 |
|
|
by Avraham Reisen [Avrom Reyzen]
Translated by Beate Schützmann-Krebs
English Proofreading by Dr. Susan Kingsley Pasquariella
At the beginning of the 20th century, I arrived in Bialystok as deputy editor, or rather, secretary, of the “Bildung” publishing house, founded by Avraham Kotik. By then, Bialystok was already influential in the Labor Movement, albeit not legally.
Its two currents had a close relationship at the time. Among the freedom fighters, however, there were also many employers, entrepreneurs, and even factory owners who longed for freedom and fraternity. I was under the impression at that time that Bialystok had a considerable number of liberals who, in view of their struggle for freedom, were generally close friends with socialists.
In this respect, Avraham Kotik could also be counted among the socialists, and as a campaigner for Yiddish, Yiddish literature, and science in the Yiddish language, he actually leaned toward the “Bund.” The Bund was already playing a major role in Bialystok at that time, three or four years after its founding in Vilnius, despite operating illegally–perhaps partly because of its illegality…
Avraham Kotik was a graduate pharmacist with a higher education. He had previously worked as a pharmacist in Warsaw and gave tutoring lessons to Jewish youths in wealthy Bialystok homes. The students were preparing for higher grades in technical high school and even university. Although he pursued his teaching career out of idealism, he primarily did so for his then-small family and his highly educated and talented wife, who was a member of the upper-class Lapidus family of Bialystok.
Kotik spent most of his time at the Jewish Lending Library, which he founded in Bialystok for the Jewish working class. Because of the large number of books it contained, primarily in Russian, the library attracted the more radical and liberal intelligentsia.
Subsequently, as the director and administrator of the “Bildung” publishing house, which was also founded on idealistic principles, Kotik attracted a considerable number of upper-intellectuals and Bundists to his modest apartment, including the young Ana Rozental and her husband, Dr. Rozental-Anman. Dr. Rozental-Anman was already famous among the working masses for his Yiddish pamphlet on socialism.
Among all these visitors to the Kotik's home was Rafalovski, an ideologically entrenched Bundist who, at the beginning of the 20th century, brought “heaven and earth into motion “ to build them in his own image.
Even then, his work in the Bund was a blessing for exploited workers, even in amiable Jewish cities like Bialystok, which were naturally kind and welcoming. After all, Bialystok was the second city after Vilna, even though it didn't have a Vilna Gaon. However, it boasted great personalities including the Zabludovskis, Rabbi David Suchovalski and Dr. Joseph Chazanowicz, may his memory be blessed. Dr. Chazanowicz was a remarkable figure, and all sorts of legends about him are still told and written by Bialystok residents today.
As for Rafalovski, his courage as a young man may have been legendary, but his actions were real. His participation in and agitation for strikes in factories and even among bakers and other industries made the young Rafalovski a pioneer.
When he visited Kotik in his apartment during those days of great struggle, it was almost like a gift to the Kotiks and their guests. For those who spoke of the author's “Shures,”[2] it was a joy to see the young worker hero in person…
One must not forget that the author of “Shures” was, at that time, on the verge of publishing his first book of poems. A single copy of the book had been published, and the author had brought it back to Bialystok as a souvenir. However, it initially remained “just before” publication because the remaining two thousand books were seized and held by R' Yekhiel Meir Halter in the printing house at 11 Nalevki Street in Warsaw. The book was supposed to be published by the first publisher, Abraham Gaselnik from Vilna; however, his publishing house, which served and was supposed to serve the Jewish working class, no longer had any financial resources.
A year later, Yaakov Lidski, a real publisher, redeemed the books and published them under the title “Tsayt-Lider” [Time Poems].
At that time, Rafalovski was already familiar with the authors' [Avraham Reisen] first anthology, “The Twentieth Century,”[3] because he had edited it and it had actually appeared on the threshold of the twentieth century. He might now continue it for the better, with a truly liberated humanity.
The anthology was available at Kotik's lending library for “higher-class” readers, who were, in fact, mostly Jewish workers. After all, who still spoke Yiddish in Bialystok, where the majority of the Jewish intelligentsia lived out their intellectual lives in Hebrew or Russian?
[Page 40]
However, Rafalovski had already studied the anthology from cover to cover. Of course, he had also encouraged the other worker brothers to read it.
The collection almost became a legal guide for workers in the second half of the 19th century. Examples include “Yontef-Bleter”[4], “Literatur un Lebn”[5] by Peretz, and the Hebrew collection “HaKhets,”[6] or “The Arrow.” In fact, because of my merits, I had the honor of meeting a guest in Kotik's apartment.
I had my own personal corner there as secretary of the “Bildung” publishing house. The guest was the famous Noyekh [Bas], the still young Bund fighter. However, I had already met Noyekh before in Warsaw on the occasion of [reading?] my poem “Di Vant”[7], after marching with the large masses of workers through the most beautiful streets of Warsaw to Aleksandrovski Square on May Day in 1900. There, Cossacks and gendarmes appeared with clubs and naked swords, beating, chasing, and driving the courageous and persevering mass of one hundred thousand people.
In Bialystok, where Noyekh worked and lived very secretly “somewhere in the city,” he asked me to write a poem for an issue of the “Yidisher Arbeter” [Jewish Worker]. Unfortunately, I was not inspired at the time, but I promised him that I would write something specifically for the Yidisher Arbeter, which, to me, meant specifically for Noyekh. Just as God sends wine to the drinker and flax to the spinner, my worker friend sent me “a theme” in the form of Bialystok. After all, it is a city of Jewish workers and affairs.
My second poem, “Shtimen” [Voices], was inspired by “Pawiak”[8]. I worked on it as much as I could. Of course, it wasn't as good as “Di Vant” and “Kirkhn-Glokn!” [Church Bells] - “Yo, tsi zikh, tsi zikh, arbetsfolk”[9] – Noyekh had seen these poems before, even before Bialystok. But he didn't reject my Bialystoker poems.
On the contrary, with a radiant face and shining eyes–Noyekh's, in fact–he thanked me for them in a revolutionary, conspiratorial, and pious manner. He escorted me out of his room, which seemed mysterious to me at the time. I still remember the house, the street, and the room.
At that time, a great guest was in Bialystok: a revolutionary of a completely different kind. Yosef Khayim [Chaim] Brenner, may his memory be blessed, the great Hebrew author, was this guest. It was in Bialystok that we really became aware of each other. However, we had already met in Warsaw at the Tushiyah publishing house when he was a novice and his first collection of stories was being printed.
The private restaurant in Bialystok where I ate lunch every day, almost like a yeshiva student, made a strong impression on me.
Although A. Kotik ordered lunches for me at the expense of my “very meager salary,” it was still too much, considering my lack of diligence in translating a history of Egypt by a radical Russian historian with a heavy writing style. Incidentally, Yosef Chaim Brenner completed this translation, which certainly satisfied Brenner later on.
I used to come to the restaurant every day and eat a delicious, albeit not particularly rich, three-course meal. It was so good that it seemed as if my mother, may she rest in peace, had cooked it. I was the only person sitting at the long table, enjoying the food. In fact, this led me to leave after the meal without paying or tipping because the owner–a friendly woman with a motherly expression–served me the dishes herself without speaking. It was as if I had eaten “tog”[10] with a lovely Jewish family.
In general, I lived in Bialystok as if in a commune, with no cash on hand. A. Kotik provided me with “alem gutn” [all good things], as the Jews say. This included cigarettes, not to mention breakfast and dinner. Sometimes, he also gave me small change “on account of my salary,” which, as far as I can recall, I never received.
With the small change, I would sometimes go to one of the nicest coffeehouses, where they sold Russian and Polish newspapers and magazines. Over a glass of coffee and a “tshaste” (cake), I would experience the “mitzvah” of sitting in a coffeehouse, especially alone. That is, until I met the young Joseph Melnik.
Joseph later wrote an essay for the daily edition of “Fraynd” [Friend], which was published in St. Petersburg. Subsequently, he became a German writer, lived in Berlin, and contributed to the “Berliner Tageblatt,” the richest and most liberal newspaper in Germany at the time. Incidentally, I met Joseph Melnik again in Berlin in 1907 while passing through on my way to America for the first time. He was happy to see me. He was a connoisseur of the highest artistic standards, always impeccably dressed. He was a young man with a real sense of humor, and he was generally very charming. I loved talking with him.
He spoke longingly to me about his time in Bialystok. He asked me, with a wink, of course, as was his way, if I remembered the beautiful blonde young lady with the wealthy parents. He had once taken me to her house, where she played the piano for me in the lavish hall…
I can't explain why I didn't make friends with other families in friendly Bialystok. It was obviously due to my reserve, especially at that time.
Translator's notes:
by M. Sirota
Translated by Beate Schützmann-Krebs
English Proofreading by Dr. Susan Kingsley Pasquariella
We still remember the pious saying well: “Toyre iz di beste skhoyre” [Torah is the best commodity]. Bialystok certainly did not fall behind other Jewish cities in terms of this valuable commodity, and it has always been considered a place of Torah.
Bialystok was rich in bote-medroshim [houses of study]. There was hardly a street without its own study house. There were even alleys, such as the “Green Alley,” where there were three prayer houses: the Old Green Bes-Medresh, the New Bes-Medresh, and the Gmiles-Khsodim Bes-Medresh[3].
In addition to the Great Shul, there were several bote-medroshim and kloyzn [prayer halls] on the shul-hoyf [synagogue courtyard]. Chassidic philosophy was also very widespread in our city. In Bialystok, the Kobriner Rebbe, R' Nochumke, led his Chassidic followers, and later his son-in-law, Rabbi Meir'l.
The Slonimer Chassidim also had a large community, and the Slonimer Rebbe lived in the city for a time. Other Chassidic groups were present as well, including the Gerer, the Kotsker (whose “shtibl” united the Sokolover, Lukover, and Pulaver), the Rodziner, Rodziminer, Karliner, Trikover, and others. There was even a “shtibl” of the Lubavitshers.
All the Jews in the study houses and prayer rooms formed the lifeblood of those who taught and spread the Torah. Most bote-medroshim were constantly filled with Jews immersed in religious books. In the evenings, between afternoon and evening prayers, Jews would sit around a table and study.
Whether within the “Khevra-Shas” [a society dedicated to studying the six sections of the Talmud] or the “Khevra-Mishnayes” [a society dedicated to studying the six Mishnah sections in the Talmud], Jews usually studied the “Khaye-Odem”[4] and “Eyn-Yakev”[5]. Jews with monocles, but also those with good eyesight, were seriously engrossed in their books and devoured every word of the rabbi.
The gilded covers of the volumes of “Shas” [six sections of Mishnah and Talmud], “Mishnayes,” “Rambam” [Maimonides], “Pnei Yehoshua” [Talmudic work of Rabbi Yaakov Yehoshua Falk], “Zohar,” and similar works always shone from the bookshelves and cabinets.
In addition to countless treatises by sages and rabbis with commentaries, there were also books with explanations of the Torah and Talmud, special books with sermons for every holiday and memorial day, and a large number of books with “muser” [Musar, Jewish ethical lore].
The Great Pulkovoyer Bes-Medresh and the Yekhiel-Nekhe's Bes-Medresh had extensive rabbinical literature at their disposal, and the high-class Bulkovshteyn's Bes-Medresh was even more richly stocked with books. There was a special, separate room, a kind of library, where one could look at treatises and even learn a Talmud lesson through repeated recitation without being disturbed.
A small bes-medresh, whose creator and founder was neither a great Jewish scholar nor a particularly pious man, achieved a particularly high level. His name was Meir Fish. This place of prayer was located on the upper floor [of a house] on Rozhanski Lane.
R' Meir Fish, the owner of the house, was known in town as a wealthy and prominent man. He lent money at interest and had a distinguished clientele that included Russian officers, civil servants, and Polish landowners. With customers like these, it was impossible to lose money. Nevertheless, he was stingy with every penny before spending it on himself or his wife.
On Shabbat, they bought the cheapest meat and not-too-expensive fish… According to eyewitnesses, on weekdays the family made do with stale bread, potatoes with their skins on, and a herring. R' Fish didn't spend much on clothing either.
The generous dowry from their wedding was enough for them. They only bought a new item of clothing when the old one was falling apart. He had no worries about raising children because his wife didn't give him any. This may have sealed his behavior.
In fact, R' Meir Fish had “no children and no cattle.” However, he had plenty of poor relatives who often visited him and poured out their bitter hearts to him. To put an end to their constant visits and complaints, he set up a small annual pension for them on the condition that they bother him less.
His only purpose in life was his little bes-medresh. He was meticulous about ensuring prayers were said there daily. In his old age, when he felt that the end was near, he wrote a will allocating a certain sum to his family and to charitable purposes. He also set aside a sum for the maintenance of his bes-medresh, where people were to study day and night and strive to acquire necessary religious books. His last will was fulfilled to its fullest extent.
A rich collection of rabbinical literature was acquired. “Noble youths” who were preparing for the rabbinate, but also ordinary students, spent whole days there immersed in the Gemara[6]. Additionally, “mishmorim” [study groups] were established with Jewish scholars and young men from the yeshivas, and later supplemented with “musernikes” [followers of the moralistic movement]. They chose a night on which to study together.
For many years, I also attended my “mishmor” group every Thursday night. It was the only place where one could study day and night.
To keep the students from falling asleep, each participant was served hot tea and sugar twice a night. The smokers were given a few cigarettes. A “Khevre Shas” [Chevra Shas] also met in Meir Fish's Bes-Medresh.
For the worshippers and students, the besmedresh was also honored by the presence of the Chassidic Kobriner Rebbe, R' Nochumke.
[Page 53]
and after his death by his successor, his son-in-law Rabbi Meir'l Shtsedrovitski. In addition to his position as rabbi, he was crowned with the title “Moyre-hoyroe” [Rabbi and Judge] and became a member of the rabbinate.
A “siyum” [completion] of a Gemara tractate was a bit like a holiday. R' Meir'l would recite the “hadran,”[7] and then everyone would have a drink. A “siyum hashas” [completion of the entire Talmud study] was an even greater celebration. Well-known rabbis from nearby towns came especially to participate in the festivities and recite the “hadrans”[7], and people stood with their mouths agape, greatly enjoying their wit.
Needless to say, in addition to the spiritual aspects, there were also earthly, material things. A fine “lekakh” [honey cake] was prepared, along with “bronfn” [liquor], and everyone everyone took a bite.
The pious city of Bialystok was proud of its magnificent botei medroshim, numerous Hasidic shtiblekh, and minyonim [prayer quorums]. It also boasted its talmetoyre (Talmud Torah, an elementary religious school for the poor) and yeshiva.
At one time, a yeshiva stood somewhere at the edge of the city, near the windmills… The head of the yeshiva was then a well-known Jewish scholar named R' Pinkhes [Pinchas], and R' Zalmen (I seem to recall his name was R' Zalmen Maggid)–served as the mashgiyekh [rabbinic supervisor]. I got to know him after the yeshiva had already ceased to exist.
Anyway, R' Zalmen, a tall man with a pale face and a white, patriarchal beard, continued to weave a thin thread of life from the defunct yeshiva, giving Talmud lessons to dozens of young people from the province for several more years.
His good friend, the “Moyre-hoyroe” [rabbi and judge] R' Henikh, who also impressed with his rabbinical appearance, often came to visit him. He often started a casual conversation with the students because he didn't want to show that he was just checking what they had learned.
With R' Zalmen's death, the wistful Gemara-Nigun[8] of the poor Argentine Bes-Medresh also disappeared. R' Zalmen was the last “Mohican” who let the voice of the Torah be heard in the remotest corner of Bialystok.
Recently, the talmetoyre and the yeshiva in the broad Pyaskes area had already become famous in Bialystok. In a large courtyard, twelve grades (the so-called kitot) for the students of the talmetoyre and four grades for the yeshiva had been set up in spacious rooms in two brick buildings. Each class had 20-30 students.
The first grades [of the talmetoyre] were intended for the “Tinokot shel Beit Raban” [the little children from the teacher's house, the introductory levels], who learned the Yiddish alphabet and the Pentateuch with the commentaries of “Rashi.”
In the eleventh and twelfth grades, the students began studying the Gemara. The final grades were the antechamber to entering the yeshiva.
In these Torah educational institutions, the payment of tuition fees was not mandatory. However, people from the wealthier classes would voluntarily pay a certain amount each month for their children.
While studying at the yeshiva, I often observed the eleventh and twelfth grade classrooms from a distance. The Odelsker, a tall, fat Jew with a reddish-blond beard, ruled the eleventh grade with an iron fist. To put it politely, he looked like a well-fed bal-guf (fatso). It was no picnic for his students. But people said he was a good interpreter.
In the twelfth grade, with Kolner, it was exactly the opposite. The teacher was sickly. He had a lung condition, and he was so emaciated that his life force could barely remain in him. He never scolded his students or said a bad word to them. He was very popular with those subordinate to him. The students tried to make less noise so as not to cause him grief.
Only a relatively insignificant number of students from the higher talmetoyre classes continued their Talmud studies at the yeshiva. This was understandable, as most of the “talmetoyrenikes” were local children from poor backgrounds. Many of them were orphans, and for them, there was no point in continuing to sit at their benches if they couldn't eat their fill. It was more worthwhile for them to learn a trade so they could earn a penny through their own labor.
As soon as they knew a word of Hebrew–regardless of whether they could already read a Gemara text or not–they felt that it was enough, more than enough…
The yeshiva exerted a great attraction on poor children from the provinces. First, they fulfilled the principle of “hevei gola lemakom Torah”[9]. Second, they believed that the Bialystoker Jews would not let them starve, and third, they would simply experience a change of scenery and see a big city…
The boys actually were not wrong. The Jews of Bialystok were happy to provide them with one meal a day in exchange for their studies. Even families who were not particularly wealthy considered it their duty to invite a poor yeshiva student to eat at their table on a certain day of the week.
It was also not difficult for the youngsters from the provinces to find a “corner” where they could sleep. The Jews had compassion and did not let any unfortunate child spend the night outside.
Some of them were so industrious that they found not only a place to sleep, but also an opportunity to earn a few “gildn” [coins of little value]. For instance, owners of leatherwork and fabric stores would allow yeshiva students to sleep in their stores and pay them a few “gildn” each month because doing so kept them safe from robbers. Of course, such places were not warm in the winter, but when you are young, you can tolerate it.
In fact, more than 80 percent of the yeshiva (without exaggeration) consisted of young boys who had come from the provinces and even Warsaw. And just like the students, the teachers also came from other cities.
The teacher of the first grade of the yeshiva was called the “Semyatitsher” [because he came from Siemiatycze]. He spoke in a drawn-out manner, in the Polish style. The teacher of the twelfth grade was a Vashilishker [he came from Vasilishki], not far from Vilna. He spoke with a “sin” [Lithuanian Yiddish dialect].
[Page 54]
The third-grade teacher was the “Orler” [he came from Orla]. The only teacher who was called by his real name was R' Shimen Zelig, the head of the yeshiva and its supervisor. However, he was not from Bialystok either. The importance and prestige of each teacher could be recognized by his clothing.
The “Semyatitsher” from the lowest grade wore a small black cloth hat and a short kapote [caftan].
The “Vashilishker” wore a hard kapelyush [fedora hat], similar to those worn in Vilna, and a robe whose color was difficult to determine.
The “Orler,” who ranked just below the head of the yeshiva, covered his head with a wrinkled and worn rabbinical hat and wore a garment that was half jacket and half caftan…
Understandably, R' Shimen Zelig, the head of the yeshiva, wore a rabbinical hat that radiated purity and cleanliness. His shiny silk robe gleamed. He had a very pleasant appearance with a young, fresh, noble face, dark brown eyes, and a black, beautifully combed beard. He was of medium height and always had a friendly smile. Of course, I am talking about the years when I studied there myself.
He was an excellent lecturer to all; his daily Talmud lesson was clear and easy to understand. Even those with weaker comprehension could understand it. He knew every student in the yeshiva, not just those in his class.
I still clearly remember what happened to me.
I was thirteen years old when I entered the yeshiva and joined Orler's class. My father wanted to make me happy for my bar mitzvah. He took me to Mr. Shtern's hat shop (he later immigrated to the United States) and bought me a black kapelyush [fedora hat], from the “Syeratshek Company” for three rubles and fifty kopecks. I would have preferred a beautiful Jewish hat, but I had to accept the kapelyush with gratitude.
When I first showed up at the yeshiva wearing a kapelyush, there was laughter and ridicule. Children started singing, “Here comes a fool in a kapelyush!” Others felt up my hat and judged it critically. It really upset me.
When I got home, I told my father, “I don't want to wear the kapelyush anymore!”
My father explained that the ridicule stemmed from childish envy. I had no choice but to continue wearing my hat.
One day, when my teacher, the Orler, was absent, some children took advantage of the opportunity and caused a small commotion. Since our classroom was close to the Semyatitsher teacher's classroom, he came in and shouted in his Yiddish-Polish accent. Several naughty boys began to mimic his pronunciation.
He then ran to R' Shimen Zelig, who immediately appeared together with the Semyatitsher to find out what had happened.
The Semyatitsher recounted in a loud voice how he had been insulted. Pointing at me, he said, “The one with the ‘kapelitsh’ incited rebellion.”
And yet I was one of the very few who had stood up for the honor of the Semyatitsher. R' Shimen-Zelig glanced at me and then at my accuser and, after a moment's reflection, said:
“Semyatitsher, you are certainly mistaken… this student is not capable of such despicable behavior… think carefully… you know what it means to spread slander, don't you?”
The Semyatitsher started stuttering and stopped insisting that I had disobeyed the teacher. However, I wanted to take revenge on my kapelyush, and I refused to wear it anymore. So, I wore my winter sheepskin hat all summer long…
R' Shimen used to teach his daily Talmud lesson in the bes medresh, where his class had a designated seating area. On the first Shabbat of every month, the gaboim (Jewish religious functionaries) from the talmetoyre and yeshiva would come, including Moyshe-Mordekhay Monosevitsh, Ayzik Horodishtsh, A. Goldberg, Paylet Mokovski, and others.
Every Shabbat, R' Shimen Zelig would recite chapters from Mesilat Yesharim [a classic work of the Jewish ethical movement Musar] to his students.
There were two interesting characters in R' Shimen Zelig's class. Both were called “Khayim.” One was an exceptionally dedicated and sincerely pious student. He emphasized words during prayer with such religious enthusiasm that he inspired other students to follow his method…
He was a good-natured person whom everyone liked. People always waited until he had finished his Shmone-Esre Prayer [eighteen blessings, recited while standing]. Incidentally, he was the best student during my time there. We didn't just call him “Khayim,” but added a ‘ke’ to make it “Khayimke.” He wasn't particularly astute, but had quite average abilities. But he worked hard–from early in the morning until late at night. He certainly became a religious authority in his community somewhere and was definitely popular there…
The second Khayim was cut from a completely different cloth. He was given a surname at the yeshiva so that people knew which Khayim they were talking about. …He was neither pious nor a dedicated student, but above all, he was not at all scholarly. He just liked to argue sharply and had a particular weakness for speaking in front of an audience.
Often, when the opportunity arose and R' Shimen-Zelig went to breakfast, he would go up to the bimah [podium] and give a speech. Sometimes it had a little flavor, other times it didn't make any sense, like a kind of [comedic] “Purim speech.” But at least it sounded good. I don't know if he later became a preacher somewhere.
For a while, he, Khayim Hurvits, was an employee of “Dos Naye Leben,” where he wrote as a journalist. Later, he emigrated to America, and I never heard from him again.
At the end of each semester, on the eve of Passover and on the eve of the Days of Awe, exams were held for the best students of the Orler and for the students of R' Shimon Zelig.
[Page 55]
The two best students in each class, who had distinguished themselves, received silver watches from the famous company, Shlitl. HaRav Fayans, HaRav R' Yoel, and Goldberg, among others, conducted the exams.
Along with me, Shyele Rapoport also studied with the Orler. He is now the famous essayist and literary critic Yehoshua Rapoport. Even back then, he read more books “outside the Jewish biblical canon” than the Gemara, so he was not among the best. He was the only one who caused the Orler great grief. How was that possible? The young man was of fine descent: the renowned Jewish scholar R' Moyshe Rapoport on his father's side and the prominent “Moyre-hoyroe” (rabbi and judge) R' Yoynosen (Yonathan) on his mother's side. With such a clever mind and great abilities, how could it be that such a boy was not among the best in the class?
So Shyele did not actually become a rabbi. But he still became famous in the Jewish world, no less than a great rabbi.
At the yeshiva, they celebrated only one holiday: Purim. In the evening, the yeshiva students gathered with R' Shimen-Zelig at the head of the group. The Megillah was read, Haman's name was loudly knocked out, and after singing a series of songs appropriate for the occasion, such as “Sheshate Yaakov”[10], “Asher heni'a atzat goyim”[11] and others, everyone enjoyed honey cake and schnapps. We spent the time this way until late in the evening.
A week before Passover and a week before the Days of Awe, the yeshiva was usually deserted by its students. Some traveled to the cities in covered wagons, others took the “kolye” [local train]–they would lie down under the benches. If one of them was caught, nothing bad was done to him, God forbid. The inspector recognized who he was dealing with… Such a person would be taken out at the nearest train station, and that was it!
No one was deterred, and the “freeloader” waited briefly for the next train to arrive and… crawled back under the bench again. They laboriously made their way home this way.
Immediately after the Days of Awe, the bustle of arriving students, both old and new, with their meager luggage, prevailed once again. The new arrivals would seek advice from the “old” students to find opportunities for “esn teg”[12] and places to sleep.
Those with “practical experience” [mentors] helped them with advice and assistance, and everyone was well cared for: no boy had to go hungry and no one had to sleep on the street. There was nothing to complain about; one could rely on our pious providers. They would never abandon a Jewish student!
On this occasion, it is worth dedicating a few sentences to the couple who ran a small booth at the entrance to the talmetoyre and in the courtyard of the yeshiva.
Their goods consisted of cheap sweets such as rock candy, caramel, Penitzer honey cake, kernels, peanuts, cooked peas, and buckwheat pudding. You could have bought the entire little shop for five rubles and still had change left over…
This shows what kind of “wealthy persons” they were.
Despite this, they had compassion for poor orphans and children with physical disabilities who were simply unhappy. They knew all the children well. When child who had been sent away came to “borrow” a piece of honey cake or buckwheat pudding, they did not turn him away, even though they knew in advance that they would not get the penny back. Often, the woman herself would call a poor, depressed boy over and offer him a snack from her little shop.
Years have passed since then, and the talmetoyre and the yeshiva have survived Russian rule, German occupation, and, most recently, the Polish “White Eagle.”
Despite all obstacles, the Torah institutions on the broad Pyaskes remained firmly established. During the last years of Polish rule, the yeshiva continued to expand. According to a Polish government decree, “limed-khuts” [secular subjects] were introduced for a few hours a day so that students could perfect their command of the official language, Polish.
I believe I visited the yeshiva for the last time in 1924 or 1925. I no longer remember which event was celebrated there with the participation of HaRav Meir Rapoport (the Bialystok city maggid who later died in New York) and other city dignitaries.
As was his custom, HaRav Rapoport gave a successful sermon on the occasion of the day. Other Orthodox leaders gave speeches as well, and everyone enjoyed spending several hours together at tables set up in the yeshiva courtyard.
I had the pleasure of speaking with the dear, energetic R' Shimen Zelig, who told me that, due to the expansion of the talmetoyre and the yeshiva, he no longer worked on two “fronts.” He was now only a rabbinical supervisor, which was enough work for him.
I met the new head of the yeshiva, HaRav Yukht. He was a young man full of knowledge and inspiration, and he had a reputation as a genius. When I told him that I had once been a student there, he wouldn't leave me alone. He introduced me to the boys in the higher classes. Some of the boys weren't lazy and “took me to task.” They had just learned the “Massekhet Shabbat” [a Talmud tractate on the rules of Shabbat], which I remembered well. Thanks to that, I emerged from the “Gemara battle” with honor.
Unfortunately, all of these Torah institutions, as well as the entire city of Bialystok and its “beautiful” Jews, were destroyed by the Nazi murderers in every cruel way imaginable.
Translator's notes:
by M. Sirota
Translated by Beate Schützmann-Krebs
English Proofreading by Dr. Susan Kingsley Pasquariella
During Tsar Nicholas II's reign, the Jews of Bialystok were indifferent to sports, which were underdeveloped at the time. Young men who participated in athletics were frowned upon. After all, it is expressly written: “HaKol kol Ya'akov ve-haYadayim yedei Esav,” which means: “Jews must let the voice of the Torah be heard, but rough hands are a matter for Esau.”
However, there were young men who were weak in Hebrew, did not study the Khumesh [Pentateuch], and consequently did not understand the deeper meaning of a verse from the Tanakh… Thus, Bialystok was destined to have “athletes” in its ranks. The first of these was H. Osinski, a medium-height brunette with a prominent neck. He was regarded in the city as the second “Samson the Hero.” He could lift barbells weighing 40–50 kilograms with ease, as if they were made of wood rather than iron…
Young boys used to whisper to each other, “That man has a tire on his stomach, which is why he's so strong.” His main passion was fighting with sturdy buddies and even professional athletes.
Thanks to his initiative, a larger group of strong boys formed, all of whom wanted to perfect the rules of boxing and similar sports. He taught them how to compete with experienced athletes and which parts of the body could be injured and which must not be touched. Above all, he emphasized knowing when to throw the right punch and, most importantly, how to protect your head because without it, you are lost.
The group listened attentively to their leader's instructions and adhered to the necessary rules. Although they did not organize any public appearances, they arranged various private athletic competitions.
Osinski often participated in public wrestling matches with professional athletes, occasionally showing how he could put a famous champion on his back. Honestly, it didn't happen often, but he made his opponents feel his strong fists in every fight. He was familiar with all the international champions, who considered him their equal. One could boldly claim that he was the pioneer of Jewish athleticism in Bialystok.
Another Jew with a reputation as an athlete was the blond, rosy-cheeked Motl Ostrinski. He could also lift heavy weights. When he shook hands with a good friend, the friend would actually jump up in pain. But this was a casual matter. His main specialty was fighting fires.
He was an important member of a volunteer fire department called “Pervi Ladotshnik.” Although he did not have a career like his brother Litman, a respected “natshalnik” [boss], he was no less popular in the city than his brother, the commander.
When fighting a fire, he was always in the most dangerous positions, showing dedication and self-sacrifice by rescuing people. He also contributed greatly to preventing the fire from spreading.
It should be noted that, unlike today, firefighting equipment could not be raised to the necessary height, so firefighters often had to climb steep walls because they had no ladders. In such cases, M. Ostrinksi was in the right place at the right time.
He listed a series of awards and medals for his work as his own and secured a place of honor on the volunteer fire department's honor roll. Like his older comrade Osinski, M. Ostrinski had a soft spot for athletics. Whenever international champions toured the circus, the director would ask if any amateurs wanted to compete against one of the champions. M. Ostrinski would immediately register.
I didn't count how many champions he knocked out. But competing against a tough, well-fed champion was heroic in itself.
During his most successful years, he traveled to America but often longed to return home to see his family and his many friends in the fire department. He often came to Bialystok on vacation.
I remember that during one of his last visits, an extraordinary, dramatic incident occurred.
It was a gloomy morning in late summer. I don't remember exactly if it was 1923 or 1924. After several days of incessant rain, the quiet little Biala River suddenly rose and flooded several streets, including Bialostoshaner, Gumyener, Yatke, and others, in just a few hours.
[Page 58]
Nikolayevske Street was an impressive sight. It was flooded on one side up to Mets's pastry shop and on the other side up to Alter Turme [Old Prison] Street. The narrow Nadretshne Street, also known as Sevastopolyer Street, was particularly badly affected and completely submerged in water.
A rescue operation was immediately organized to help people and pets escape their flooded homes, retrieve Jewish belongings from flooded basements, and collect random floating possessions.
Motl Ostrinski proved at that time that he was skilled not only with fire but also with floods. He quickly hammered together a makeshift raft out of wooden boards and used pegs as oars to reach the most dangerous places, where he provided necessary assistance.
Soon after, boats also appeared, and other courageous individuals used them to provide assistance wherever needed. They rescued Jewish property that had floated to the non-Jewish side.
The sun did not come out until evening, when the Biala River gradually receded back into its normal riverbed.
For weeks, Jews talked about this event, which could have ended tragically if not for the rescue operation led by energetic individuals, with M. Ostrinski being the most active participant.
Since then, people no longer looked down on the Biala River. The saying “beware of still waters” revealed its true meaning.
Shelyepski, the “gazetshtshik” (newspaper seller) of Russian newspapers in Bialystok, was considered a hero, as well. Broad-shouldered with light brown hair, he stood next to the “Shisl,” right in the center of the city on the corner of Lipova Street, overlooking Nikolayevske Street.
The hated policeman, V. I. Reshuta, also “resided” there, and Jews trembled in mortal fear of him. At his thunderous “razaydites!” (disperse!), people used to run away headlong as far as they could.
The only Jew Reshuta tolerated was Shelyepski. He was friendly toward him and even offered him a “makhorka” cigarette [ made from coarsely cut tobacco].
Like Reshuta, the “gazetshtshik” had a coarse, deep voice. When he shouted “Rus,” “Retsh,” “Novosti,” “Birzhevye Vyedomosti,” or “Ruskaya Misil” (all of which were St. Petersburg and Moscow newspapers that arrived in Bialystok), his voice echoed all the way to the Gorodski Sod [City Garden].
Reshuta was always afraid that one day his own “Razaydites” would not be heard over Shelyepski's thunderous cries. So he used to ask Shelyepski, “Golubtshik, po tishe” [My dear, be a little quieter!].
I was told that Reshuta once talked to his “neighbor” Shelyepski and tried to persuade him to convert.
”Follow me,” he said. “You look like a real Russian. You sell Russian goods, you eat Russian bread. You're educated and politically correct. You don't even go to the synagogue on Shabbat. What good does it do you to remain a Starozakonik [adherent to the backward law]? If you become one of us, a Pravoslavner [Russian Orthodox Christian], you can have a solid career in the police force. You could even become a Starshi Strazhnik [high-ranking police officer].”
Shelyepski is said to have replied in perfect Russian: “What good does it do to scream your lungs out day in and day out, ‘Razaydites,’ and deal with ‘kramalnikes’ [troublemakers]? Jewish people will not be lost. The caretaker position at the Bagnowka Cemetery is currently vacant, and you could get the job. You would have an income and a secure life!”…
I cannot guarantee the authenticity of the dialogue. I am only passing on what I was told, but the dialogue is characteristic in itself.
Shelyepski did not look Jewish, but he certainly had a Jewish heart. He refused to distribute the anti-Semitic newspaper Novoye Vremye [New Time], even though it had promised him a bonus. He was often a guest at Jewish events in the “Garmonye” hall.
However, he was most attracted to the wrestling matches at the circus, where he was a familiar guest. When an athlete challenged him, he would wrestle with them. Without hesitation, he entered the ring and demonstrated his skillful use of strength. It was rare that an athlete managed to defeat him.
A group of famous international female athletes, led by Ms. Podlubni, who weighed 110 kilograms, came by on their tour once. Among them was Rozenberg, a German woman and champion who was considered one of the weakest.
One evening at a packed circus, Rozenberg turned to the audience and asked if anyone would like to compete against her. If they defeated her, they would receive a prize.
Shelyepski stood up and volunteered. After a fight lasting just under ten minutes, amid the audience's general laughter, Rozenberg threw Shelyepski “on his back.” From then on, Shelyepski avoided competing against female athletes…
[Page 59]
During World War I, when the Russian military withdrew from Bialystok, the “gazetshtshik” Shelyepski disappeared from the scene. He thought he wouldn't have anything left to do there if there were no more Russian newspapers. Come on, he surely wouldn't go to become a mezuzah-and-tefillin scribe…
Now, a few more words about the Bialystok circus. I don't remember exactly when it was built. I only know that it was made of old wood and also served as a theater where well-known Russian and Ukrainian troupes performed. One fine evening, the circus burned down. I no longer remember the date or the cause of the fire.
In addition to the recognized “heroes,” such as the troika of Osinski, Ostrinski, and Shelyepski, Bialystok had quite a few strong and powerful men, or what could be called “gray heroes without epaulettes.” They never competed with athletes, but they did lift heavy loads – not as a sport, but because their jobs required it. They were porters, or as they were called, “pakirer.”
They used their strong, bony hands and shoulders to earn a living. Before the First World War, the lives of Jewish porters were hard and sad. Poverty and deprivation were evident everywhere. A small number of them sought solace in “bitter drops.” The carter Bendet often embodied this when he was found lying in the gutter. “You have to chase away your worries,” he told himself each time. “Because if you don't, you'll burst!”
And so he lay in the gutter until he fell asleep. His colleagues took him home…
In the summer heat and in winter blizzards, snow, and frost, one could see Jewish porters waiting for customers with a rope tied around their waists.
Often, you would meet an elderly porter with a 30–40-kilogram bundle on his shoulder, nearly collapsing under the weight until he delivered it to the right address.
The fate of Jewish porters under the Tsarist regime was dire. Their situation got even worse when Bialystok was occupied by [Emperor] Wilhelm's armies. There was little need for porters at that time, as there was hardly anything to carry. All goods had been confiscated, and the “Commander-in-Chief of the East” possessed everything.
Most of the “pakirer” had no choice but to hire themselves out to the Germans for two Ostmarks per 12-hour workday. For this meager wage, they were forced to load goods and haul wood demanded by the new rulers, who confiscated or stole it. Fortunately, all things must come to an end, including the reign of “Wilhelm's rulers” in Bialystok.
Following the defeat of the “Yekkes,” the situation of Jewish porters improved. A “Union of Transport Workers” was organized, including porters, wagon drivers, and coachmen. Each branch had its own tasks and functions. For instance, wagon and coachmen were not permitted to carry water; that was the porter's responsibility. Great care was taken to ensure that no one encroached on another's area of responsibility.
The “transport workers” had supportive allies on the executive committees of the political workers' parties, particularly the Bund. These guides introduced the transport workers to the principles of socialism and taught them about class struggle and exploitation.
The porters listened to the speeches with great attention and admired the “worker sympathizers” for their knowledge and fluency.
At that time, preparations were being made for the elections of a democratic Jewish community. All political parties tried to win as many votes as possible and did not skimp on agitation…
The “pakirer,” who carried many burdens, were ideal “material” for the most popular workers' party, the Bund. The older people liked a certain speaker's words that “Moyshe-rabeyne” [the biblical Moses] had been a revolutionary and an opponent of capitalists and bloodsuckers. If “Moyshe-rabeyne” himself had preached such speeches, then surely an honest Jew could follow in his footsteps…
As mentioned above, wagon and coachmen were considered “transport workers.” During the Tsarist regime, they enjoyed privileges over porters. They did not have to exert themselves too much because horses did the work for them…
Fate took its revenge on them during the days under the “Yekkes” in World War I because nothing could be confiscated from a porter since he had nothing but poverty… Conversely, the “breadwinners” of the wagon and coachmen could be confiscated–namely, the horses.
Only old and weak animals were left to them.
[Page 60]
Very few of those who kept a “piece of horse” continued to work in their fields. However, most were forced to hire themselves out to work for the Germans. They had to carry heavy loads, such as tracks, by hand.
After the defeat of the “Yekkes” and the establishment of the “Transport Workers” branch, they were reinstated as well. Delegates from the American Joint Distribution Committee and Relief, led by the secretary of the Bialystoker Relief, David Sohn, brought huge sums of money from relatives and seamless assistance.
As a result, some were able to buy horses and carts again, while others bought horses and fine carriages. They returned “up on their horses.”
Unlike the porters, however, the coachmen did not embrace the teachings of socialism.
They did not understand strange words like “class struggle” and “exploitation” at all. In their opinion, a coachman had to fight his customer to earn a few “gildn” from him.
Even more difficult for them to understand was the strange, difficult-to-pronounce word: ekspluatotsye [exploitation]. Someone translated it for them as “squeezing the juice out of a living being.”
Did that also mean that they were exploiting their horses?! If so, that would be the end of the world! They needed to make them understand that, to a coachman, his horse is as valuable as his wife–perhaps even more so. He would never go to eat before his “chestnut brown” had gotten his food. Why were these people making such a fuss with such clumsy words?
Most coachmen weren't interested in social or societal issues. They had to take care of their horses and keep the coaches and sleighs in proper condition. They often had to be washed and cleaned so that they shone.
So, who had time for such matters?
Since they were always out in the fresh air, they had good appetites and believed in the saying, “Akhile iz di beste tefile” [Food is the best prayer].
For one of them, a whole roast goose was not too much. He could also eat gefilte kishke (stuffed intestines) and sip a dozen drinks.
Outsiders who observed this found it quite natural. It was well known that these well-fed, strong fellows, along with the wagon drivers and porters, formed a protective barrier against enemies of the Jewish people. In their district of Khanaykes, with its poor streets, hooligans never attacked Jews. This applied both during the 1906 pogrom and when the “Polyakn” [non-Jewish Poles] recaptured Bialystok in 1920, robbing Jews everywhere or seizing them at their working places.
In this district, they knew it wasn't worth the risk because they could get beaten so badly that they would remember it for the rest of their lives.
During my time working as a journalist in Bialystok, I often rode around the city in a carriage or sleigh to see what was new in town. I knew the wagon drivers had juicy stories to tell and wanted to use them in my newspaper articles. I tried a few times to “squeeze” something out of them.
But they always answered, “It won't work,” or “We don't know anything…”
One of them, a somewhat more enlightened individual, once explained to me “philosophically”: “If my carriage with its rubber wheels could talk, or if my sleigh with its bells could speak a language, they would have a lot to tell you. You would have material for an entire newspaper… But we are just like our horses. We have eyes that see, ears that hear, but we have to keep our mouths shut because of the ticks… that's our professional secret!”---
Throughout the whole year, the coachmen, like their colleagues, the wagon drivers, did not usually think about the “afterlife” and sinned in advance for the “al-khets” [prayers of repentance on Yom Kippur]. After all, HE also gave man an evil inclination, from which he finds it difficult to break free. Well, it's easy to commit a little sin without meaning to; evil swear words and curses slip out of your mouth, and sometimes your blood boils and you end up giving someone a “gift with your hand” [a slap in the face], for which you don't apologize afterwards…
But then, as the Days of Awe approached–for the shofar could already be heard blowing from the shuln and kloyzn–their outer shell fell away, as if they had suddenly sobered up. The heroic men became like lambs, came to the bote-medroshim, and recited the prayers with religious fervor together with their fathers. They also did not fail to throw a leftover kopeck into the collection box of the “Rabbi Meir Baal HaNes [Rabbi Nehorai] Talmud Torah” and others.
The culmination point was the eve of Yom Kippur, when the coachmen went around apologizing, some quietly and others groaning. They asked each other for forgiveness and wished each other that they might experience a [new] year with their wives and children, that the horse might remain healthy, and that there might be enough income…
Translator's notes:
|
by Mani Leyb [Mani Leib]
Translated by Beate Schützmann-Krebs
English Proofreading by Dr. Susan Kingsley Pasquariella
|
–Gedalia, Gedalke, where are you from, That you ring and ring the freedom bell? –I ring with the bell, that freedom may come, And I'm from Bialystok, I tell.
–Gedalia, Gedalke, you heroic youth,
–Gedalia, Gedalke, hero of all,
–Gedalia, Gedalke, and where are you now?
–Gedalia, Gedalke, now rest in your grave, |
|
|
JewishGen, Inc. makes no representations regarding the accuracy of
the translation. The reader may wish to refer to the original material
for verification.
JewishGen is not responsible for inaccuracies or omissions in the original work and cannot rewrite or edit the text to correct inaccuracies and/or omissions.
Our mission is to produce a translation of the original work and we cannot verify the accuracy of statements or alter facts cited.
Białystok, Poland
Yizkor Book Project
JewishGen Home Page
Copyright © 1999-2025 by JewishGen, Inc.
Updated 01 Aug 2025 by JH