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When I arrived in Warsaw, the winter of 1910, to organize guest performances for our troupe I found theatrical barrenness, duped. This “barren woman” already had a theatrical midwife who evoked labour pains. This was in the person of Dr. A. Mukdoni, who arrived in Warsaw a year earlier.

In his memoir “Memories of a Yiddish Theatre Critic” (archive for the history of Yiddish theatre and drama), Dr. A. Mukdoni says this about himself:
“Mid-summer, 1909, exactly 20 years ago, I, a young doctor, filled with energy, as full as an animal skin container filled with liquids, had great plans and a passionate desire to serve Yiddish culture, I arrived in Warsaw…From all the important, great missions, which I felt I was born to fulfill in my lifetime, the theatre mission was the closest and clearest…I arrived in Warsaw still fresh with influences from European theatre, and I was extremely well read in theatre literature. Arriving in Warsaw, the first thing I did was throw myself into Yiddish theatre.

Peretz Hirshbein – the great dramatist, author of dozens of theatrical works, story teller and novelist, was born in 1880, in a village near the Kletchel in the province of Grodno. His father was a miller at a water mill. Hirshbein began writing in Hebrew, mainly dramas. He later switched to Yiddish and began to write short stories and novels. In 1908 he founded and ran an artistic theatre in Odessa. After two years of raging successes as well as failures, in 1910, his troupe had successful performances in Warsaw, however shortly after crumbled, and remained in the history of Yiddish theatre as a pioneering exploit. Hirshbein, together with his wife, the poetess Esther Shumitcher, traveled around the world and wrote about it. From 1911 his home was in New York, later Los Angeles, but he always wandered. He often spent long periods of time in Warsaw, and in the 1920s, almost an entire year. He died in Los Angeles in August 1948.

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Within a few weeks I was completely oriented in the small and poor Yiddish theatrical world in Warsaw, and it is superfluous to say my disappointment was cruel…”
Now, one can imagine how cruel my disappointment was, when I arrived in Warsaw and within a half hour grasped from whom I must request support and warmth for a troupe which had already been living and performing together for a year of difficult experiences and fruitful activities. This “midwife” energetically demanded the barren woman should give birth to a child with none other than her own labour pains.

Nevertheless, I received from the literary society, actually Peretz, travel expenses; rented from Kompanietz his Muranov Theatre for seven performances and returned to Odessa to prepare for our trip.

Alas, what good fortune could I have expected from seven performances in Warsaw. Even if the visit was grand, it later turned out, the seven performances would not enable me to cover the expenses of our large troupe which had to travel to Warsaw from Odessa. Even more so, Kompanietz's own troupe was performing in the Muranov Theatre, and before our performance was nailed together on boards and was a filthy mess, he wanted me to pay him. The conditions he presented were criminal. I already had a year and a half of experience and it was clear to me we were risking too much coming to Warsaw. No longer did the province appeal to me: such a dense Jewish population, with proper Yiddish. It also appeared to me that in Poland the Yiddish theatre was not as strongly persecuted by the police.

Good friends explained to me that it was a small error that my repertoire lacked a complete play by Y.L, Peretz. The best thing would have been to perform “The Golden Chain” in Warsaw. They also explained a few other trivial things…But the truth was, if not for Y. Dinezon and A. Vayter, who without any ulterior motives hoped, that our troupe solve the entire theatre problem, I would have, in the last moment regretted the entire thing. Arriving in Odessa, I did not hide my personal impressions of Warsaw from the troupe. However, the desire of the troupe to leave Odessa superseded my personal feelings. With a heavy heart we began our journey. If I am not mistaken this was in the month of March.

The troupe arrived in Warsaw a few days before the first performance.

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As the performance drew nearer by the hour, the actors became more nervous. We broke our heads trying to figure out how to decorate the Muranov Theatre. When I demanded from Kompanietz everything I needed for our performances according to our contract, he laughed at me. I dragged myself to second hand stores, collecting rags, furniture and decorations. After the first few days in Warsaw I was bent and dizzy.

Wanting to begin thoroughly with a Yiddish play, we made a small mistake choosing for our first performance “With the Current” by Sholem Asch. We were to end the evening with “People” by Sholem Aleichem, directed by Dovid Herman. (Dovid Herman produced this play for us when he was with us for a few weeks in Ekaterinoslav).

There was a huge audience. All of Warsaw's intelligentsia gathered at the Muranov Theatre. Our performers were very nervous; I could not even recognize them. We all felt we had made the wrong decision choosing this play. However, the performance was far from a failure. The audience sat as if electrified. At the end, the actors were animated when they performed the comedy by Sholem Aleichem. It was as if they were reborn and the atmosphere in the theatre was carried onto the stage.

The press, particularly “Der Fraynd” (“The Friend”), wrote a great review. We received the greatest praise from Dr. Mukdoni who wrote for “Der Fraynd” at that time. According to him, the Muranov Theatre was transformed that night into a temple.

The second evening we performed “In the City” by S. Yushkevitch. The performance was strong; an even greater success. Once again, it was Mukdoni who praised the entire performance of our troupe.

From the third performance on, Mukdoni began to sense his mission. He began to speak up about “his own vast knowledge of theatre literature”. He unearthed the animal skin container filled with his own grandiose plans of his important theatre mission, and began to hail upon our troupe with all he had in his inkwell. The other newspapers who hated the literary society, and considered our guest appearance to be an enterprise, were totally reticent toward us. From his tribunal at “Der Fraynd” Dr. Mukdoni cursed and blessed; blessed and cursed and concluded: “the Hirshbein troupe is a stillborn child, an aborted fetus”.

In a very sincere and naive manner I turned to the

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literary society to take over the troupe; even it's management. The only person at that time who possessed a practical approach to the troupe was Dovid Herman. However, at that time he did not have the desire to live the life of wandering Gypsy. And although Mukdoni writes about himself in his memoirs: “In Paris, together with the Jewish painter Abel Pan, I produced a very modern version of fragments of Y. L. Peretz and Sholem Aleichem, and besides this I was infatuated with theatre” – in my opinion, he appeared then like someone who went abroad empty-handed and returned overloaded to our small Yiddish world. He could not conceive that theatre meant education to us.

My suggestion, that Nomberg and Asch should take over the troupe, which Mukdoni now recounts, became a bitter joke… I collected many jokes from our troupe during the few weeks we spent in Warsaw.

It's not that Mukdoni, God forbid, was responsible for the demise of my troupe, although one could surmise from his memoirs that he was blamed. Our troupe received its first knock in Odessa from the chief of police Talmotshov. The second knock occurred in Vilna from the governor's wife. The troupe did not fall apart immediately after Warsaw, as Mukdoni writes. We continued to wander for four months after performing more than sixty shows.

From Warsaw we travelled to Minsk. This was a time for me to self evaluate.

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Oh, Smotche – my home from childhood – Arises in a fleeting glance. Skipping through my blurred memory The wooden steps return. So what, if there is barely any light and air In the angular walled courtyard? Summer evenings the sun would climb Up the chimneys, up high. Shadows seclude themselves in open windows, The window pane flutters like a flag, And children on the steps, snuggle together, Engrossed in the story being told. …a wild bandit rides by, With a sharp knife in his hand” … But suddenly all becomes silent, The sky becomes distant – Children hear a song.

Binem Heller was born in Warsaw in 1908, to a poor Hasidic Jewish family. He was a poet and editor of literary journals and anthologies. From his youth on (he debuted in 1930), until a few years after the murder of the great Yiddish writers in Russia, he identified with the Soviet line, spent the years of the third destruction (the Holocaust) in Russia, 1947 in Poland, 1956 in France, Belgium and since 1957 in the State of Israel. He was one of the most talented poets of the younger generation in Warsaw. Author of 15 collections. His poems are lyrical, romantic, measured in form with clear content. Until 1955 he was pro- Soviet, since then – regretful moods, engrossed in nationalism. Heller wrote his most powerful poems about Warsaw after the Holocaust. The poems we have included here, were written in the early 1930s and express poetically the experiences of a large portion of the pre-war Jewish proletarian idealistic youth in Warsaw.

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A purple reflection on walls and on roofs, And the hammering of shoemakers in a hurry. And the song becomes louder and louder, And – once again quiet for a while. The open windows – occupied by shadows, And a hasty sewing machine. The song about work, about hardship and sadness Is aided by a girl's voice. The children on the steps –holding their breath; …the bandit has left for the forest… In the open windows – thick shadows, Night will arrive very soon.

I often stretch out Carrying myself from flat to flat. It's easy for me To be the carrier - - Here is Smotche, Over here is Muranov. But all streets wind in a circle, The all lie twisted And unending. And somewhere, somewhere, There is no escape From the dark scent of suffering. Sometimes I move – But everywhere, Hanging in the sun Are round rings of dust. And in the quiet nights Blazing on the walls: In disputes, In frightening wails.

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All around Staring from the balcony Are yellow, melted spots. And somewhere, somewhere There is no escape from the dark scent of suffering.   My Way Will it eternally be My way – Like on Zamenhoff Street – In the throngs Of the unemployed, Police, And despondent Jews, Boarded up in long clothes As if in black coffins? It will eternally be My way – just like this, And always, forever In my spine – Like night Chilled with terror? Will the end Also be like this, With black verses, And with large boots, Will the undertakers dance, Will the undertakers stomp their feet, Stomping the earth on my head? And I will not oppose – My years, Murdered In dusty workshops?

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And I myself Will never see: My home – Flowing With rocks from her cobblestone pavement To the windows of the Oyazdov alleys? Will my way Be eternally like this? –

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Jewish Warsaw had its two main centres: the Nalewke Neighbourhood and the Gzhibov Neighbourhood. Naturally there were many rich Jews in Warsaw who lived on the wealthy Marshalovska Street or in the “Krakow Suburb” and other wealthy streets; others, those who were totally or half assimilated Jews, lived on the Oyadovska Alley or on Alley “Shukha”. Simple Jews called these streets “The Christian Streets” or the “Gentile Neighbourhood”.

At the entrance to Nalewke on the Novolipky side stood the religious book store belonging to Eliezer Yitzkhak Shpiro (later: Dovid Kozak), and on the entrance on the Bielansko side stood the religious book store “Akhiasaf” (later: Efraim Gitlin). The Hebrew writer A.L. Levinsky of blessed memory once said that these two religious book stores at the entrance to Nalewke gave the impression of Mezuzahs hanging on the entrance of Jewish homes.

The Nalewke houses were blessed with double courtyards, and sometimes these houses were composed of three giant yards one after the other. In these courtyards, Jews worked day and night, together with their wives and children to earn a meagre living. A small dwelling comprised of two rooms and a kitchen, and was divided into a workshop and living space for “father, mother and small children”. The father dressed in “an undershirt, pants and fringed garment” was the manufacturer, and his wife, between cooking and cleaning helped her husband with his work. The same went for the children; as soon as they came home from Heder, they would eat something and then help their father with some of the lighter work or run errands.

What wasn't produced in these Nalewke courtyards? They produced splendid men's and women's clothing; shawls and neck ties.

Yehuda Leyb Wohlman was born in 1880 in Konskiye – Volyie. From 1900 until 1925 he lived in Warsaw. Later in Israel. He was a journalist, novelist and dramatist. He died in Tel Aviv in 1955. He knew Warsaw very well and wrote a lot about Warsaw's Jews, especially the merchant class.

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They manufacture parasols and walking sticks; large and small mirrors; chocolates and candies; leather brief cases and letter holders; scented soap and shoe laces; notebooks for school children and children's suits; socks, ribbons in all colours and sizes; elegant women's purses and cheap wallets for the simple folk; optical glasses and all types of chains and watches; drapes for windows and all sorts of handkerchiefs; silverware and toys for children; curly Ostrich feathers and sweat pads for women's dresses; men's and women's shoes and elegant hats; combs and pins of all types and dozens of other articles which deafened the courtyard with the noise of machines and the banging of all sorts of hammers.

This all took place during the six work days. When Friday evening arrived, the work stations and the unfinished articles were covered with white tablecloths and then entire dwelling was filled with candle lighting, the scent of two challahs under modest challah covers, the masterful chanting of “Woman of Valour”, the “Kiddush”, blessing of the wine, and the joyful Sabbath melodies. Saturday night, after the Havdalah ceremony the travelling salesmen would arrive, examine the goods in order to send large orders.

In those days, large and vast Russia was still open to Warsaw, and the travelling salesmen, quick and talented youth, sold Nalewke merchandise as far away as Viatka and Archangelsk. Others connected Warsaw with Siberia and Tashkent.

All that was produced in Nalewke happened in very crowded conditions. Besides this there was the Nalewke front. This is where all the wholesale business of satin and silk was located. The most distinguished firms of those days belonged to Yakov Broydo, Leyzer Brill, Eliyahu Fisher and other Lithuanian Jews. These were people with a totally different “gait” then what people were used to seeing in Warsaw. These Lithuanian businessmen, with kempt beards and a calm pace, wore wrinkled short jackets with long un-pressed pants, and on their heads wore hard black hats, which looked like upside-down iron pots, while the Warsaw born wealthy Jews were dressed “business like”, in fine shortened black caftans with slits; on their heads, a small cap from Beynish Postbriv's factory, and elegant pants tucked into shiny boots. Their beards were for the most part trimmed with a scissors. In any event, they were well groomed.

Both kinds of Warsaw 's business Jews, the Lithuanian silk merchants from Nalewke and the Warsaw born iron merchants from Gzhibov, were all

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honest people, who were as trustworthy as an iron bridge. At the same time, both groups were grounded with two feet in Torah good deeds. Both groups knew each other very well. All the more reason for them to do business together. However, a closer relationship, like marriages between the groups happened very rarely. Even more: studying Torah on the Sabbath and on long winter nights happened separately. The Lithuanian Jews had there Talmud Society on the Nalewke and the Polish Jews and their Talmud Society on Tvarde Street.
The most powerful group of manufacturers were on Genshe Street, which was the “left sleeve” of the Nalewke. As we know, after the Grand Duke Sergei, the General Governor of Moscow at that time, placed difficult edicts upon the Jews of Moscow, many Jewish manufacturers from Moscow moved to Warsaw and opened shops on Genshe Street. It did not take long before Russian manufacturers from Moscow became interested in Genshe Street in Warsaw and opened branches of their businesses. Now there were Russian signs hanging on Genshe Street with wide winged Russian eagles. Other Moscow businessmen offered their branches to trustworthy Jewish businessmen. Slowly, it became a sign of prestige for a Russian to open a branch of his business on Genshe Street. After the magnate Sava Morozov opened his branch on Genshe Street at Hertz Hufnagel's (who by the way was a great Talmudic scholar and enlightened Jew), his competitors Zachar Morozov and Vikula Morozov did the same thing (the first one's representative was Novinsky, the son in law of the Moscow businessman T.D. Gurland, and the second's representative was Yosef Levita).

Besides the Moscow merchandise, Genshe Street became the centre of the widely developed Polish manufacturers like Heintzl and Kunitzer, Saybler, Zhirardov and other manufacturers, Jewish and Polish as well as larger and smaller Germans from Lodz, Zgierg, Pabiantz, Ozorkov and Zaviertche. This is how Genshe Street in Warsaw became an important manufacturing business centre, and Jewish merchants from all over Poland, Lithuania, Volhynia, Podolia and parts of White Russia came to buy manufactured goods.

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