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If a city can earn the name “a true Jewish city,” it is the city of Lublin that has earned a premier place among the titleholders, and I am not qualified, and I am not capable of describing my dear home city. However, I will attempt to provide everything from the depths of my memory, all of the crumbs from my childhood up to the 1920s of our century, to fulfill on my part the duty my lndsleit [people from the same town] have laid out for me.

When I was three years old, my mother, a young widow of Reb Yankele Herszenhorn (a well-known personality in Lublin in the 1860-1880s, whom I did not know. He died when I was a year-and-a-half old), carried me to kheder [religious primary school]. Later, I learned that my teacher was named Netl Melamed [Netl the teacher]. This was a pious Jew with a wide and long yellow beard and blue eyes, who appeared sterner than he truly was. We children caused more mischief than we learned. Therefore, our assistant teacher was stern, but neither hit us. I cannot say this about a few of my later teachers.

One of the last ones has especially remained in my memories: Noakh Modzhitzer (from Modzhits [Dęblin]). He was just the opposite of Netl Melamed. He appeared (also with a yellow, but not as vast and beautiful a beard) completely innocent, but he was one Lublin child-beater!

I stop here at the two because all of Lublin knew them as good teachers who received their so-called “small clients” from the best middle-class circles. A third person I remember well was Avraham Zawichoster (we called him Avraham Zawichwoster). This Jew was in his forties with a greyish, wide, and long beard. He did not torment us strongly with learning. He would disappear for an entire hour because he loved a little whiskey. He left us alone to repeat the Talmudic lesson by ourselves. Understand that we children had no heartache because of this and would either help the teacher's wife a little or simply fool around.

At this time, the Lublin Rabbi, Reb Hilel Lipszic, issued an edict that the teachers must receive a kind of ordination from him. This ordination consisted of sending the children to the rabbi or to his son, Reb Layzerke, to be examined [as to what they had learned].

I met the Lublin Rabbi for the first time at such an examination. This was a tall Jew with a stately appearance: a long, wide, white beard, a beautiful, high forehead, and blue eyes. As I later learned, he was a famous scholar and polyglot.

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I was then seven years old and just had begun to study Gemora [commentaries on the Torah] with the traditional Hamakfid [Talmudic reasoning and language]. The Rabbi only asked me one question: to give him a case where a borrower was in a better situation than an unpaid watchman. Not thinking, I answered: [if he] died because of work [performed for the borrower]. This so pleased him that he said that I should be given 36 walnuts. My joy was unlimited because the other children at this examination had received only up to 18 nuts. By the way, it was characteristic that an opponent of studying Gemora with children before a certain age did not refrain from posing such a question to a 7-year-old.

As long as I am writing about rabbis, I will remember two more with whom I became acquainted during the later years. One was the Rabbi Kliaczkin (his son was the famous philosopher); the second was Rabbi Szapiro. I was close to the first one briefly when I was already a medical doctor. Rabbi Kliaczkin was interested in medicine and would even read my medical periodicals. Our acquaintance ended, however, at the moment when I accepted the mandate of the Bund at the Jewish kehila [organized Jewish community] in 1924. ^[1]

I met Rabbi Szapiro face to face once at a conference about the Jewish hospital. In general, Rabbi Szapiro avoided contact with me, so much so that he did not send a supervisor to the TOZ [Towarzystwo Ochrony Zdrowia Ludności żydowskiej – Society to Protect the Health of the Jews] colony, having, it seems, rusted that I was not an enemy…

The Revolution of 1905 was imminent. The teacher of secular things came to the kheder. My mother, a young widow, herself a devout woman, whose ideal was a doctor wearing Rabbeinu Tam's tefillin ^[2], brought me a teacher who would come to us (to me and my brother, Dovid, later a well-known Zionist for the group, Et Livnot [Time to Build]) and give us lessons. Among my teachers was a Russian, an exiled political activist.

After the Kishinev pogrom in 1904, he secretly gave me a proclamation from the Bund, about the Kishinev pogrom. This proclamation made an enormous impression on me, and from then on, I began to draw closer to the Bundist groups.

There was a distinguished Bundist movement in Lublin then that was led by Khanin and Sura Szweber.

The dramatic episode, in short, consisted of this: I had to leave Lublin. The episode, in short, consisted of this: being in a secret room (a small attic room on the fourth floor at Zamojska Street) and hearing that a proclamation had to be printed, but that there was no place to print, I proposed to make use of my mother's print shop.

This printing shop in Lublin was Print Shop of the widow Nekhama, wife of Reb Yakov, may his memory be blessed, Herszenhorn and Reb Moishe Sznajdmeser. The group agreed, and I helped, and as the police had begun an investigation and the watchman began to talk too much, it was believed in my mother's house that it was more sensible for me to leave Lublin. I will not stop here to explain further phases of my journey, such as my entry into a gymnazie [secondary school], later, in a university, because all this took place outside Lublin. I would only come home for a short time (on vacation), and I know very little about what took place in Lublin.

The First World War began. I was then a student at the surgical clinic in Prague and returned to Lublin (for a short time) in 1916. However, the idea arose among the so-called intelligent young people to found an organization to fight for equal Jewish rights.

As I remember, there was an incredible drive then among the young for communal and political activity, and an initiative commission for this purpose was called together that mainly consisted of all kinds of students, both concerning their political opinions and specialties:

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assimilated, Bundists, Zionists, doctors, jurists, philologues, and so on.

In addition to me, taking part in this commission as I remember were the following people: Lewinson, Goldberg, Cigelman (later well-known as a lawyer) the first – known specialist of the penal court (died in Osh, Kyrgyz Soviet Socialist Republic), the second – a well-known civilist [civil law specialist], living now in New York, the third – a capable lawyer in Zamość (tragically perished during the occupation), Kornblit (later Left Poalei Zionist [Marxist Zionist], living at the end in Paris).

We wrangled for a long time until we agreed on one point for our program: equal rights for the Jewish population. This remained the only point of our program.

The first convened general recruitment meeting was stormy enough (the meeting was secret, because it was challenging to receive permission from the Austrian occupation regime; later, it was easier).

The meeting elected a managing committee that included almost the same people whom I have enumerated above. The editor of the organization's publication, Myśl Zydowska [Jewish Thought], was the lawyer, Ludwik Rechtszaft. Rechtszaft was an exceptional journalist with a sharp pen, but very uncrystallized political opinions, which, with the diverse composition of the organization for a specific time, was not a disadvantage…

A so-called “rescue committee” existed in Lublin at that time. It was founded in 1915, right after the Austrians' entry. This committee consisted almost entirely of the assimilated (Moshe Rabbeinu's Poles [Moses' Poles]) and a few of their middle-class blind followers.

And I was sent to this rescue committee as a delegate from our organization, but immediately, at the first meeting, a storm began when I had the chance to speak and began speaking in Yiddish. One after another: Dr. Kaufman, from the Lodz bank, the head of the Lublin community kehila for many years, the lawyer Warman, later the chairman of the Lublin kehila council for many years, A.M. Kantor, later city alderman, the lawyer, Hilzberg and even Shaul Wohlman, a Jew, a merchant who, alas, had difficulty pronouncing Polish and used this language very rarely, all came out of the woodwork and searched for all kinds of arguments that Yiddish, if one cannot do otherwise, is permitted when speaking among themselves, but at official meetings, God forbid. Jews spoke with such fervor as if this concerned – lehavdil [word used to separate sacred matters from secular] – a desecration. After everyone was finished, I again asked Chairman Kaufman: Can I now speak? – “Nie” (No!) – was the answer I received.

I left the meeting as a protest and described the incident to the youth organization. The youth organization tolerated the language question in a sweeping and far-reaching manner. However, there were very few advocates of Yiddish there. And who could talk about beginning a fight with the rescue committee where there were such complainers, where there certainly was no enthusiasm? I resigned my mandate, and, in my place, the student Goldberg was elected, and with that, the incident ended. This incident reverberated in the Jewish neighborhood.

Since I immediately received a post as an assistant in Brno, Moravia, and left Lublin, I do not know the future course of the youth organization or the rescue committee's activities.

Before my departure, I was assigned a mission that I needed to complete in Vienna.

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The trade in whatever product was almost entirely dependent on permits, which could be obtained from the commandants of the various Austrian offices.

Moving around every such commandant would be a so-called komendantikhes [female diminutive of commandant]. Most of these individuals were “middle class” and Hasidic daughters who, for reasons unknown to me, were to receive various permits, although I do not know at what price.

The corruption extended so far that in certain circles, they began to think about how to get rid of this plague. With the full effort of my brain, I cannot remember which organization, but I received the assignment to deal with this question in Vienna. I had to talk with the then-Ukrainian deputy, Krilovitch, and the Zionist (later Revisionist leader of Austria), Herman Stricker, about this issue. ^[3]

I carried out my mission perfectly, but I think nothing came of it. Krilovitch (I think that was his name) barely understood what was said to him; for the matter to be understandable, we had to devote a considerable time. Stricker, however, understood everything, and he deserved pity when he had to again and again knock the simple matter into Krilovitch's head.

The thing is, I think, it became tedious for him. I say, I think, because I could not wait for the end and traveled to my post.

1. The mandate refers to the designation of a person as a member of a political slate. Rabbi Kliaczkin probably ended his acquaintance with the author because the Bund is a secular, socialist organization. Return
2. There are two kinds of tefillin (phylacteries), Rashi's and Rabbeinu Tam's. At the end of the prayers, some worshippers don Rabbeinu Tam's tefillin after removing the Rashi tefillin. Return
3. The Stricker to whom the author referred was probably Robert Stricker, not Herman Stricker. Return

You will not find their works in any library; you will not encounter any of their names in an encyclopedia; yet their lives and activities were among the most sensitive and illustrious points in the spiritual and communal life in Lublin.

One of the older and strongest of his time and, based on his influence, was the Lublin Rebbe, Reb Avrahamele Eiger, of blessed memory. He was a grandson of the famous gaon [sage] Posen [Poznan] Rebbe Akiva, one of the greatest rabbinical authorities in the first half of the 18^th century, a son of Reb Leibele (the Torat Emet [Torah of Truth – it is customary to refer to a rabbinical author by the name of his most famous book], who went for a time to Izhbitza to Reb Mordekhai Yosef [Leiner]. After this, when the Hoze [Seer] of Lublin died, Reb Leibele settled in Lublin. After his death, his son, Reb Avrahamele, took over the rabbinical position with a smaller group.

He was a good and consistent learner. Found in his Sefat Emet [The Language of Truth] are attempts to give a murky, mystical answer to the eternal question: Why do the wicked prosper and the righteous suffer?

This book, Sefat Emet, was a collection of a summation of teachings recited while leading a tish [table – a meal and gathering headed by a Hasidic rabbi]. They were mostly an improvisation on a verse from a Torah portion or just a commentary of the week.

The teachings of the rabbis were never written down. One of the closest members of [the rabbi's] entourage, an old attendee at the tish, Reb Heshil Torbiner – a Jew and a learned man with a very good memory – had the task of remembering all of the teachings. He stylized them and wrote them down.

The rabbi lived on the Jewish Street (Szeroka) 10.

Walking through the narrow, vaulted corridor, one came out into a giant, large courtyard in which a beautiful and large house of prayer had been erected, which was completed somewhat more than a year before the rabbi's death. (The older and smaller house of prayer in the same courtyard was finally closed.)

On the holidays, and very particularly on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, several hundred and, sometimes, up to a thousand Hasidim came to the Rebbe.

The house of prayer was too small to take in the giant crowd. The majority had to remain in the courtyard for prayer, along with the ordinary Jews or Hasidim who remained at “home” and wanted to pray with a rebbe on Rosh Hashanah.

It was a custom that during the Days of Awe, at the Musaf prayers, [additional prayers recited after the morning prayers], the rebbe and the entire congregation went to pray in the old rabbi's house of prayer of the Seer of Lublin, which was located on the same street, number 28.

The large house of prayer, with many windows, quickly filled up and the courtyard and a bit of the alley were clogged by the worshippers.

Then, when the rabbi himself opened the ark, the Bal Musaf [the one who recites the additional prayers on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur], Menasha Szabisziner, a Jew, a 60-year-old, threw his prayer shawl over his head and with a powerful, ringing voice, cried: “Hineni ha'ani mima'as” [“Here I am, impoverished in word and deed.”].

The entire congregation shuddered and actually sensed that in the merit of the community, their prayers would surely be heard.

The praying ended around 5 o'clock at night. Because of the late time, we did not go home to eat, but went straight to recite tashlik [the symbolic tossing of something like breadcrumbs into a flowing body of water – casting away one's sins from the previous year].

This truly was a strange image that our fellow townsmen happened to see: a train of hundreds and thousands of Jews with the rabbi at the head, wrapped in long, Turkish prayer shawls with the silver band of embroidery on the top of the prayer shawl laid on their shoulders and with streimlekh [wide brimmed fur hats worn by some Hasidic men] on their heads. The flushed, festive Hasidim were interspersed with hundreds of newcomers, freshly rested after a holiday

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nap and everyone together flooded the entire little street up to the bridge and there stood on both sides of the river, the entire length from the Jewish butcher shops to across the bridge at Lubartowska Street.

A quiet, secret murmur was carried in the air and suddenly hundreds and thousands of hands began to turn out their pockets and mysteriously strew something in the water. The sun began to set calmly and pleasantly on the horizon and, as if a little tired from a summer of strolling around, it hurried to feel the taste of a holiday nap.

Dark bits of clouds already covered the Elul sky; they let pass white and blue stripes only here and there through which the last prayers of the day could reach up to the Divine Throne.

Slowly, so as not to cause a rush, the group dispersed.

Reb Avrahamele, of blessed memory, was one of the last of the Mohicans of the Eiger rabbinical dynasty that had “led” in Lublin.

After the rabbi's death, his two oldest sons, Reb Shlomole and Reb Ezrial-Meir, began simultaneously “to lead” and each one pretended to be the only authorized inheritor of the rabbi's “seat.”

If Reb Shlomole considered himself the natural successor, according to religious law as a first-born son, Reb Ezrial-Meir argued that because Reb Shlomole had lived all those years in Krasnik and the public therefore hardly knew him, he would not be able to take over the congregation, and as Krasnik Rebbe, he did not need to become the Lublin Rebbe overnight.

This unraveled a great quarrel with religious lawsuits and finally estranged the entire elite from Lubliner Hasidus.

They both “led” for years, but this all remained a pale substitute for the past…

The Rebbe, Reb Avrahamele, may he rest in peace, died in 1913, on a frosty Shabbos day. His death enveloped the entire city in a Yom Kippur mood. All businesses were closed until after the funeral. Tens of thousands of people flooded the Lublin streets and walked in snow up to the gartl [belt worn by Hasidic men] in order to give their last honor to the great deceased man.

At this street, on the right, going down from the city clock, between the orphans' house (okhrana) and the Jewish gate, was found the book and newspaper business of Reb Shlomo Nisenbaum.

The entrance to the business, which was found in the very front of the street, had a considerable number of steps, and several newspapers hung on the window-paned door as advertisements; one could barely look out.

Not having any windows, besides the half-window-paned door, it was dark there, and the only illumination, even by day, was the kerosene lamp that always burned turned down. He waited for a customer to come in and turn it up. There was never anyone in the shop, but when one opened the door, it disturbed an over-head bell that rang, letting one know that someone had come in.

After waiting for a while, a dark, charming girl with a curly head of hair, cut in a short “brush cut,” with a small, long face, approached. With unaffected politeness, she asked what we wanted, and as it was difficult to find the requested book, or that she did not have it, she smiled, easily a little embarrassed, and put her head in the half-open door that led to a side room [and] called her father.

The side room was of medium size, with one room to the street through which every Shabbos [Sabbath] morning, they gave out the Warsaw newspaper to steady customers, naturally, not taking any money.

This room was furnished very modestly. Two iron beds were on each side of the walls.

Over one of the beds, the picture of a young, extinguished life looked down with quiet sorrow;

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[it was] his son, one of the first pioneers, who had left his comfortable home to become a farmer and stone-breaker in Eretz-Yisroel. After being in the country for a time, he became a guard, and his young life was exterminated while on his post as a guard.

In the middle of the room stood a tiny table with several chairs over which hung a brass, extra-bright light.

At the table, we would always find Nisenbaum sitting with a book and a very small piece of written-upon paper.

Shlomo Borukh Nisenbaum Author of Le-korot Ha-Yehudim be-Lublin [On the History of the Jews of Lublin]

He was of medium height, broad-shouldered, with a slightly round back. He had a full face surrounded by a beautiful, grey beard, trimmed like a komets [Hebrew vowel sign that looks like the letter “t”], a pair of soft and good eyes, framed with a sickly red; therefore, he wore glasses with a gold frame that gave him dignity and importance.

Nisenbaum was an authentic type of an old follower of the Enlightenment, an assiduous student in the worldly sense; he was a diligent reader and greatly versed in the literature of the Enlightenment.

For the short time that he lent books to read (until we little by little “overwhelmed” his library), every reader had a guide in him. Being a fervent Hovevei Zion [Lovers of Zion], he liked to give the reader Ahad Ha-am [“One of the People” – pen name of Asher Zvi Hirsch Ginsberg] and to interpret the beautiful but difficult Ahad Haam commentaries.

He was a researcher of character; his passion was to immerse himself in old books and manuscripts that helped him enrich and deepen his great erudition and knowledge.

His book, Le-korot ha-Yehudim be-Lublin, written in Hebrew, was the crowning of his stubborn and effortful work of many years. The book is a collection of the most important events and occurrences of Jewish Lublin, of all of its great personalities, mediators and communal workers.

Everything that is said there is supported with various historical documents and substantiated by the writing on the old, moss-covered headstones found at the oldest Jewish cemetery in Lublin. Being a man who could and knew what to write, he did not work in any editorial group as a “constant coworker.” However, an article of his was often found in the Lubliner Togblat [Lublin Daily Newspaper] about a communal-cultural question or just about restoring the headstones at the old cemetery.

The fresh grave of his tragically deceased son did not let him rest until he traveled to Eretz Yisroel. At his return, he published several articles in the Lubliner Togblat, where with much love for the land [Eretz Yisroel], he described in a beautiful, picturesque form everything and everyone that he saw and heard there.

He died in 1927. With his death, Jewish Lublin lost one of its deepest intellectuals of a characteristic local color.

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In Tuchman's Library

Everything is topsy-turvy today in Chohen's house of study. The tables near the ark that were usually thickly occupied with those studying at this time are now almost completely empty. Today, the group came to pray earlier to be able to grab a word about the treachery as the opponents had labeled it of what had been done last night.

The new spirit that burst into many Hasidic houses finally found itself in the half-Orthodox Lublin streets and passing Lubartowska on one side and Kowalska Street on the other, turned to the Jewish market between two tall houses where a small brick passageway led to an old building – Chohen's house of study.

After the death of Reb Zadok Hakohen, of blessed memory, who did not leave a successor, there was little engagement in Hasidus or studying.

The majority of young men who had graduated from the great teachers and wanted to continue studying entered Chohen's house of study. In time, however, too often a Tanakh [Torah, Prophets and Writings] was seen over an open Gemara [commentaries on the Torah] that ostensibly meant that one was looking for another verse. The students also began to enter the house of study late and go home earlier than usual.

The exterior form also was a little different; the peyes [side curls] were shorter and half-combed behind the ears, the collar of the shirts was stiff and pressed, bound with a dark tie and, in general, the group talked more than it studied.

This did not endure for long. On a Thursday, between Minkhah and Maariv [afternoon and evening prayers], the shamas [sexton], Reb Yehiel Leib, a Jew, an insolent person, who thought a great deal of himself – he had been the shamas with Chohen, of blessed memory – hung an announcement on which were listed a considerable number of young men who were warned that if they did not change their behavior, they would not be authorized to enter the house of study.

This made an impression on those studying.

Many of those studying were not seen in the house of study the next morning. Borukh Kocker, a strong student and good explainer who recited a page of Talmud every week and whose portion of Nederim [vows] with RaN [Nissim of Gerona] was a model of scholastic mastery, with his talis [prayer shawl] on his shoulders, ready to “wrap himself in it” – seethed and said to the group: “It is hard not to comprehend that Dovid, Kopl's son (Kenigsberg), put on complete gaiters and long pants – If the rebbe did not teach it, where does Reb Chiya get it from?” Drawing the talis over his head, he recited the blessing aloud – they say he ended quietly saying that they were studying the Tanakh [Torah, Prophets and Writings] with explanations by Reish Lakish [Shimon ben Lakish].

From then on, the nighttime students began to meet at Tuchman's in the library in order to exchange books, which until then a student or his friend's sister had done [for him]…

An alley called Oliena was found at Ribner Street. It was narrow, dark and dirty there; the alley was blocked on both sides by tall houses, so that the sun rarely looked in there. There, in one of the houses, was found Tuchman's Library.

Although this was a front shop facing the street, it was pushed deep in the house, which, with its darkness, gave the impression that one was hiding forbidden goods there. From the three shelves, arranged like the Hebrew letter khes [ח], looked down the yellowed backs of the unbound books, and when the door was closed, the dangling threads of the torn bindings swayed and began to move as if they were shaking back and forth, regretting their pitiful situation.

Only a few of the books still had good bindings of English linen that protected the clear sign of their old, important character.

It was rare when several pages were not missing in a book. When someone complained about it, the good-hearted Tuchman would console:

– Never mind, enough pages remain so you are able to read without the few pages and when you finish this, you have other books…”

Tuchman did not have a great and rich selection; one could only find a few “suspenseful” novels by Shomer [Nahum Meir Schaikewitz] and [Ozer] Bloshteyn.

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However, the largest number of books consisted of serious and good works. There were many Hebrew books, particularly the works of [Antoni] Słonimski, [Sergei] Bershadski, [Władysław] Bartoszewski and [Hayim Nahman] Bialik, to [Mordekhai Ze'ev] Feierberg's Le-an [“Whither?”]. These books and writers particularly attracted and had an immense instructive influence on the special reading group that was recruited from within the walls of the house of prayer…

The library understood how to serve its readers and what to give to whom.

Tuchman was a man of short stature [with] a wide, irregular face, but with a pair of dark blue eyes that always smiled and evoked trust. Himself the best reader in his library, there was almost no good book of which he did not remember the plot and the most important dialogue. While Tuchman was a modest man and one who had modest means, the payment to the library was very small. He was an interesting and pleasant talker. So, exchanging a book took hours…

After several months of going to him, we had read his entire library and when we asked him: “Mr. Tuchman, bring some fresh books; you are lacking a large number of modern Yiddish writers; you will see,” we tried to assure him, “you will get new readers and it will…” “So, yes,” he interrupted and did not let us finish – “The new readers do not need fresh books. On Szopena Street in Lektot [a book shop], there are enough books and they have the benefit that one can carry them under the arm and go dancing, shimmy with them…” He ended sadly and with resignation.

The library was not open for a long time. In 1922 a shop for old furniture opened in Tuchman's Library.

A man carries a dream within him. After many years of detachment from Lublin, in the rustle of stormy life in European capitals, always remains the longing once more to go to the old home, once again to have the feeling of being there where I was born, in the city of our youth, hope and love.

So, I see in my earliest years hundreds of Jews carrying packs of food and clothing to the Lewetower Gate. This is the contribution of those in Lublin standing in solidarity with the unfortunate Jews who in 1914 were driven out of a group of shtetlekh [towns] around Lublin by the bloody tsar. I see the hot, searing tears of our dear Lubliners, the deep, thankful looks of our unfortunate brothers and I carry in me the feeling of love for our Lubliners for this deed on my entire life's road, as a majestic eternal light.

And here before my eyes stand the dear Tuchman brothers in the library at the rynek [marketplace].

I see much love and seriousness that the older Tuchman gave to the young, how he won them to reading and to developing a literary taste. How hundreds of Lublin boys have Tuchman to thank that they became acquainted with the best works of world literature…

I see the younger Tuchman, how he stood and painted pictures, mainly on biblical themes, such as Daniel in the lion's den, Rachel at the well, and so on.

I see Lublin during the years of the Austrian occupation; the thousands of beggars in the streets, the hunger that looked out from the deep eye-

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sockets, the long lines for bread, and the radiant tremble at the outbreak of the revolution in Germany, in Austria. I still see how tens of young people ran after the escaping officers and tore off their epaulets. I also find myself with a sack in my hand in the chase after the escaping, well-dressed Austrian elegant young men. How small and pitiable the great world leaders then appeared.

I see the pulsing Lublin communal life; I see the workers' kitchen at Grodzka, under the leadership of the Bund, of the rynek under the leadership of Poalei Zion [Marxist Zionists]; I remember the energetic Comrade Maks from the Bund, a brilliant speaker to the masses, occupied with the professional movement.

A whole row of communal workers emerged from Rynek 7, that is, from the Left Poalei Zion. I remember Comrade Przepiorki, an enthusiastic speaker. His appearance at a First of May demonstration electrified and transported thousands of workers and people. Because of police persecutions, he had to leave Poland and later played a great role in the Communist Party in Argentina, where he was the editor of the Yiddish party organ. He died in 1927 in Argentina.

In 1919, a pogrom took place in Lublin under the influence of reactionary elements. Blows were thrown and Jews were robbed and then one saw the Jewish workers, the porters, butchers and members of the workers union, go out in the street and beat the pogromczikes [those participating in the pogrom] so terribly that they long remembered their defeat. The police then mixed in because they saw how the unruly hooligans were being badly beaten; then Lublin became quiet. The P.P.S. [Polska Partia Sochalistyczna – Polish Socialist Party] helped the Jewish workers a great deal in their fight against the hooligans.

The strength of the professional unions and of the workers' movement was very great in Lublin. I remember an entire series of meetings of the workers' council, as well as the Royte Gwardia [Red Guard], in which Jews also had a great role.

I also remember the struggle between the organized labor force and the Jewish Lublin thieves and underworld.

It happened in this way: a worker came to the Tailors' Professional Union, in tears, and said that thieves had taken everything out of his house. This made a strong impression on the workers and it was decided to turn to the thieves to give back everything. The thieves answer to the request from the union was that they were not afraid of the “fools” and would give nothing back. Then the union declared a war against the thieves and a bloody battle between both sides began. There were wounded on both sides. The thieves lost the battle and had to return everything and commit themselves not to steal from any worker.

Large meetings would often take place in Lublin. [Vladimir] Medem, [Beynish] Michalowicz, [Josef] Kruk, [Yakov] Zerubavel, Grinbaum and so on came to Lublin very often with speeches and lectures.

[Chaim] Zhitlowsky visited Lublin, gave a spirited lecture, as did [Nahum] Nir-Rafalkes. Of the Yiddish writers, we had [Y.L.] Peretz, [Peretz] Markish, [Yoyel] Mastbaum, [Moishe] Broderzon, [Noakh] Prylucki, [H.] Leivick, and so on. They participated in the spiritual rise of Lublin.

Under the influence of the futuristic poetry of Uri Zvi Greenberg and [Moishe] Broderzon, poets grew in Lublin like mushrooms after the rain; stars arose and were extinguished.

Thus, I still see so many years later my hometown, which I will always carry in my spirit.

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