[Page 151]

Market days were a centrepiece for the Jewish community and were the source of its sustenance for the entire week.

Market days were held in our town on Thursdays; however the movement towards it began earlier, on Wednesdays. Petty traders would bring in their merchandise the evening before, and would stake out their place in the market and stay there for many hours for fear of being displaced or robbed. Not only the traders, but also the locals would similarly set up their stalls ahead of time.

The night before market days was for us a long night. Father was a hatter; he would work all week and not manage to sew the buttons on the hats that were to be sold. He would arouse the family in the middle of the night to come and help him complete the task. We were happy to do this work so as not to shirk our responsibility. By the early morning my brothers and sisters would bring the hats to the market and arrange them on the stall.

On market days Suchowola would adorn the form of a busy trading city. From the early morning the peasants would throng to the township, those on vehicles and those on foot, carrying vegetables, fruit, livestock and poultry. With the money they earned from their produce they would buy essential goods from the shops and stalls of the Jews, and with any spare change they would eye a drink and fill the taverns to bursting point. Stores also did a brisk trade. However the centre of activity was the stalls in the market square. I loved to stroll there on such days. Bashke' Galanti's stall left a particularly strong impression, and at times my heart would take pity on that woman's fate.

Though market days were pleasant during the summer months, during the winters these were hard to bear. Bones shivered in the cold and it was difficult to recognise anyone who was covered in Barashkava hittel [Yiddish: sheepskin hats] with flaps over their ears, wrapped in red–skin fur, gloves and warm boots; the women would also keep warm by the Fuertop [Yiddish: hot pot]. Besides market days (for which preparations would take place over the week) there were also the fairs that would take place in Suchowola once or twice a year. Preparations for these would take many months, and a day at the fair was similar to that of a market day, but on a larger scale.

Fairs in Suchowola were known far and wide and there were merchants that came from great distances to participate. Suchowola fairs were no small matter.

[Page 153-154]

Memories of the “old house”, the town, its lights and its shadows, its joys and days of sadness and sorrow. The area between the “mountain” and the “slope” that divided the town in the middle, which also served as a buffer for quarrels in the synagogue during the time of the elections for a gabbai and at the time of the appointment of a rabbi. Also, the church, which stood in the middle of the town, near the shops of the Jews and the market, was seen as a locus of contention and a source of potential troubles.

Young people wondered in its streets and alleys, curiously watching the arrival of the only bus that brought guests and passengers to the town.

The synagogues had glory and splendor, especially on Shabbats and holidays. Aliyot (being called up to the reading of the Torah) were hotly contested by those zealous for sake of heaven. Holidays and festivals added a special charm to the town and its residents. At that time, there was a “divine revival”, which engulfed all public strata.

At Simchat Torah there was joy and happiness. The intention of everyone, scholars as well as common people, was to glorify the Torah.

On Yom Kippur everyone was in communion and the outpouring of the soul. It happened that on that holy day, when the public was gathered together and was filled with worry and fear of the supreme Lord, precisely then the Polish hooligans found an opportunity to attack with shouts and with beatings every Jew they met.

A special episode is dedicated to the Land of Israel and the emigration (Aliyah) to it. A special ceremony and commotion were evident in the town, when those making Aliyah parted from the townspeople, a sense of unity and concern for others were noticeable. As the pace of Aliyah increased it seemed the existence of the town in exile was becoming more precarious, and it seemed as if the town would soon be emptied of its Jewish residents as they emigrated to the Land of Israel, if fate had not intervened and everything was destroyed.

I see in my mind my father's figure, who had a black beard adorning his pale face. Before dawn, he was already sitting by the sewing machines, his thin and weak body turning the wheel of the machine while he hums to himself a soft tune. As a Jewish craftsman who struggled hard to make a living but did not lose his faith, he had inside his meager body, a strong desire to live, a desire for a better life.

Avraham Yitzhak and Frieda Zalman

Even after we left Suchowola, when we moved to Bialystok, the hometown of my late father, our ties were not severed. From time to time, we would visit Suchowola in the summer, to breathe in the scent of the pine groves that surrounded the town. Every day, both of us, my mother and I, would go to the pine grove in “the long village”, which was filled with many campers. The surroundings overflowed with spring beauty, and the hearts were filled with the happiness of the universe. We would go out into the forest, a squirrel and a rabbit would pass through the trees, and the birds – it was a real world of song.

[Page 155]

The grandfather of Avraham Golov – Yukhke'h Der Toker [Yiddish: the Engraver] would say of his own grandfather: In those days before the Prussians came to our provinces, the Hill was covered in forest, and the Jews who lived in the square opposite the Synagogue (“Shule”) did not dream that the Hill would one day become inhabited.

In the days of the Prussians (1797 – 1807) the warehouse was built, known as the “Magazine”, on the sands (oifen gelen berg). The Germans held merchandise in it, and so the name stuck. The Prussians also began building brick structures on the Hill, and also built the wall of the Beis Midrash. Then, in fact, the centre was erected on the Hill. Wealthy Jews from the Morad began moving up to the Hill and left the poorer Jews in the Morad. And so relations between the two came into sharp relief, and from then the problem of the Hill vs. the Morad was created, and we were witness to it in our times as well.

In those days there was not yet a Church in Suchowola. The surrounding peasants had an interest in establishing one in Suchowola to serve communities both near and far. The Jews also welcomed it in the hope this would enhance their livelihood and so participated in funding the wooden structure of the Church (the “Kushtchal”) that was built about 150 years ago, in approximately 1806. The brick structure of the Church was erected in approximately 1890.

Of the great Trial the old ones told the following: Trade relations between the Jews and the Prussians continued even after the latter's withdrawal. But this trade was outlawed during the days of the Czar. This illegal trade was called “Kontraband”, the smuggled goods were known as “Pekk'l (“bundled” ) Goods” and the border guards were called “obieshtchikes”.

One time the border guards intercepted some smuggled goods in the hands of a non–Jew. He tried to bribe the guards, but when this did not succeed, he then murdered one of the guards.

The whole town suffered from this crime as “all Israelites are guarantors for one another”. So all of the males, including the town Rabbi, were thrown into jail. This incident occurred in 1842, the same day that Yukhke'h the Engraver was born, and his family often told of the Bris Milah [ritual circumcision] ceremony, when a quorum of ten Jews was released from prison.

To the Great Court Case came a “Kommisia” from Saint Petersburg. Great dread descended upon the township. Do you think a “judgement“ of the “Kommisia” is something of no consequence?

It was then that a miracle occurred. The emissary of the king, a non–Jew who sat on the roof of the Church and watched the burial of the murdered border guard, had an epileptic fit during the trial. The authorities released the Jews but imposed a hefty “contribution”, and it took many years to pay the fine that was imposed on them.

Those accused of the murder escaped to America and their brick house was confiscated. The Jews purchased this structure and converted it to a Beis Midrash (known as the “Homa” [heb: Wall] Beis Midrash). Up to that point there was only one other Beis Midrash in the Morad, so that the “old” (as termed in our day) Beis Midrash on the Hill was built in approximately 1843.

The above story has been passed down by word of mouth, and its details may not be accurate.

[Page 157]

Riots erupted in Suchowola in 1920 and are well remembered by all of its inhabitants. The riots began immediately following the withdrawal of the Red Army. When the Polish soldiers conquered our area and entered the town, they were incited by the wife of the Christian pharmacist who was executed during the “Bolshevik” rule. From that point on the lives and the property of the Jews of Suchowola were open game.

The Polish soldiers tore down doors, burst demonically into the houses and began abusing the Jews and plundering their possessions. They asked Itamar Nisselkovsky for some water to drink. One of the soldiers sat on Mendel's (Itamar's son in law's) back and “rode” him to the well.

They were particularly cruel to bearded Jews. The vicious “Hellertzikim” (soldiers of the Heller division) cut the beards of Motti the Glassier (Tikotsky) and Moshe'ke Grimtchansky with a sword; in spite of these excesses Reb Motti consoled Moshe'ke: “Don't cry my friend, they will never be worthy of beards like ours….”

On the day of the “Black Sabbath” the soldiers corralled most of the residents of the town and abused them. They cut off half the beard of Rabbi Israel. The soldiers abused the others gathered there as well.

Panic spread throughout the town, a palpable fear of death gripped everyone. Parents hid their sons and daughters at the homes of their non–Jewish friends until the rage subsided. The soldiers looted but the Polish citizens also took advantage of the lawlessness. There were also fair and righteous Christians who helped to save the possessions of their Jewish neighbours.

Shoshana Shpecht told us of her Uncle's property, Yudel Kroutsel, that was saved with the help of a non–Jewish woman, their neighbour, who pretended to be one of the looters, and Shoshana, dressed as a Christian girl, helped her to save items from the hands of the looters.

Particularly remembered is the terrible murder of three innocent victims: Khaim–Leizer Liverant, Yuch'ke Liverant and Moshe'ke Kroutsel. They were abducted by the murderous soldiers and after many tortures were executed close to Sovlak [Suwalki?]. The entire town was shocked at hearing of this tragic murder.

Decades have not managed to erase the memories of those terrifying events. Yuch'ke, the pretty youngster, worked for the “Rokom” (town council) during the Soviet rule. As the riots began she had a bad feeling of what was to come. She became ill, but the soldiers forced her from her bed. Her father, Khaim (Dolistaver), was not at home at that time, so the soldiers abducted Khaim–Leizer the Miller whose surname was also Liverant. Khaim–Leizer, a mild and modest man, who was taken by force from his family and never returned.

The third victim, Moshe'ke Kroutsel, the devoted son of Nakhman–Khatskel and Mirke', Fania's husband, was a humble community man innocent of all crime.

22 years later the fate of all the other residents of Suchowola met the same fate as these victims. In the light of the Holocaust, the events of 1920 seem as a drop in the ocean of the bloody massacre of 1942.

[Page 159]

The eve of that Yom Kippur fell on a Sunday, a festive day for the Christian residents. Towards evening, while all of the Jews were hurrying to the Synagogue, Yasske the Sandler wandered the street, drunk, and stumbling over his feet and his mouth full of incitement, invective and curses against the Jews. Some of the bold youth were not prepared to absorb this diatribe from such a lowly and boorish “goy” and began to reply with taunts of their own. Their actions stirred up his Christian friends who came to his aid. They entered the fray and began to throw stones at passers–by and into dwellings. The confrontation stirred up the anti–Jewish hatred amongst the Christians that then grew and spread to a full pogrom. All the Jews barricaded themselves in their houses, their doors and windows shut tight, and we sat inside fearful and startled by every sound.

On this same evening, as usual, I boarded at the house of Shash'ke Karo, a lone neighbour. Her large and impressive house was the last property on the riverside and was surrounded by two streets of the “Goyim”. Shash'ke loved her home that she inherited, and did not wish to move to another location. On that same night we refrained from speaking about the riots and tried to distract our minds from it. But the fear that the goyim might appear at any moment to smash windows and riot filled us with dread. Our fears were unjustified, however, and the tensions subsided the next day.

[Page 160]

Immediately after the breakout of war, all young men were enlisted into the Russian army. At first our town was far from the front, then suddenly the war came to us, and the soldiers dug in on both sides of the river between Suchowola and Karpovitch [Karpowicze, Poland, about 5km west of Suchowola]. An order was given for all citizens to leave their homes, which caused panic and confusion. People collected their belongings, loaded them up onto peasant carts and fled to the countryside. Grandfather had a friend in the village of Olshenki [Olzsanka? About 9 km east of Suchowola], a good and wise goy, who hurried to us in his wagon to carry us and our belongings to his house.

We organised ourselves in the peasant's house, mother guarded the children while father looked after the chest of jewellery that she had inherited as an only child. The chest had its own history: Father never left the chest for a moment, and yet the peasants managed to steal it nevertheless. It happened one evening when the Cossacks retreated via Olshenka and in their flight managed to burn down the village. We ran for our lives and salvaged only a few possessions including the horse and cart that grandfather had managed to save only with considerable effort. We sat in the field and around us houses were on fire like dry kindling; destitute and distraught from sorrow and helplessness we made our way slowly back to the town. The first person to overcome his sorrow was Grandfather Leibel who encouraged my father by exclaiming: “Cheer up son, have the heavens descended upon the earth? See, the house is still standing; let's make the stove that the soldiers cooked on kosher again. The main thing is, we are in one piece and all healthy. G–d will no doubt help us, and the main thing is – we must put our trust in Him.”

The Germans welcomed us into the town, elated as they were by their victory, and they offered us rusks. Relatives who had arrived earlier comforted us and assisted us, as did many of our neighbours and friends.

[Page 161]

It happened during the days of the month of Tammuz [approx. July], in the year 1926. Summer is at its height, the children are free of their schooling and looking to spend their time in the forest between the tall pine trees.

I stood outside to complete my preparations and for my mates to come and call me. Everything was ready and packed and I am loaded up with packages and I run outside.

My foot had only just crossed the threshold when I began shaking all over and my eyes darkened. Opposite our house, on the other end of the market plaza a large column of black smoke covered the sky, followed immediately by huge flames.

Fire! Sparks fell on Moshe'ke the Baker's loft into a mound of hay which immediately caught alight, and flames burst out.

Panic arose in the market, people ran around as madmen, clapping hands and shouting “Fire! Fire!”. The flames spread. Moshe'ke the Baker's house is now engulfed by the flames. Sparks fell on the roof and the flax caught alight too. A wind whipped up and carried bits of burning flax to all parts of the town. Houses on Karpovitch and Yanova Streets began to burn as well, and now our house as well.

The panic spread, there is no way to overcome the flames that increase in spite of the best efforts of the fire brigade. People hurried to remove anything they could from their houses. Mounds and mounds of belongings sprang up beside the brick wall of the Church in the centre of the market. As the inferno increased, people began thinking about saving their lives and left their belongings.

Mother commanded me to take my year–old sister to one of the houses close to the river. From sheer panic I nearly dropped her. I made it safely to my destination, and immediately was surrounded by others cut off from the upper part of the town that no–one dared to approach for fear of their lives.

The sun began to set and it became twilight. I imagine that for as long as I live I will never forget the sight I witnessed on my return: Glowing embers throughout the market, some houses still standing, people began collecting whatever was left, the goyim exploited their opportunity to “load” anything they could find, but no one cared about their losses. It was a long night in the town, no one slept from sheer excitement and also the fear of the fire starting anew. Only the children, emotional and exhausted, fell asleep in their parent's arms. The night passed, the dawn broke. People began clearing away the rubble.

[Page 163]

Many years have passed since this event, a rare event, and the elderly told that this had happened only once in their lives. And this is how it happened:

It was a normal summer's day, a day of light and sunshine. Suddenly the skies darkened and heavy, black clouds, as if containing stones and slabs of rock in their wings, and darkness as black as can be outside.

We had barely managed to take in the sight and wonder about the atmospheric change when suddenly a terrible sand storm whipped up, as if from the desert that sent up a huge dust cloud into the air as a host of demons from the legends of old. The storm took everything in its path. A ear–shattering noise filled the air and belongings were caught in a vortex: Window shutters, barn doors and unclosed paddocks banged and were torn off their hinges, beams fell down noisily from the rooves, thatch flew in the air as feathers. Windows were smashed, torrential rain fell to the earth, as if all of the wellsprings of the heavens had opened, fear of immense magnitude filled every heart. People were so astounded they were unable to utter a sound or move a limb, as if petrified.

Some thought: Has the world, G–d forbid, returned to primordial chaos? Those moments seemed to last forever.

After the storm there arose a wondrous silence, and the air became soft and pleasant. The rain swept clean all of the dust. Little by little people recovered from the shock that had gripped them and a raised and festive mood filled their hearts, as if we were witness to the act of Creation.

Genuine happiness leaped upon the children. Puddles and rivulets had formed along the sides of the road. We removed our shoes, with or without our mother's permission, and we strolled through the puddles. We looked all around. Trees had been uprooted. On the corner of the “Karapovitcher Gass”, in the field by the house of Moshe–Aaron the Glassier stood a large ancient and venerable tree. A lo and behold it had been uprooted from its place and was lying on its side.

Once the storm had passed, the Sheppard came and called his flock that had dispersed in all directions out of fear, and its owner had to go search and collect the herd.

So it has remained in our memories, the “well known storm” in our town.

[Pages 165-166]

The house stood in the center of the town, painted red, spacious and completely immersed in greenery. My father used to say that the house was built on the occasion of their marriage as their family nest, that stood until the time of the annihilation.

My good and dear parents, Yudel and Chashka Krutzel, nurtured their nest with great dedication and boundless love.

On Karpovitz Street stood a second house, Grandpa Itamar's.. A vegetable garden separated the two houses, but connected them both and blurred the boundaries of each one.

Grandpa had a beautiful soul and a big heart; He was an educated and intelligent man. He was close to us, the grandchildren, understood our spirit and forgave every prank we got up to. His heart's desire was to make Aliyah (immigrate) to the Land of Israel, and he was able to fulfill it, together with his family, in 1920, to build his house here.

My family also prepared itself to make Aliyah, but due to a small mishap it did not play out and they remained in the diaspora. It caused great suffering for my mother and father, who for all these years, dreamed of making Aliyah and reuniting with their family.

My father invested his energy and time in civic engagement for Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel). My mother lived in the town as if her stay there was only temporary, her heart and her thoughts were always set on what was over the ocean.

I was sent to study at a high school in Grodno and when I turned sixteen, my parents decided to send me to Eretz Yisrael. Despite their great love and devotion, they agreed to part with me, because they thought that my making Aliyah would bring them closer to the fulfillment of their dream.

Yodel Krutzel house

The story about the name: It was not enough for a person in Suchowola, as in all the towns of Israel, to have a name and a surname only, a person always had a nickname added to it. Grandpa had the nickname “Tashma-nyuk” because when he was sitting and studying Gemara, he used to extend the pronunciation of the word “shma” and therefore, when the gentiles heard this, they called him “Tashma-nyuk”.

Most families were branched into several households. Therefore, there were many family names and nearly every household

[Pages 167-168]

had its own surname. One of the reasons was the “prizivu”, that is: military service. Boys who were only-children or who had some kind of disability, were exempt from the the army. And if a family was plentifully blessed with boys, it was often that a family would take on many surnames. The Krutzel family was divided into Ostrov-Krutzel and Shtil-Krutzel, which in the vernacular meant “round and round”. The jokesters of the generation used to say: “Einer crotshet un der zweiter bleibet shtil“ (one coldly shoots and the other remains silent).

The Krutzel family was among the dignitaries in the town. Most of its sons were scholars, their voices pleasant and they led prayer services. Reb Velvel, Hershke's father, was a scholar. He was a thin Jew, his face was covered with a long white beard, he used to sit most of the time bent over a book, and his son and daughter-in-law, who was very pleasant, would fulfil the tradition of honoring him greatly. During the cold winter days, they would place his chair on the wide bench next to the stove, so that he would be warm. And during the twilight time, which was not a good time for reading a book, he would tell stories of legend and fairytales to the little ones who gathered around him. He had gentle hands. His fingers were long and narrow and his nails were white with lines along their length.

His son, Hershke, was entirely different from his father. His face was wide and visible, his mustache was thick. His beard was trimmed, his body structure was wide and solid. He spoke loudly and because of his constant involvement with the gentiles, he spoke their language as if he was one of them. He took part in the burden of livelihood at a young age. After all, a man can't live and survive solely on Torah study. And the roles were divided between the father and the son. One was studying Torah and the other took care of the everyday needs. And they dealt with the “simple gentile” who came always to receive a loan, whether for his farm needs or for drinking at the tavern, and he would bring his yield in exchange for the loan. In those years of stability and normalcy, his house was open to the gentile, who entered it as if it was a public domain, speaking loudly and dirtying up the house with mud from his boots on rainy or snowy days. On Sundays, Thursdays and Saints days, the big house was full to the brim: in every corner, bundles of clothes and food were piled up. and rest of the house filled with thick cigarette smoke. During the summer days, when the farmers were busy in the field, the house was quieter. Hershke would go in no hurry to the new synagogue to pray and walk slowly home after the prayer, welcome those who pass by and engage in conversation with kindness. He was happy to help neighbors and friends, he loved all mankind, but hated hypocrisy and excessive sanctimoniousness, even if it was for heaven's sake. Even though he was preoccupied with making a living, he always found an opportunity to devote time to his old father and his family. His home was warm and full of love. It was not accepted in Suchowola for the men to help their wives with the household duties. It was as if they had demarcated a domain for themselves: their duty was only to take care of the livelihood, but the responsibility for the household and raising the children was solely the duty of the woman. Fortunate was the woman who was blessed with the help of a maid and hardship for those that could not afford it. Most of the men in Suchowola did not even pour themselves a cup of tea. But Hershke was different. He would get up at dawn and did not consider it an insult to turn on the stove in the winter, fill the kettle in the summer, or pour tea for the children, thus allowing his wife to sleep for one more hour.

Hershke and Dvorke Krutzel; Bezalel, Rachel and Miriam

-No children, you will not hold your meetings in the forest, you will hold your meetings in my house. Come to us and let's “make fun”.

[Pages 169-170]

our group. But this pleasure cost him quite a lot of money, he was obliged to pay many taxes because of these raucus goings-on. A Jew should not be happy and if he dares to do so, it is a sign that he's doing is very well, his business is flourishing, therefore he should pay taxes to the state.

Hershke gave up many pleasures out of fear what “they would say”. His house was too narrow to contain the growing family and he did not enlarge his house or replace his furniture, but he could not give up on the children's joy.

His wife Dvorke was like him, a good and funny woman, who did everything for him and gave us only the best she could offer. Out of quiet love, she respected her husband's will, his happiness and his irritations. Many taxes were imposed on Jewish businesses that cut off their livelihood. Hard times came, the competition in the grain trade increased greatly. The gentiles used to receive advances from the owners of the trading houses and repay the debt after the harvest and sell the rest of the grain. Therefore, they started selling the grain to peddlers, who risked their lives by breaking the law and trading without a license. They were forced to do so because of the burden of taxes and lack of livelihood. The merchants, and Hershke among them, were left with a thick book of debts, and with no turnover, the list of debtors was as if it was automatically void. The gentile would come back and promise with oaths and strictures that after the harvest, he would pay all the debt and bring the grain only to him. Hershke knew that he could not ignore the gentile, because there is a slight hope that he will pay his debt, and if he does not do so, he will withdraw the debt as he does not have any formallien on the money and the book of debts is not legally valid for such a claim. This was how Hershke progressively became a pauperous, irritated man who aged prematurely. He frequently used Gmiluth Chasadim services and it was difficult for him to keep his word and repay his debts on time.

My grandfather Velvel was a learned scholar and dedicated his life to Torah study. He had many students in the town, and when they got married and had sons, they also sent them to him.  He was loved and honored because he was a good, modest and quiet person, he was pleasant and respectful of everyone.  My parents also instilled in us feelings of respect for the old grandfather, and we, the children, wrapped ourselves around him.  During the long winter nights, we would sit by the stove around him and he would talk about the Land of Israel.  His voice was full of sadness and longing, and we passionately drank in his words, and our hearts overflowed.  In the summer we liked to spend time in the fields or the forest and imagine in our minds that we would soon make our way to the Land of Israel. 

My father Hershke and my mother Dvorke were also simple people. My father left his studies at the cheder in his youth to take part in the burden of his family's livelihood. My uncle Moshe, the first-born, was sent to study at a yeshiva. My grandfather was not a businessman and it was my father's fate to bear the burden of livelihood. My father was a grain merchant, and traveled through the villages, and on market days the farmers would bring their grain to us. The gentiles liked my father and he helped them as much as he could. We loved our father, he was our beloved friend, he tried to make our lives pleasant and understand our spirit. He had a young soul. He was always cheerful and happy.

Our home was open to everyone and was always bustling with people. On Shabbat evenings, our friends would come - to dance and spend time together, and father would be swept along with us and mother would offer them baked goods she prepared herself. And when we would sit around the table and start singing, our voice would be heard from one end of the street to the other. We had a vegetable garden, and my father liked to spend time in it. Early in the morning, he would go out to the garden, hoe, gather and water the plants with a tune on his lips.

I once dreamed of bringing my parents to the Land of Israel, so that they would enjoy the labor of their hands in the earth of the homeland, but my dream did not come true. Only my eldest sister Rachel who made Aliyah, raised a family and passed away. My brothers, Bezalel and Israel, and my sister Hasia perished and my family was annihilated.

[Pages 171-172]

Reb Mordechai Yehuda was known as a man of truth and honesty both in Suchowola and in Kfar Saba (Israel), where he lived for the last twenty years of his life.

He was born on the 9th of Kislev 5630, in the village of Triretsky, which is located between Dombrova and Suchowola. His father, Reb Meir Nachman, was a learned scholar, well versed in Shas and Poskim, meticulous equally in light and severe mitzvoth, and in this spirit he raised his children - five daughters and four sons. Reb Meir Nachman was not influenced by the gentiles among whom he lived, but influenced them with his wise sayings, his honesty and his integrity. A farmer ploughing his field was certain his crops would be bountiful if he received a blessing from Reb Meir Nachman. His sons, who were educated in the spirit of the Torah and tradition, continued in this way, including those who immigrated to the USA in their youth, and to this day they observe the Torah and mitzvoth as they did in the past.

Father was the only one in the family who did not move far from his birthplace and remained in Suchowola until he made Aliyah to Israel in 5695 (1935). In his youth he studied at the Eishyshok and Bialystok yeshivas, and like all yeshiva students in those days, was sustained by the “Yomim” system and slept on the synagogue bench, observing the verse: “Bread and salt shall you eat, water you shall sparingly drink and on the ground you shall sleep”. He was persistent in his learning and never abandoned any topic he was dealing with in the text. In the hours before dawn, he would sit bent over the Gemara and memorize the Shakla and Tar'ya in a whisper, until he went to pray in the Beit Midrash - and always for the first minyan. Sometimes he would listen to a debate in Halacha, and he would express his opinion, not as mere speculation, but on the basis of a profound knowledge that cannot be disputed. His desire was strong that we, his children, would also be persistent learners. He abhorred ignorance and boorishness, in which he saw the source of all evil and he did his best that we would receive an education that is based on both the Torah and general education. In 1927, when he brought me for the first time to Bialystok, he sought for me for an educational institution whose goal was to instill both Torah and general knowledge, until we found “Tachkemoni”, which was at the beginning of its development. In this special institution, half the day we studied Talmud and during the other half - general studies. Even when I was in high school, I did not miss a single day of studying Gemara, because I followed my father's advice: “If you abandon it for a day or two, it will abandon you”. The extreme opinion, that girls should not be taught Torah, was not acceptable to him, and he would tire his daughters of learning the Sidur, the Pentateuch, etc. We followed his instructions without argument and without resistance, and this was not out of fear, but out of love and respect towards him. “The words of the sages are heard with pleasantness” - this is how he behaved not only in his family circle but also with every person with whom he came in contact. Everyone recognized that his words were sincere without any ulterior motives, that he fulfilled what he demanded from others. Even those who opposed his opinion, respected and honored him as they knew he was a God-fearing Jew privately and publicly, who spoke only the truth. And he knew the line between what is permitted and what is forbidden, in which things to be lenient and which to be severe. In the Beit Midrash we were obliged to sit next to him from the beginning of the prayer service till its end.

Reb Mordechai Yehuda and Tzipa Voroshilski

[Pages 173-174]

they would have collapsed. The good deeds were driven by the soulful desire to perform a mitzva, out of love for mankind and a desire to alleviate their suffering. He loved the Jews of Suchowola with all his heart and they loved and respected him. All the circles in the town, old and young, religious and secular alike.

In particular, he was associated with the those attending the new Beit Midrash, where he prayed for decades. On April 10, 1953, when he was on a mission to perform a mitzvah, he was hit on the main street in Kfar Saba by a speeding police car, was seriously injured in the head, recovered slightly and even came to the synagogue during the Days of Awe. But he was unable to recover and became weakened. He was not resentful and accepted his great sufferings with patience, tried to overcome them but could not, on the 25th day of Shvat, 5715, he passed away.

He lived in Israel for about twenty years, but his ties with the Land of Israel began decades earlier. He was one of the first to purchase shares of the Colonial Bank and when the “Nachalat Achim” company was founded in 1924, he was one of the first to purchase land in the Holy Land, he was one of those quick to join this enterprise and purchased a 25 dunam plot. However, the company's plan was not carried out.

He saw no future for Jewish life in the towns, even before the danger of anti-Semitism and extermination hovered over us. Of his five children who emigrated overseas - three immigrated to Israel, while even those who emigrated to America and Canada remained loyal to the Zionist spirit. Father was proud, that decades in America did not keep his son away from his origins, and he remained true to his spirit and harnessed himself to the burden of the public service. My brother visited Israel with his family, and when we escorted them to the airport in Lod, my father shed tears, when they boarded the plane and sighed: “Maybe this is the last time I get to see him.”

Our mother supported my father in his life's journey with great devotion. She patiently bore the great suffering that fell upon her during his illness.

Father's emotional connection with the Jews of Suchowola remained even after the destruction of the town and the killing of its inhabitants. Every day he would mourn his friends who did not get to make Aliyah and were murdered at the hand of the exterminator. His joy was great when a Jew of Suchowola happened to come to Kfar Saba and visited his house. And when he was dying, he did not stop reminiscing about the past – about Suchowola.

How great is the importance of the holidays, in the life of the individual and the community. It symbolizes national values, moral values ??and nature values. In the life of the Jewish people, the holidays became sacred symbols carrying precious values, which remained as a place of refuge after the loss of our independence - the holidays accompanied the Jew on his long journey in the exile and were kept with loyalty and devotion, they were what preserved the character of his Judaism and the uniqueness of the Jewish people among the nations.

The inspiration of the holidays and Shabbat, in their patterns and forms with their various customs, were preserved in the diaspora and stood out in the Jewish town with strictness and holiness.

On Friday, at twilight time, the house was clean and shiny, the children washed and tidy, the starched tablecloths spread on the table. My father would go to the Beit Midrash to “welcome the Shabbath” and my mother, that carried alone the burden of livelihood during the weekdays, blessed the “candles” and her face radiated in the light of the Sabbath.

The sanctity of the Sabbath floated in all corners of the house. My father would return from the synagogue singing “Shalom Aleichem”. All the members of the house sat at the table and listened to the “Kiddush”. And in this time, he was happy and cheerful, everything was forgotten: the cares of livelihood, the fear of the “gentiles”, the sanctity of the Sabbath and its rest were above everything.

On Shabbat, after the lunch was over, the pine forest that was outside the city beckoned to us. Convoys and convoys of girls and boys passed through the streets on their way to the forest. The forest was large and spacious and the youth felt free there and spent the hours of the day in it.

Shortly before sunset, all the residents of the town, young and adults alike, went in groups for a walk on the road (Oifen shasey) outside the city. On those days, there was no traffic of busses and cars on the roads, and the crowd wondered uninterrupted and accompanied the Shabbath until its end.

As Elul entered, the shofar began to herald the approach of

[Pages 175-176]

the Days of Owe. For the children in the town, it signaled that the autumn and the cold winter are approaching, and it troubled us.

On the eve of Rosh Hashanah, a quiet and holy atmosphere surrounded the town, my father wore the black “surdot”, gathered the children before going to the Beit Midrash for the evening prayer, placed his hand on our heads and blessed us. “May God make you like Efraim and Menashe, may God make you like Sarah, Rivka, Rachel and Leah”.

On holidays they would open the ancient synagogue, “Di Shul”, which was closed all days of the week and used to pray there on summer Shabbats and holidays. Legends and rumors circulated in the city, that demons reside in the closed synagogue, and in the evening and at night they strike fear into those who come to it. The ghost stories frightened the children in the town and they were afraid to pass the synagogue in the evenings. As a child I didn't want to believe the nonsense stories, and in the evenings, when I would come back from preparing homework, I would pass the synagogue alone - with a beating heart and quick steps - but alone... I didn't want to put up with the fear that crept into my heart. When they opened the synagogue, I would go in to take a look from time to time. I was attracted by the beautiful decorations that glorified the ancient synagogue.

When I entered the Beit Midrash, I saw my mother praying in a soft crying voice, tears flowing from her eyes, and I did not understand why she was confessing and begging, and yet she had not done anything bad, on the contrary, she was strict in observing the mitzvoth, scrupulous about her good virtues. I couldn't bear the expression of pain and sorrow on her face and quickly ran outside. An hour of personal fulfillment was during the “Tashlich” ceremony, when all the residents of the town, young and adults alike, would go out for the Tashlich prayer to the river. Groups of people would pass by on the street on their way to the river, all dressed in festive clothes, holding “Machzor” books in their hands.

The atmosphere of the Days of Awe would reach its peak on Yom Kippur. The Ten Days of Penitence, the Slichot prayers at night, and the blowing of the shofar have passed, and I was full of anticipation and anxiety for the terrible and holy day.

On the eve of Yom Kippur, all members of the household observed the custom of “Kaparot” (atonement), but I couldn't bear the look of the bound chickens waiting to be slaughtered and their eyes seemed as if they were asking: “Why am I your atonement?”

In the early evening, the parents would go out to the “Kol Nidrei” prayer, and the children and the babies would remain at home with the lit candles... At nightfall, a holy silence ruled the streets. From every window, the lit candles shined. The children were concentrated in one room, talking and chatting to dispel the fear that crept into their heart, the fear of judgment day, the fear of thieves and robbers and the fear of the gentiles that falls on children when they are alone at home. The hours passed very slowly. And we have been assigned so many duties: once to go to the neighbor's house on the right, look in the window and check the candles; once to the neighbor's house on the left, because no children were left there. We, the children, sat the entire evening and told stories, to relieve the tediousness in our anxious hearts.

The next day my parents would spend all day in the synagogue; They didn't even come for a short break - either because of the weakness of the fast or because it would be a shame to lose even one hour of prayer. Sometimes, I entered the synagogue, crowded next to the wall where my mother was sitting, next to the partition that separated the ladies' section, to peek through it and see what was going on inside the synagogue, from where the cantor's voice came, according to which the women adjusted their prayers. I climbed onto the bench, raised myself up on my tiptoes and looked at my father wrapped in his tallit and his lips moving in prayer. We anxiously awaited the end of the fast which had exhausted our strength, and when the time of Ne'ila prayer )closing prayer on Day of Atonement( arrived, we gathered our strength and went to hear the one and only blowing of the shofar, that signaled the end of Yom Kippur.

Every holiday and its customs, impressions and memories, shaped the family, created a tradition.

The holiday tradition in the Jewish town bequeathed precious memories to a generation that was uprooted from exile and took root in a new homeland and new lifestyles and serve as an ever flowing source of memories of the ruined town. The keepers of the tradition were destroyed - but their legacy will remain eternal for the eternal people.

[Page 177]

The township of Suchowola is before me: It's centre being the market square and the surrounding streets, mostly populated by Jews, the “long” road and the side alleys, the towns gardens, its fields and lands that spread out far out to the horizon. At the edge of the town a river that flowed lazily throughout the year and which overflowed its banks with the snow thaws between Purim and Passover, and the flour mill on its bank. The township was adorned with pine forest on all sides, which were a source of relaxation during the hot summer months for surrounding settlements as well.

The township with its traditional lifestyle, its batey Midrash and its Torah scholars rich in pleasantness and generosity and a proud bearing of humility borne of many generations. With its vibrant youth who with their movements and organisations brought a new spirit and new life into the peaceful and conservative atmosphere of the town. And all this was subjected to the executioner; the town was destroyed by wild animals and is no more.

And today, others live in our houses and tend to our gardens, to strangers has our inheritance been given.

In this terrible saga of the general I remember with minute detail those were who close to me, and a burning hatred arises and boils within me with unbearable pain, a silent flame of vengeance twists its way into me. But what is the point of such feelings? They will not raise the holy and sanctified ones from their graves. I do believe that the blood of the holy and pure ones murdered with such inhuman cruelty will be avenged in time.

The burden has been placed on us, those remnants of the town, to erect a monument to their memory that will never leave our midst. Generation upon generation will speak of it…. we will tell them of the harmony and the completeness of their lives, of the traditions of generations that were expressed in every aspect of their lives, weekdays and festivals , of the feeling of the “additional soul” that would descend upon the entire town during Sabbaths and Festivals, the peace and the spiritual , restful , rarefied and gentle tranquillity.

We will pass on this hidden treasure that was the lives of our fathers to our children, so they should acknowledge and appreciate their memory, and their source.

[Page 179]

And it will come to pass that your son will ask you, “What was the town like? And if he will not ask but rather mock the inhabitants of the small townships, that you will tell and explain to him, the “Tzabar”[Israeli prickly pear, allusion to native Israeli's], how the town operated without budgets and bureaucrats, yet life was orderly: Every hungry person was fed, every naked person was clothed; without noise or fanfare, no speeches were heard, the press did not praise and the deeds were not written in any books. In the Torah it says “And if your fellow becomes poor and their means fail with you, then you shall strengthen your fellow”[Leviticus 25, v. 35]. This they read and it was for them the inalienable law, from the founders of the town down to the last resident, from time immemorial, from well before the times of Daniel the wealthy philanthropist, and before Reb Leizer and Reb Abrham'tsche, the rabbis of the town.

In those days, on the eve of the Sabbath, the women would rush from door to door collecting loaves of bread for the poor; these righteous ladies went amongst the small dwellings of earthen flooring, and quick–smart would bring the loaves and place them in the houses of the destitute, in a form of anonymous charity. Is it possible to contemplate a Jew in Suchowola blessing the Sabbath on wafers? Such a thing is unthinkable and cannot be allowed to happen, it would be no less than a desecration of the Sabbath! And if a destitute visitor should come to the town and rest besides the first dwelling the housewife should honour and welcome him with a generous smile and say: “ Please come in, reb Jew”, and immediately would bring the best of her food to the table.

If a town Jew became destitute, neighbours would not be long in providing assistance, for there was always someone who would place some chiffon on his cart, potatoes and other foods , and after sundown, at twilight, would pass by and throw the bundle into the poor person's house.

There were wagon drivers who went out to the barn to feed their healthy and lively horses, but instead found only a lifeless corpse. Then would the entire town shake from anguish, both the “Morad” and the “Hill”. “So, the poor wagon driver has been left without his bread of sustenance!” Pairs of women would pass swiftly from house to house; “Contribute, merciful Jews sons of the merciful, let us save the family, have pity on their children”. And the Jews of Suchowola would reply positively, they would donate a substitute horse to the barn, and the happiness would return to the house of the wagon driver.

A Jew in Suchowola had many beautiful girls to choose from, who shone as from the heavens – but here lay the trouble, for when they came of age there were no grooms to be found. The father is worried, the mother's sleep is troubled, she cries and sighs “If only the special one would appear and take her? And when the right one came and there was not a sufficient dowry, whispers went from house to house “Save a house of Israel from embarrassment!” “Give for the bride's wedding!”. In only a short time the Chuppah [heb: canopy under which a Jewish couple stand during their wedding ceremony. It consists of a cloth or sheet, sometimes a tallit, stretched or supported over four poles, or sometimes manually held up by attendants to the ceremony] is standing and the wedding takes place in best of tradition to the delight of the entire town: A Jew has married off his daughter!

A beggar comes knocking on the doors of the town will not go hungry, G–d forbid. Reb Khatskel would take care of it, he would furnish the person with a note to take to one of the established residents for provision of all three Sabbath meals, and it was unheard of that such a person would come away empty–handed. In Suchowola they would bless each other that G–d should invite for them a guest for the Sabbath.

Suchowola, as everyone knew, had no hospital; so when someone became ill the members of the household became overwhelmingly tired: A full day's work followed by nights of watching the ill person; The “Linat Tzedek” Society would then come to the aid of the family; pairs would go and tend to the ill without any reward, to fulfil the commandment “then you shall strengthen your fellow“ to support those in need.

If a fire were to occur in a neighbouring town, venerable men would come to collect funds for the “burnt”. Are not the Jews guarantors for one another?

Such was the town of Suchowola, so can you, my child, understand my anguish at its destruction?

Some years after the Shoah [Holocaust], on the eve of Yom Kippur, at sunset. All is quiet around the “Hill” Beit Midrash. No Jews are to be found, and inside there is no lack of space. The Torah scrolls that were on both sides of the cantor have gone; the bowls besides the doors have disappeared. All around is quiet and deathly.

From the distance is heard the sounds of Goyim who have sold their wares in the market and are on their way home. Even their voices die down and total silence surrounds everything. The sun sets and the shadows lengthen. At this time you can hear the deep moaning and quiet sobbing. These are the cries of the stones in the walls. Of the exile of the holy presence, of the holiness that has left us, and so we begin to tell of our memories.

“I remember” says one stone, Mordechai Yossel, who began the “Hineni” prayer, and when reaching the phrase “And gore the Satan” would sigh and say “Oy Tate” (Oy Father). And his prayer would open all of the gates of Mercy”.

Another stone said “And reb Nissel? He who was the pride of the lions, his “Hush the Prosecutor” would make the columns of the synagogue tremble. What prosecutor could possibly stand against this prayer and supplication? Now that was a Cantor!

Another stone told not of the cantors and the high holy days, but rather of the children that would noisily gather to do the “Hakafot” (On the festival of Simkhat Torah), with lots of childish mischief.

The stones of the western wall of the synagogue would all speak of our mothers that would ask for mercy in simple Yiddish for themselves, their children and their husbands.

Above the holy ark a voice was heard in the tune of “Forgive the sins of your nation” – forgive this nation? Which nation? They are no more! For the sins of this nation? Who sinned? The babes in arms, the toddlers who knew nothing of good nor evil?

If the Attribute of Mercy has left us, the Attribute of Judgement shall appear. But will there be a fair trial! – Who exactly has sinned? Is it not commanded in your Torah “And whether it be cow or ewe, you shall not kill it and its young both in one day” [Leviticus 22 v28]?

A distraught, exhausted mother, a babe in her arms, arrives to the gates of Hell. And the murderous Nazi wrenches the baby from her hands and kills the babe in front of her eyes, and the mother sees, and splits the heavens screaming – “and you watched from the heavens and did nothing?”. And you did not gore the sun, and to the lights of the Satan you did not descend to destroy it as with Sodom. To whom have you given the butcher's knife, to slaughter my only son and your only Isaac, to these drunkards? Are these innocent of all crime, have they not sinned, have they not stolen, have they not murdered? They are walking around whole and healthy, with arrogance. I demand Justice! There will be Justice!

By the “Berg Beis Midrash”, at midnight on Yom haKippurim, there is silence. There are no elderly Jews sitting and chanting psalms of David. But there are deep sighs and whispered crying. These are the stones of the wall crying to the sound of the wind, a whispered voice rises, calls out and says: We demand Justice. There will be Justice!!!

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