he sent so much money that the old man must have a “bundle”.

The day of my departure Arieh came to our house. He took me to a corner and whispered in my ear: “Tell my son and his children that when my days on this earth will end, I will pray for them in heaven, and now Yoinele, you shall be under the protection of the Master of the Universe. Never forget Gombin and the Jews of Gombin”.

I have never forgotten.

[Page 201-202]

1. The farmer can't distinguish between a cross and an “A”. (Ignorant, illiterate)
2. Together they sell stolen pigs. (Up to no good)
3. He is and expert on this matter like a pig is an expert on yeast. (Has no idea what he's talking about)
4. The farmer and his wife lie for so long on one pillow that they end up having the same thoughts.
5. The Gentile is not Kosher but his money is Kosher.
6. It is good to remove hot coals from the stove with someone else's hands.
7. He did not even say dog… kiss my ass. (A guest that was treated well leaves without saying “thanks”)
8. What a smart man doesn't say, a fool has on his tongue.
9. A Jewish scholar gives good advice.
10. I will not sin with talk. (I will not talk badly about people)
11. I will not be punished for what I say. (What I am saying is true)
12. My words should not complicate things for him. (When talking about someone who is dead)
13. Pluck feathers. (Tear the feathers from the stems – do a thorough job)
14. Don't attempt to do something you can get used to.
15. Picking peas. (Picking out the lice)
16. One is to seven as he is to seventy. (He exaggerates)
17. A punch goes away but words keep hurting.
18. Naked, bare foot and hungry (Someone who has nothing)
19. S'Gligen Tuenish. (A nonsense phrase used to begin telling a story)
20. When the heart is full, the eyes overflow.
21. Don't overwhelm my teeth with talk. (Don't bother me about other things, don't distract me)
22. He is already preparing his wallet. (He's waiting for a windfall or an inheritance).
23. He is an expensive purse. (Likes to keep up appearances)
24. A mangy horse attracts flies.
25. A fool must pay twice and a lazy man must run twice.
26. By day they're ready to divorce, by night they're ready for bed
27. You study your entire life and you die a fool.
28. You study until you are seventy and you still die a fool.
29. If you are lazy, you have nothing to eat.
30. Nobody has everything.
31. He lives in a fool's paradise. (Does not worry about the future)
32. You can always find an excuse for the angel of death.
33. A taker is not a giver.
34. Take with a laugh give with a cry. (When you take, you rejoice, but when you give, you weep)
35. When man thinks, God laughs. (Don't make too many plans)
36. Jews eat kreplach (dumplings) three times a year – when there are harsh blows. (Jews strike their chests on Yom Kippur, their willow branches on Hoshana Rabba and their feet and hands when they hear Haman's name on Purim – these are three times in a year that tradition prescribes eating kreplach)
37. When the Angel of Death slays, it always has a justification.
38. When you are young time crawls, by middle age time runs, by old age time flies.
39. A guest for a while, sees for a mile.
40. Someone may be pretty, but I am smart.
41. May all your teeth fall out, except the one that gives you a toothache. (A curse)
42. Don't push your hand through a narrow door. (Don't get involved in other people's arguments)
43. From just a little you can fill a bowl. (A little goes a long way)
44. When does a poor man rejoice? When he finds something he lost.
45. For a patient going into the hospital is a big deal, but coming out is much easier.
46. If you dig a hole for someone else, you may fall into it yourself.
47. Little goat, little lamb, red oranges. When father beats up mother, the children dance. (A very silly rhyme)
48. When you can't go over it, go under it.
49. Go complain on Yom Kippur. (This will get you nowhere)
50. Go complain to the devil's mother–in–law. (This too will get you nowhere)
51. Let him be a Cossack, as long as we survive.
52. Talks about cemeteries, great troubles. (Sarcastic remark in mixed Polish–Yiddish, about someone who brags about his ancestral origins)
53. He thinks that he is a grandson of Rabbi Tzots. (Someone who pretends to have a pedigree)
54. If God wants, he sweeps with a broom. (Even a weakling can achieve something big)
55. Don't examine the mouth of a horse that you received as a gift.
56. When it boils is bubbles over.
57. I don't know about any evil feasts, just as I don't know what you want from me.
58. Purim is no holy day, and fever is no disease.
59. You don't have to show a stick to a beaten dog.
60. If someone in your family was hanged, don't mention the word hang. (Don't talk about something you know people are sensitive about)
61. The apple does not fall far from the tree.
62. You cannot make a Shtreiml (a fur hat worn by Hasidim) from a pig's tail. (You cannot refine a boor)

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