[Page 21]

[Page 22]

[Page 23]

In 1930, a young student named Chaim Gotlieb, who completed his high school studies at the provincial city Stanisławów and returned to the city, established ken^[1] Betar in Kuty and was its first commander. With this, another Zionist youth movement was added to the movements that had long been active in the region, Hashomer Hatzair and Gordonia.

The new movement, with its national-revisionist ideology, attracted masses of young people. By 1932, there were already more than fifty members in the ken. Over the years, the movement grew and expanded, and before the Second World War it was the largest youth movement in the city. The ken was located in a rented building owned by the Jewish orphanage. Later, the ken moved to the building of the Suycher family whose two sons were members of Betar.

Lively and diverse cultural, educational, and social activities took place at the ken every day of the week. Among others, the members learned the Betar ideology by reading articles by Ze'ev Jabotinsky that were published weekly in the newspaper Der Moment. There were also singing and dancing evenings. The ken members founded the first Jewish football team in the city, “Nordia,” which played against non-Jewish teams. Other popular sports were volleyball and ping-pong.

The political activity centered on selling the shekel^[2] and election propaganda in preparation for the Zionist congresses. It especially intensified with the retirement of Ze'ev Jabotinsky from the Zionist movement, and the establishment of the new Zionist Organization. The highlight of the activity was the annual commemoration on 20 Tammuz, the day of Herzl's death. The memorial took place at the Great Synagogue. The members, dressed in Betar uniforms, marched with the flag through the city streets to the synagogue. Skirmishes broke out when the Communist Youth tried to disrupt the parade and to topple the flag, but, as I recall, we always had the

[Page 24]

upper hand. Over the years, the adult members, who had completed their military service, moved to Brit HaHayal^[3]. In 1937, Betar organized its hakhshara^[4] program. Members from all over Poland, who were preparing to immigrate to Israel, participated in it, most of them in the framework of Aliyah Bet^[5].

With the outbreak of the Second World War, some of the adult members were drafted into the Polish Army and have since disappeared. The ken ceased to exist on 17 September 1939, with the occupation of the city by the Red Army. Several members were exiled to Russia. A few managed to cross the border into nearby Romania and eventually managed to reach Israel. Most of the members of Beitar in Kuty perished with their families in the Aktions that took place in April and September 1942.

Translator's footnotes

[Page 25]

I wrote these segments with love in memory of those who perished so tragically. In 1936 we left Kuty. At that time, life still ran its usual course: happiness and joy, sorrow and despair, arrogance and gossip, wisdom and foolishness, everything was in moderation. Kuty was a place where time seemed to have stood still. The days passed there without change. The people, the trees, and the houses seemed as if they had belonged to the place since the days of creation. It was obvious that our town would remain like this, unchanged, forever. I never felt alienated or lonely, even though worries were not lacking. With this, the youth did not have a future, and those who had the opportunity to leave, left. Even my family members left. With a heavy heart we parted from friends and relatives and traveled to Israel.

I longed for the “Oidiush,” the rustling of the tree leaves, the noisy, fast-flowing Cheremosh, the two old willow trees that stood alone on the bank of the Cheremosh River, and the beauty of nature. I often returned to Kuty in my imagination, and everything stood alive before my eyes. At first, I walked on Sniatiner Street, on the wide avenue of Linden trees where we lived.

My thoughts carried me to the Rozenheck family, who lived near the Sokol (a well-known cultural club). In a house, which stood in the shade of tall trees, lived my friends Minzia, her sister Gitel, and their mother. Gitel got married and left Kuty with her husband, Yakov. Minzia devoted all her love to her violin. Her playing

[Page 26]

revealed her stormy emotions and the sadness of her loneliness. We both played in the same orchestra. Twice a week we walked a long way to the school in Stari Kuty, where rehearsals were held. In one cold winter evening we passed through a dark field. Suddenly we heard a suspicious rustling. We were frightened. We decided that we would no longer walk alone in this way. Since then, we were accompanied by Mitrenga, the school principal from Tyudiv who played with us in the orchestra. Once, Miko Nedbornnski joined us. We jokingly called him the “Black Character.” He was “sawing” on his violin because he barely knew how to play. I asked him to call Minzia. Miko told me that Minzia refused to go with him. We hurried to her. I asked her why she did not join Miko, because it was already late. “I will go with anyone,” she said, “but not with that ‘Black Character.’ I am not afraid of him, but when I see his tough, resentful face, I feel bad.”

Was this a prophecy about what would happen in the future? An early premonition? Who knows in what cruel way she lost her young and beautiful life? Years later, I heard that the “Black Character” single-handedly murdered two hundred Jews.

Several houses from there lived the Druckman, Socher, and Meher families. I knew Mrs. Dvoire Taube Meher well. She came to us often, and taught my sister, Minka, to play the piano. She also played in our orchestra.

In another house lived the Glas family: a pious father, a sickly mother, a married daughter with four young daughters. The eldest daughter was already married when I first came to their home. A modest Jewish daughter and her husband, a quiet young man. “Motelle” was the nickname given to him by Leibel Hutterer, based on the tiny letters of Tal U'matar [prayer for rain and dew] in the small Siddur, and the nickname has stuck to him ever since.

The four daughters longed for love. They were young and entitled to it. But the reality was different. Hinde and Roiza were married without love. Sima had a brief moment of true love, or so she thought, when she discovered that she was pregnant. When she told the young man she loved so much, he deserted her and left the city. The villain, who got her into trouble, escaped without bearing the consequences, and Sima was left alone.

[Page 27]

The youngest daughter of the Glas family, Ruthella, was more advanced. She went to a youth movement and felt freer.

Down the street lived the Rieber family who had two sons. One was called Moishela. His brother was blind. I used to pass by their house to enter Reizel Libergall, who played with us in the orchestra. Everyone knew Shmuel Libergall because of his beautiful, blond beard, kind, blue eyes, and soft, pleasant voice. On Yom Kippur he sang the prayer “Kol Nidrei” in the synagogue. Everyone loved to hear his divine voice.

Mrs. Libergall only lived for the children, a real Yiddishe mamme (Jewish mother). There was an atmosphere of brotherhood in this house. Moshe was the eldest, and the matter was felt. His parents and sisters instilled in him love from the bottom of their hearts. Reizel Libergall inherited her father's musical talent and played the violin wonderfully. She was a modest young woman. When she married, she became a good wife and a happy young mother. She left the orchestra after her marriage.

One day she told me about an incident that happened to her in Vizhnitz. She was walking with friends. Among them was a fat young man from Kolomyia. They passed a house in front of which were sitting local women. Suddenly one of the women saw the fat young man. She clapped her hands, turned her eyes to the heavens, and said, “May my geese succeed in this way, sweet Father in heaven!”

Next to the Libergall family lived Mendel Hutterer with his wife, three daughters, and two sons. They lived in a large stone house that looked like a fortress. They lived a simple life, but, in spite of this, they were all happy. It was a happy and special home. The father, Mendel, used to mock his wife: “you are like an old bear,” he used to say to her with a laugh, while giving her a light push, which almost caused her to fall over. “You are like an old bear,” she answered him with a broad smile on her face.

Etel, the eldest daughter, was the crown of the family. I knew her well. She was talented and her handiwork was wonderful. She always said that she wanted to find an understandable husband and have her own home. “Etel give me a knitting needle,” Mrs. Hutterer once called to her daughter, as she sat knitting on the bench in front of the house. At that moment two detectives passed by. They thought she was calling to warn them about them. They identified themselves and began to investigate why the mother warned her daughter. With much effort and after long explanations, Etel managed to convince them that her mother only meant a knitting needle, and nothing else.

[Page 28]

Farther down stood Steigman's house. Bertha Steigman played the violin well. She was a music teacher and single. Her brother, Avrohm, was a young and talented lawyer. He was murdered together with his wife Reina and their child. His sister Gitla, quiet and modest, was married to Scherf. The youngest of the children was Fritz. He sang and played the violin. With his singing and violin playing, he could have conquered the world. From an acquaintance, Dr. Shalit, I have heard what happened to him during the war. Fritz was married to a nurse who worked in the same hospital as Dr. Shalit. Fritz fell ill with typhus and was taken to the hospital in serious condition. He recovered but continued to be hospitalized. When the order came that all the patients must return to the camp in Lwow, Fritz decided to obey, despite the insistence of his wife and Dr. Shalit, who had begged him to stay in the hospital. Apparently, he was afraid to endanger them. He returned to the ghetto on Janowska Street and the following day was shot with all its inhabitants.

The zeygermakher (watchmaker), Haber, also lived there. Although his workplace was in the Rynek (city center), he had no income. His house was full of children, and there was no livelihood. He stuttered a lot: “bit…bi…bi…bitter troubles.” He repeated these words over and over. I did not understand at the time the meaning of “no livelihood.”

Christians also lived on this street, but we had no contact with them.

Up the street lived the Druckman, Hazenfrantz and Klienger families.

Tzipi Klienger and I studied Hebrew with the Shpiegel teacher. The outstanding student in the Hebrew lessons was Malka Bergman, Shaya Bergman's youngest daughter.

The Hazenfrantz family lives next to the Klienger family. Gitla Hazenfrantz was one of my best friends. We often studied together. Then, due to some misunderstanding, we broke up and did not have the courage to overcome the feeling and renew our friendship. But I was always happy to see her. On the other side of the street, across from the Steigman family, lived the Buksenbaum family.

[Page 29]

Close to them lived the family of the lawyer Dr. Laub, son of Yeta Leah Engel. I knew Stefa, the eldest daughter, and her brother, Zigfried, well. Cousin Sima Terner came to visit them often. I did not know her well, but I was always impressed by her tall stature and delicate appearance. Her mother was Mrs. Laub's sister. Two sisters - two destinies: one elegant and rich, the other a widow, miserable and unhappy. Inka, Stefa's younger sister, was still a young girl when I left Kuty.

Chayka Stier was a big young woman, cheerful and full of life. She lived with her two brothers at their grandmother and grandfather Yankel Keyes. Baruch Halfer, his wife Pepi, and their son also lived there as tenants. Later they moved to Dolina where they bought a small and beautiful house, and a daughter was born to them.

A completely different atmosphere prevailed in Tudiober Street, to which we moved later. The pleasant rustling of the trees was replaced by the sound of the bells of the Ukrainian church. The romantic mood was completely absent there, and since I wasn't used to this environment, I continued to be in contact with the people from Sniatiner Street. We lived as tenants with Nachum Linder, an old man, tall and erect. His wife, a small and pleasant woman, had been bedridden for many years and he cared for her with love and devotion. Their daughter Golde Landmam, and her husband Yosel Landmam, often visited her parents. Golde Landmam and her daughters, Dunia and Losia, greatly helped Nachum Linder with the household chores. I studied with Losia at the high school in Kolomyia. She was gentle and nice. When I was already in Israel, I heard that she married Yosi Gasser. He was called “Yosi Pisek” (Yosi Mouth) in Kuty. I knew his sister Losia well. She was very energetic and devoted to her family. I admired her character and her openness. She loved her sisters and brothers very much and always spoke of them with pride. She went through the horrors of hell during the Second World War together with her brother, Ortzi, the lawyer. Both managed to escape. They boarded a ship to Israel, but the Nazis caught up with them in the Black Sea and sank the ship.

[Page 30]

In the next house to the right lived Nissel Krumholtz and his children. Nissel had a long, beautiful, blond beard. Together with them lived Moishe Krumholtz with his wife and their two daughters, Dunia and Frida.

Moishe Krumholtz's voice woke us up early in the morning. He bought cheese, brynza (sheep milk cheese), poultry, and everything he could buy from the farmers on their way to the market. Jej Czujesz te Moja Diwko! Chocz Pi Zolotej? Na! Hej Mo ja Czujesz Diwko Majesz Piw Zolotej! Chocz?! (“Hey, listen, girl! Want half a zloty? Listen! Girl! Here's half a zloty! Do you want it?”) He called after them in broken Ukrainian. His voice probably woke up not only us, but also the neighbors. But no one was angry, because, after all, he was running after his livelihood and not after some shiksha [gentile girl] .When a gentile once thought of passing by the house on the Shabbat, Moishe, who was religious, asked him in a quiet voice: Czobyste Chotile Za Kohuta Kobyene Bula Sehodnia (“How much would you want for this rooster if today was not Saturday?”).

Across the street from us lived the Popper family. Ita Popper was our relative, and Yankel Popper, her husband, was a good friend of my father. They often came to us, especially on winter nights. When Mrs. Popper was not happy with the actions of her husband, Yankel, and wanted to tell him about it in front of everyone, he immediately left the room because he did not like arguments and had done everything to avoid them. Mrs. Popper did not have a choice but to wait for the evening. When Yankel turned off the light and lay down in bed, she began to rebuke him, because it was necessary to clarify things at some point. One evening she had done so and suddenly discovered that his bed was empty. “With the first word, I put on my pants and left. What don't we do for peace at home?” he said jokingly.

The daughter, Dunia Popper, was a beautiful young woman with a stormy temperament. After her marriage she moved to another city and only Andzye Popper, a sweet little girl with a freckled face, remained at home.

The Grebler family, Hersch Grebler, his wife and their little daughter, Mina, often came to the Popper family. Mina, their five-year-old daughter, was as big as seven years old.

One day, Mina came to Andzye Popper with a bracelet that her sister Beka had made for her from small, colorful, glass beads. Andzye liked the bracelet so much that she immediately decided to make one for herself. In his excitement, he forgot how old Mina

[Page 31]

was and asked her if she knew who makes such a bracelet. “Yes,” Mina replied confidently, “you take a big chair and a small chair, sit down and make it.”

Next to the Popper family lived the Bergman family. Mrs. Bergman was a clever and quick woman. Their home was always shiny and neat. She grew beautiful pansies, large tulips and chrysanthemums. She was very proud of her flowers and spoke of them as a mother speaks of her children. Her husband, Zeyda, died a natural death. She and her young daughter perished in the Holocaust.

Just as Mrs. Bergman was proud of her flowers, so Mr. Steinbracher was proud of his successful fruit garden. The grapes he grew and tended with his own hands were always particularly large. His philosophical worldview was known to all: “when my train is passing through a path of fear and anxiety, panic and horror, then it is better for me to get off a few stations earlier. Do I have to endure everything?” He preferred to commit suicide rather than be killed by people who had become animals of prey.

A few houses from there lived Hersch Leib Klinger, his wife, and their two children. He was kind and sociable and always in need of money. “It is bitter to the common man” was his favorite saying.

In front of us, diagonally, lived Moische Gottlieb and his family. Mr. Gottlieb came to us almost every evening. Everyone respected him, and when my father said about him: Moische Gottlieb ist ein besserer Mensch (Moische Gottlieb is one of the good people), I knew he was a man to be respected. He had connections with the Zionist leadership in Lwow (Lviv), and when he received a letter from them, he read it together with my father. Then he showed my father the reply letter he had written. Apparently, these were important letters

[Page 32]

and their content was never known to me. When my father and Gottlieb talked about people, it was clear that “he” - “a respectable person,” and “the other” - “an exceptionally decent person.” These definitions were stated with such conviction that I, who knew these people only by seeing them sometimes, appreciated and respected them.

We had many respected people in Kuty, for example. Dr. Hartenstein and his wife. When we lived on Sniatiner Street, Mrs. Hartenstein sometimes comes to us with her young daughter, Fela. I would never forget Fela Hartenstein, who grew up and became a young woman with long legs and beautiful eyes, full of life and laughter. Wadunushka (water drawer( she once said to the pharmacist Remer when she got angry at him. She threw this insult at him with such grace that he couldn't get angry with her and laughed along with us.

The lawyer, Dr. Olsker, was among the “most decent people,” and it was only thanks to his valuable help that the orphanage in Kuty could exist. His daughter Ruth used to play with the orphans and was sensitive to their suffering. Ruth was his only daughter and at the age of twenty her mother still said to her: Ruthinka, mother's precious treasure.

I was fourteen when I first heard a lecture by Dr. Olsker. He spoke about Keren Hayesod (United Israel Appeal), and I was hoping to finally hear what Keren Hayesod actually is. And indeed, to my great joy, he began with the sentence: “Keren Hayesod is…” and to my great regret, I did not catch the meaning of the words, but here he began with a new sentence, and I listened: “Keren Hayesod is…” I listened with curiosity, and he did not touch on the matter, and did not explain what Keren Hayesod is, but he began again: “Keren Hayesod is…” And so, it went on for two hours, and I left the hall as wise as I entered.

My friend, Chantz'l Gottlieb, the only daughter of Moische and Bobeleh, was a pharmacist and came home to Kuty during her vacation. One evening, when a storm was raging outside, we decided to go to the theater. The dark street was occasionally illuminated by bright lightning. The streetlights were not lit. Maybe Kutzia the policeman was too lazy in the stormy weather to light them. Despite this, we walked happily and cheerfully

[Page 33]

to Sokol. At the entrance we met Dr. Menashe Mendel with his wife Turzia and the two brothers-in-law, Mr. Steinkahel and Dr. Barun. Their wives, Freida Steinkahel and Roza Barun, who were sisters, stayed at home with the children who were afraid of the stormy weather.

When the brothers-in-law saw us, they offered us the two extra tickets. We took the tickets willingly and entered the hall. Of course, we went for the best seats (“first place”), even though the tickets we had were for good lower seats (“third place'”). The hall was mostly empty, but Dr. Barun did not dare to sit down, and stood by the chair, ready to leave at any moment, before the ushers would ask him to move to his place. Such an embarrassment was not something he was prepared to endure. The play was supposed to start at eight o'clock. The time passed. It was eight forty-five, and there was no sign that the play would begin. The audience in the last rows lost its patience and began to stamp their feet. Dr. Barun, tired of standing, looked around, and sat down in his chair, as if sitting on coals. When Dr. Mendel saw this, he told him with a serious face: “if you also lose your patience like the others, I suggest that you don't stamp your feet, otherwise they would know immediately where you belong…”

I really liked Erna Druck, the youngest daughter of Moshe Druck, our neighbor to the left. She was a smart and talented girl. She studied physics and mathematics in Lwow. Arna married a friend from the university shortly before our trip to Palestine. When we parted, I was so moved that I couldn't get a word out of my mouth. We shook hands, and Erna, in her characteristic confusion, said: “I hope that we will never see each other again.” Suddenly we both felt that something wasn't right. We looked at each other with eyes full of understanding, and with all the sadness we smiled. What do words matter? A warm and heartfelt handshake is real and has much more meaning. But Erna was right…we never saw each other again.

On Todyover Street, there was no rustling of trees like on Sniatiner Street, but the ringing of bells that could not be ignored. I loved this ringing, which came from the bells of the Ukrainian church. Only Jews lived in the street behind the church.

One day I passed by the place with my sister Minka. We saw two young men chasing a Ukrainian peasant and shouting wildly: Ty Budysz Krasty? (you will steal?). When I heard the shouts, I raised the collar of my coat and started to walk fast. Minka

[Page 34]

reacted differently. When one of the boys caught up with the peasant woman and wanted to hit her, she approached him and scolded him. Completely pale, she caught up with me. “Imagine, they make such a fuss over an empty sack. Look how poor they are,” she said. “Poor in money and in soul,” I replied. “And you think you have a good heart, when you run away instead of helping?! And as for the soul, where was your soul?” - “I never had a soul,” I replied with irony mixed with unpleasantness. “Certainly not,” replied Minka, “not a soul and not a heart”. “You only have two ears, and when the slightest rustle is heard, they set off an alarm bell that sends you into a panic and you run away. Since when do we call an alarm bell a heart?!” And then I remembered Chaim Peshe Roize's bell… Minka was often moved by my passive-dreamy reactions- she was my eldest sister. “Chaim Peshe Roize's bell,” she said, “calls people for help, and your bell only scares you for no apparent reason, as if your whole world is about to drown.”

Chaim Peshe Roize's bell was a chapter in itself. In Purim, Chaim Peshe Roize was the hero of the day. He traveled dressed-up in a carriage, shouting, and ringing the bell. Everyone in Kuty willingly gave him Purim money, each according to his ability. He later distributed this money among the hidden poor. When my mother and I heard his calls, our hearts were beating fast, and my father went out into the street so he wouldn't come into the house. “You are gullible cats,” our father said to us with a smile. “Chaim Peshe Roize is a very decent man, and it is our duty to invite him to our home and honor him, as he deserves.” “Yes, yes,” agreed our mother, “but not on Purim.” Once, on Purim, I was alone at home. Father was not in Kuty. Mother was no longer alive. When I heard his calls, I locked the door, my hands shaking with fear, as if in a nightmare. I had intended to take the money I had prepared in advance, but, unfortunately for me, he screamed and yelled so much outside the door that I lost control of myself. He knocked on the door, tried the handle, and kept knocking as I moved away from the door on my toes, what is safe is safe… With both hands I pressed my heart, which was beating wildly, until he moved away and left. When my father searched for him a few days later and gave him a large sum of money as compensation, he was shocked by the insult and was astonished: “At Peysi Weiner's house they close the door in my face?!”

[Page 35]

Alterka Grinberg used to come to us frequently. He, like my father, was from Bukovina and they had known each other since childhood. He was unemployed and bitterly complained before my father: “What do you know, Peysile? It is really not good, not good at all, and it should be. The girl goes to school, and she has nothing to wear. And Sara cries. And what do you say, my good brother, Peysile? It really is not good.” Father did everything he could and succeeded in “screwing” him as a guard in Avraham'l Frankel lumber yard. There, to his great sorrow, he remained for no more than half a year because he caused Mr. Frankel a heavy loss. The matter caused my father great discomfort and sorrow. Alterka came to us again, and with bitter complaints about himself: “And what I lacked, my good friend, Peysile? I lived and laughed, I had a month's payment on time, and I gave Sara as much as she needed, and I could still put a few pennies on the side. And I lived like a count and had no worries. And such a disaster! such a disaster! came.”

“Alterka, did you not see that you were causing Frankel hundreds of zloty of damage per month?” Father asked him. “And who knew, Peysile, that it would be discovered?” he asked innocently.

On Purim he used to come to us, and when he ate the flódni (traditional Jewish pastry) and drank the tea, he told my father: “I haven't been anywhere. I am not going to anyone. I have only been to Shmil Kerner, and also to Shloime Grebel and the children. Other than that, I did not go anywhere else. I only entered for a short time to Moshe Linzer, but not to anyone else. Really, Peysile, I only come to you.” What did he live on? I asked myself often. From giving in secret. Unfortunately, there were many of these in our town.

In the summer, my father occasionally employed Zeidele Grau to transport felled trees down the river. While waiting for my father he told me news from Kuty. “T… t… they tell stories about girls,” he told me one day. “But about you, God forbid, they only tell about you that you g… g… go with gentiles, but they don't talk about you, God forbid.” I remembered Dzonek Drownizky. The day before yesterday I met him at the post office. I knew him from the orchestra. He walked me home. When I heard Zeidele's stammering words I realized I was wrong.

[Page 36]

A week before Minka's wedding Reina Der Bekerin (“The Baker”), who was an excellent baker, baked at our home. It was in the middle of February. Ilka and I watched Reina, who quickly kneaded the dough, and we occasionally hummed a song. I used to whistle, but Reina asked me not to whistle, and said: “In a Jewish house it is forbitten to whistle, because by doing so you call the demons.” But the force of habit overcame me, I forgot myself, and began to whistle. At that exact moment Ilka jumped up from her chair. Reina almost fainted, for she was certain that the demon, who had heard the whistle, was standing before her eyes.

Reina's eldest son, Yosel, brought us challot every Friday morning for the Shabbat. Yosel couldn't hide the sympathy that he felt for Minka. Each time, when I saw the childish and withered faces of the tall and mature man, yet childish in mind, I felt pain. What a sin, I asked myself, that his body had developed, and his mind remained retarded? He was a grown child and helpless. He was indeed the eldest son in his family, and he always said: “Mother says that first all children must get married, then they will also find someone for me.”

Our Minka got married on 17 February and moved to live in Katowice. At the end of June ,she returned home for two months. Yosel was happy when he saw her again. Since she was already married, he allowed himself, when he brought us the challot every Friday, to give her a flower. Minka received the flower from his hand in her special way. She was happy and delighted that she could make Yosel happy.

At the beginning of August, my brother-in-law, Elu, came for a vacation. Yosel came to us, as usual on Friday mornings, gave the challot to my mother, and went with the flower to Minka. Suddenly, he saw Elu, who happened to walk into the kitchen. He froze in his place. “He is here,” he whispered to himself, and left the kitchen. Minka and I exchanged glances. A sad smile appeared on Minka's face. We both felt the bitterness of Yosel's soul. When Elu saw our faces, she laughed and said to my mother: “Mother, your daughters need to be in the Salvation Army.”

“Pay attention to how happy they are when someone takes an interest and shares in their joy or their sorrow. After all, a kind word can help so much.”

When Blumtza Klinger moved to Katowice to live with her only son, Chaim, it was clear

[Page 37]

to Minka that she needed to alleviate this woman's loneliness in the big city and help her with advice and action. We all knew Blumtza Klinger and her sense of humor. She had done everything for her only son. The son, Kurt (Chaim), received a high school diploma, then has done a doctorate at the Faculty of Political Science at the University of Vienna. Dr. Kurt Klinger received a position in Katowice, and when he started to earn more, he brought his mother to the big city and took care of all her needs. In spite of it, she did not stay long in Katowice and returned to her home, to Tailors Street.

Tailors Street, the Shneyderzgas, which surrounded the streets in the city center, was densely populated by Jews. On the Shabbat, of course, all the shops were closed. On Sunday, however, the merchants were forced to close their stores, because the three policemen, Ludi Warszowski, Borach Hersh, or Shloima Ancels, stood waiting for an opportunity to seize the goods that were being taken out of the shop, and punish the shopkeeper. Therefore, the merchants usually stood in front of their shops, with the shutters half open, to serve customers in secret.

On Sunday, Mrs. Etel Meltzer stood in front of the store all hours of the day and watched Ludi Warszowski. At the right moment, when he looked the other way, she let the buyer into the store. There, her son, Yoske, served the customer. When the customer only wanted one item, Mrs. Melzer knocked on the shutter and whispered to her son, “Yoske, give me…”

One day, she moved away from the shop for a few minutes. Ludi Warszowski approached the shop, knocked on the shutter and whispered, imitating Mrs. Etel Meltzer's voice: “Yoske, give me a kilo of sugar. “ Yoske quickly reached out his hand with the sugar, and just as quickly his hand was grabbed and held with the sugar. Yoske received a report and had to pay a fine.

Another time, on Sunday, the store was full of shoppers, and Ludi Warszowski was pacing back and forth in front of the store. He probably understood the matter. Mrs. Meltzer gave a “danger” signal on the store's shutter, and the shoppers left through the back door. Now she was calm and just watched how Ludi Warszowski got wet in the rain, and even more so, to his bones. It became soaked in water. But after all, she had a warm Jewish heart and started to feel sorry for him. She overcame her fear and turned to him in a warm, motherly voice in broken Ukrainian, because she did not know Polish: Sczo We Moczejete? Umene Nema Nechto, Szkoda Szcobysty Moczely (Why are you getting wet? There is no one here, it's a shame that you'll get wet…(

[Page 38]

We always spent our summer vacation together in cheerful company. My sister Minka and my brother Maytza came home, and friends also came from the big city. We walked, went swimming in the Cheremosh River where we met many acquaintances. The bathing beach in Kuty was the main attraction in the summer. As the people were sitting in the river, the sound of the flowing water was so loud that the people sitting there had to shout to be heard, but the people sitting on the bank heard every word that was said by the bathers in the river. One day, the wind carried a conversation to us from the water: “The Weiner,” said the young student from the Alter Hutterer family, “got fat nicely.” “And the younger one, also developed,” remarked her classmate, Henya Gaster. “And the husband is as thin as a stick,” ruled Rosa Buller.

I knew Mina, Rosa Buller's sister, very well. We lived together when I studied in Lamberg [Lviv]. Mina, Pepi Lander and I lived together in one room. Later, when we got to know each other better, Mina told me that she was afraid to live with me because she thought that I was arrogant.

My sister Minka was interested in everyone. We were often invited to the pharmacist Remer for the “five o'clock coffee.” He was Elu's great friend, and I was friendly with his wife and his assistant, Genya. When Minka joined us, we left home early, because Minka knew everyone in Kuty and had to exchange a few words with everyone. “Why aren't you interested in people?” she asked me in bewilderment

On rainy days we used to play duets - Minka on the piano and I on the violin. We used to close the windows, because we did not want to play with the feeling that someone was listening to our imperfect music. One day our neighbor, Mrs. Weiss, wife of Laser Weiss, and daughter-in-law of Mrs. Adele Weiss, came in and asked us not to close the windows because she enjoys our music.

We usually had a good time on summer evenings. In the early years we hung out with Muny Soycher, the eternally young man. In the last years of our stay in Kuty, we went dancing at the “Senyo” cafe. Berel Glazberg often joined us, and when he was with us, we never stopped laughing. When his sister Ribchi got married, his happiness knew no bounds. When his younger brother, Tonya, married Rochel Hutterer, Berel remarked: “The lines at home are thinning, next in line is my sister Coca.” Every word that came out of his mouth was a joke. But this young man's life was not easy. He was very talented and only because of the financial situation at home he was forced to give up his education after his matriculation exams.

[Page 39]

When the summer vacation ended, it became sad and quiet at home. Until the holidays we walked to Cheremosh River, traveled to Kamianets and Sokolski and to the high mountains in the Carpathians. Bobtcho Weiss, who studied law in Vilnius, stayed in Kuty until the holiday of Sukkot, and came to us every day. We also met with acquaintances at Butzye Tillinger, or at the pharmacy. Mank Friedman, Manyo Hassel, the owner of the pharmacy in Kosow, and the short dentist, Dr. Lola Rosengart, who had moved to Kuty a short time before. When she pulled a patient's tooth in the morning, she was tired by evening. She was angry with Zurger, who only on Saturday, her only day off, suffered from toothaches. On Sunday and the rest of the days of the week, he forgot to come for treatment.

When the autumn holidays passed, and the rainy season began, we were forced to stay at home. A thin, annoying autumn rain could fall for days on end, causing a terrible mood. The weather did not affect Moshe Scher. He came to us every Sunday and Wednesday afternoon, despite the winds and the rains. From afar, I could recognize his long, quick steps on our long balcony, which was enclosed by glass. When he entered, my heart would swell with gratitude. He brought with him a whole world. I could talk with him about everything, without feeling misunderstood. You could open up new directions of thought. We used to talk, for long hours, without fear of misunderstanding. I could develop new lines of thought with him. We used to talk for long hours without feeling that the time pass. My mother was amazed: “Interesting, you never get bored with Moshe Scher. like you do with the others.” Scher was an interesting and profound person. He was not accepted by the young people, because no one really knew him. But I will always remember him with love and appreciation.

He was not happy. Out of love for his elderly mother, he surrendered to the system of unwritten rules, and gave up on marrying a girl he loved, just because she was not from his social circle. Scher's mother, Butze, took care of him and his sister, Ipika. They remained in Kuty. When their mother died, they could not come to her funeral. They were all condemned to death. They knew it, therefore they lived in fear. They all died a horrible death.

[Page 40]

Avrom and Etka Grebler belonged to our circle of friends. Atka was petite and Avrom was long and thin. When they walked together, they looked like “a noodle and a crumb.” Their two sons looked like their parents, one tall and thin and the other, as if he had given up on growing taller, was like his mother - alert and smarter than average. “My Avrom brings me a dress on every trip,” she once said. “Fabric for a dress,” Avrom corrected her words with a cheerful laugh. “I entered a store and asked for a remnant… a remnant for my tiny wife.”

It has been told that when the Germans came and took the two children, she walked like crazy. They lived in Dolina, which was the lower part of the town.

When I was young, we lived in Dolina for a short time. We lived at Yakov Hersh Halfer. I knew his daughter Chaika well. At her home I met her cousin, Etel Halfer, who later married Avraham Tau. I also knew Moshe Neiman and his sister well. I met both of them, who were orphans, at the Foyer family on Sniatiner Street. Dudy Foyer, his son Hershel, and his young daughter, Priwa, were murdered in Kolomyia Ghetto.

My best friend at the time was Yeta Cherner, daughter of Moshe Cherner. She had an older brother, Leibele, and a younger brother, Shimshele, whose mother especially spoiled him. They later lived near the Great Synagogue, where they bought a small house. We moved to Gerichtesgasse and lived with Michele Horner.

Ester Horner was the eldest and Gitla, who was small and talented, was younger than her. She was a high school teacher, and her students looked like giants next to her. “Have you seen our teacher anywhere?” one of her tall students once asked, as he was peeking under the table.

[Page 41]

The Linder family, Moshe Linder, his wife Chana, and the children, lived in the house next to us. Mr. Linder was a relative and also my father's townsman. They used to come to us often. I liked Chana Linder very much. Even later, when I grew up and they moved to Złoczew, my feelings for her did not change. Her children, Yosi, Siymo, Pepi and Mina, were the center of her life and the main topic of her conversation. Yosi's fate was bitter. He fell at the front. The beautiful Mina was killed in a bombing and Chana Linder was also killed, alone, far from her children.

Across from us lived the Rieber family with their two daughters. Next to them lived the Shnitzer family with three daughters. The middle daughter, Chayka, was an especially good seamstress, with golden hands.

In the second street lived the Arenstein family. Elka Arenstein had a soprano voice. I knew she sang beautifully, but when I first heard her, I was enchanted. Her younger sister, Faye, also had a clear voice, but nothing compared to Elka's voice.

In Gerichtesgasse also lived Mrs. Moch and her son Willy. After the death of her husband, Dr. Moch the lawyer, Mrs. Moch opened a fabric store. She was knowledgeable about fabrics and fashion and managed the store with her son Willy. “Listen to the doctor's advice,” she used to tell clients, when she chose the right fabric for them. She knew how to choose the right ones for her clients. Her son Willy fell in love with Pepi Sucher and married her. Mrs. Moch gave her son Willy a good education. She was gentle and nice. It's just a shame that he was too gentle for this cruel world.

Kuty was a small town. When I remember the past, I see everyone. Even if I knew them only by their name, or the look of their faces. It was a big family, to which they all belonged. It is impossible to list all those who died on the sanctification of God's name. No one

[Page 42]

was left there, and yet the trees are bustling there, the thin rain falls there every time in the autumn. In winter, the bare trees are laden with snow, and in spring the air is once again filled with the wonderful scents of blossoms. Again and again, the cyclamens and the lilacs bloom… but other people breathe this wonderful air. In May, the chestnut trees bloom, and the blossoms look like burning white candles. In June, hordes of beetles appear, playing around and humming. The trees may be the same, but each year there is a new blossom.

Do the bells still ring on Tudiober Street? Who knows? Although pansies and dahlias, cyclamens, May bells, daffodils, and asters will bloom there forever. Every year different flowers, but in our eyes, they are always the same flowers.

Perhaps sometimes, on a bright summer day, a lonely girl sits under the old willows, on the bank of the Cheremosh listening, as if in a dream, to the sound of the flowing water, to the pleasant rustle of the wind in the leaves, and dreams of turning back the wheel of time.

Busy with themselves, whispering secrets, the waves rush, not noticing the girl, on their way to the Prut River and with it to the Black Sea, and not a single wave retraces its steps, but the Cheremosh, this flowing river, in its swift flow, will flow forever.

  Kuty, Ukraine     Yizkor Book Project     JewishGen Home Page

Copyright © 1999-2025 by JewishGen, Inc.
Updated 05 Mar 2025 by JH