[pp. 227-230]^[1]

[pp. 231-232]

Our town was too young to find the romance of historical olden days in it. Bursztyn does not have any glorified letters of pedigree of the old Jewish communities in Poland; it just began to grow larger during the last decades of the 19^th century; it vegetated during the interwar years and went under, along with the destruction of all of Polish Jewry. However, the simply built synagogue and religious houses of study with their drooping walls, so natural in their oldness, so self-evident in their poorness, have remained precious and forever dear to the hearts [of its former inhabitants].

Such was also true of the Tailors' Little Synagogue, where there were no eastern walls, no head [of table]/place of honor, simple and plain, like the worshippers, without any aristocratic pedigree and without bitterness, without pathetic outcries and Chasidic religious ecstasy, yet authentic and soulful, as the verses in the Psalms, which they would murmur quietly, stubbornly devoted in their belief.

At the passageway of the anteroom of the Great Synagogue there also stood a little synagogue. It was called: the Tailor's Little Synagogue. Factually, other artisans also prayed there, such as shoemakers, carpenters, butchers, and simply poor people, who, just as in the Great Synagogue, only came to pray here Friday nights and on Sabbath days.

Actually, there was also enough room in the Great Synagogue for the three types of Jews. What then, was the reason that swayed people to join a separate little synagogue?

The primary reason was that the proprietors of the synagogue looked down upon the artisans; they sat down in the lovely spots at the “eastern wall.” For the poor people there remained seats at the door. They were also not honored with any lovely Aliyahs [i.e., being called up to read from the Torah in the synagogue] to the Torah, which resulted in the people rebelling, and as they said: making Sabbath for themselves.

Aharon Nute Glasthal, trustee of the Tailors' Little Synagogue, the president for many years of the Artisans' Union, “Yad Charutzim,” [and] later chairman of the Bursztyner Society in America

[pp. 233-234]

Here, in the Tailors' Little Synagogue there was no higher-up. That is to say, there were no lovelier and worse spots. Here, there were no rights to titles. [These were] tired [people, worshippers] from a whole week of hard work, not having eaten, with pale faces, but well-washed, well-scrubbed/shampooed in honor of the Sabbath. They looked with suspicion upon every “unfamiliar person,” who entered the little synagogue – should that person laugh at their Hebrew. Because they were not any sort of big scholars. They did not comprehend any of the words. And their Hebrew also limped along. But therefore, they were dear, genuine Jews. They did not lie to anyone, they did not rob anyone. There was always an embitterment in their faces, not only because of their difficult and poor life; it was embitterment, hatred, and scorn toward the beautiful proprietor and the “fine Jew.” This could be seen the most during the High Holidays, when they did not pray at the Tailors' Little Synagogue, [and] the worshippers would come to the Great Synagogue. For them, they would place tables and benches near the door.

There was a large number of synagogue proprietors, who were not any greater scholars than those of the Tailors' Synagogue. These were, however, Jews with money or who had beaten their way with their fists to the “lovely positions” in the synagogue.

And so, the poor, good-hearted, naïve Jews would, during the Days of Awe, stand with downturned heads before the Almighty God – but deep in their hearts, they had complaints against him.

They did not have their own Torah reader – aside from Fishele Schneider, who would pray on Friday night and during the Sabbath morning prayers. He very much liked to pray before the lectern. Even during a weekday at the religious study house, he would go over to the lectern, and with his heavy Hebrew, he would very loudly pray aloud. The scholars would good-naturedly smile and overlook his mistakes.

The Torah reader at the Little Synagogue was Davidzshele the cantor. And he was also the leader of the Musaf prayer. The final years, once Davidzshele had already left Bursztyn, Davidek Gutstein did the reading. He was a Melamed and would learn attentively with children at the Tailors' Little Synagogue.

Translator's Footnote

1. There appears to be an error in the pagination at this point in the book, since there should technically be one more double-sided, double-numbered page between the cover page and the opening, double-sided, double-numbered essay page: pp. 231-232. Return

[pp. 235-236]

One's heart sobs for the tortured [and] lost [Jews of Bursztyn], but their illustrious memory demands of us a strong and emboldened heart, so that there will be an atonement for their death, in our ensuing, bright superstructure [or universe]. Retelling about these figures and types, our hearts are permeated with love and longing for all of them, who once were, and are no longer. Speaking about them, we indeed also see the faces of our brothers and sisters, among all of them, who are a part of our body and soul.

Those of us who merited surviving the great conflagration, always have before our eyes, the ancient commandment, which remains etched with[in] the letters of fire and blood: “Remember that which Amalek did to you” – the Amalek of the twentieth century.

This is actually the role and designation of this book; not merely memories of the distant and closer past, not merely a memorial candle for the pure and holy souls, who met their ends through all sorts of terrible deaths. In recording our memories, we fulfilled the need to elicit the special illustriousness of the Jewish common folk in our town. May this grant the coming generations a deep understanding of this destroyed beauty.

The majority of the Jews in Bursztyn lived in great poverty. Difficult, very difficult were the worries concerning livelihood.

80 percent of them were involved in trade. Everything was referred to as “trade.” Firstly, the stores in and around the marketplace, from which approximately 10 percent of the Jewish population earned an honorable living. This included: grocery stores, fabric dealers, metalwork, haberdasheries, grain [dealers], and restaurants. The customers in the stores were Ukrainians and Poles from Bursztyn and the surrounding area, as well as Jews, who had other livelihoods.

Following that, there were merchants: “travelers.” They would go around to all the fairs. Jews would ride around with fabrics, ready-made clothing, mit leather, with dishes, [and] with furs. Every day, they

[pp. 237-238]

Perl Klirsfeld and her daughter standing in front of their shop in the marketplace

In addition: village travelers; Jews who went about among the villages, peddling [their wares]. They would buy some grain, a calf. Sometimes they would trade it for merchandise, which they brought with them, and which were needed by the peasants.

A significant number of Jews was employed in the cattle trade, as well as with the breeding of cattle/livestock, or fattening, as they referred to it by us. Some of them would purchase the cattle already fattened and would send them to the large cities in Poland.

Summertime, some Jews would pasture the cattle in meadows, until they grew fat.

Some dealt in horses. They dealt with the peasants, as well as with wealthy men and well-possessing [people] – from the area, and also, from far away from Bursztyn.

There were a few active bakeries, which sold baked goods in the city, and also took these to the villages.

Jewish butchers sold kosher meat to Jews and traif meat to the non-Jews.

In the town, resided Jewish artisans: tailors, shoemakers, tinsmen, capmakers, and others.

Among the tailors, some were good professionals, men's, as well as women' tailors. During the final period [before the Holocaust], those who practiced as women's tailors were nearly exclusively women. There were also Gentile tailors; that is how one referred to those who sewed for the peasants. Some of them would go around in the villages and serve their clients on-site. The old-style tailor who could sew up a Jewish article of clothing, a long jacket [commonly worn by Chasidim], a jacket, totally disappeared during those final days.

The shoemakers mostly worked for the peasants, or they repaired old shoes.

The holy articles that were assembled by those who had religious needs: the rabbi, the religious judge, the ritual slaughterers, the cantor, the trustees, and others were sustained by that small upkeep, which such a poor Jewish community was able to give it.

During the old Austrian times there were Jewish officials in various government positions: In the court mail[room], even in the police. Prior to Polish times, there only remained the old/former ones [in these positions]. Not a single Jew was allowed into any of these places.

Miss Kimmel with a group of Bursztyn residents at the marketplace

[pp. 239-240]

They were initially the lessees of goods [property] or lessees, as they were called.^[1] They leased the farm/ranch estates of the Polish property owner, in closest villages surrounding Bursztyn: Kuropatniki – the Fishers, Nastaszczyn – Breitbart, and Kaniuszki – Loyfer, and Swystelnyk – the Klareichs.

Dziuno Breitbart

I no longer recall the times when there were Jewish lessees and tavern keepers in the villages of the old style, and who were the nobleman's property. Following the war [of] 1914-18, this type of Jew entirely disappeared. There were no longer any taverns in the villages. There were no more inns; from many villages, these Jews completely vanished. Eighty percent of the remaining Jews in the villages surrounding Bursztyn took up agricultural work/farming and feeding animals.

The Klareichs in Kurow, the Scharfs and Mandelberg[s] in Sernik, the Kimmels in Korostowice; in Tenetniki there was the Nutes family, and many others.

I must say a few words about the noteworthy Nutes family. The elder R' Hersh Z”L (I believe, a brother of the longtime secretary of the Bursztyner Society in America) was a first-class agronomist [or farmer]; the peasants in the village would come to consult him and to learn from him.

It was a wonder and a pleasure to see how the whole family would stand in the field and cut the grain or dig up potatoes. One could see the old man – next to him his daughter and son-in-law with their children, who were already at that time, assiduous tillers.

It is understood that all these Jews, in addition to this work, traded [on the side] and earned a respectable livelihood.

The village Jews belonged to the Bursztyn Jewish community.

These dear, hard-working Jews were the first victims [or martyrs] of the Hitlerist murderers. Many of them were murdered during the initial part of the Nazi occupation.

Translator's Footnote

1. The terms used here, respectively, in Yiddish, are: Gutspechter and Posesorn. Return

[pp. 241-242]

In a sense, it is difficult to place a boundary for the Jewish occurrences in our town. Want, worry, and fear were always an organic part of the existence of Jewish life. Indeed, there were such stormy, worrisome days, which, with their fatefulness, left behind deep marks in the life of the town and in the soul of every individual. The epidemics and fires pertain to these occurrences, which would take on menacing forms and would endanger the lives of the entire population.

Just as in all small towns, it also burned very often [i.e., there were frequently fires]. There were small fires and huge conflagrations. The reason was simple: rooftops made of shingles and even of straw. A tiny spark would immediately burn, [and] there was nothing with which to extinguish. It depended on the weather. If it was calm, no wind – 2-3 houses would catch fire, and the fire would subside. However, when it burned during a period of wind, at that time, the fire would persist freely; then, entire streets would burn.

Before our time, there was a major fire in the year 1914, just before the outbreak of the First World War. In the conflagration the Great Synagogue and the religious study house burnt down. All the nearby little streets, a large part of the marketplace, as well as the house of the Rabbi R' Nachumtshe ZT”L were then burnt down.

Just as soon as the war broke out, once the Russians had invaded, they burnt down a large portion of the Jewish homes, the remaining marketplace, and the streets, all the way to the “Gnila Lipa.”

In 1921, approximately, once again on a beautiful morning, a great fire broke out, which once again destroyed the poor Jewish homes.

It was a frequent event, when the Jews would ring at the church; that would happen whenever a fire broke out, the Jews would run into the Polish church, which was surrounded from all sides by Jewish homes, and ring the alarm, also while ringing; in the “small garden” there was a bell for this purpose.

During the years 1915/16 – the years of the First World War, the most terrible of all epidemics raged. The cholera, which created destruction among the town's Jewish populace. There was almost no house in which there was no death. In some families, two or three victims succumbed.

I believe that in 1916 a [wedding] canopy was staged at the Jewish cemetery. That was supposed to be a remedy and hope that the epidemic would subside. The groom was: Motkele, the son of Zalmen Yossel Yonah's; the bride, the daughter of the elderly cantor; they hailed from Bukaczowce.

Yitzchak Kurtasz, the son-in-law of David Schneider Z”L, brought the gramophone with the large trumpet/horn; the procession toward the canopy was accompanied by music,

[pp. 243-244]

[and] people drank L'Chaim! And God indeed helped…

After the cholera, however, came the stomach and spotted typhus; the epidemic saw short intermissions – until the year 1921, approximately. From the typhus epidemic, a few hundred Jews in Bursztyn died.

Yes, there was no shortage of pain, misfortune, and sadness in the Jewish life of the town. But the largest fire came upon the Jews of Bursztyn when the most major igniter of all times, Hitler, with his collaborators, exhausted, starved, and annihilated all the Jews of Bursztyn through burning and other violent forms of death.

If one of us Bursztyners occasionally recalls, during moments of longing for one's childhood years, which we spent in our small Jewish town prior to the First World War, he must also recall Demianow, because Bursztyn without Demianow is, for example, is like a house without an alcove. Even the train station is called by the name Bursztyn-Demianow, and the conductor would call out in a single breath: BursztynDemianow.

I recall how we, small lads, would during the summer Sabbath days when our parents would go to sleep, run barefoot to Demianow. The road is straight; on both sides [there are] fields with grain that is ready for cutting, but here and there one could see male and female peasants cutting with sickles and binding in sheaves. The scent of the cut grain filled air, it was quiet all around, and we, small lads, galloped barefoot uphill, and then downhill, until close before the village. Not far from the village the road splits [in two], one going to the right, which leads to Martynow, and the other, to the left, cuts into the village. Before the road splits stood the tavern, in which resided the elderly Naftali Demianower and his wife Breina (children, I do not recall). In the center of the village lived our cheder colleague, Berl, who spent a whole week living at his grandfather, Itshe Gutstein, and learned together with us from Hershl Strelisker, and for the Sabbath he would return home to Demianow. We, young children would be drawn to go to Berl on the Sabbath, following lunch. Unfortunately, we did not always succeed at this, because before reaching his home we had to run through an entire series of peasant streets. And as much as we tried not to wake up the village dogs, we were not always successful, and many times we had to turn around from the middle of the village, so as not to barge into their canine snouts, because just as soon as the dogs began to bark, imprudent Gentile fellows would appear; and right away they would become provoked against us, and in unison, begin to pursue us. And we, not [being] dead, nor alive, ran back; and more than one of us returned home with torn pants and occasionally, even worse… And the Sabbath day escapades very often ended with… beatings, which we received from our fathers.

Later-on, Demianow had another provocation for us. We, already boys of 10-11 years of age, would chase after the couples in love, who would stroll in the summer evenings up to Naftali Demianower's place, and there, behind his house, in the orchard, where there stood simple, unfinished tables and benches, they passed around cold sour milk and black bread and butter. And we, young lads, stood at the other side of the fence, swallowed our saliva, and were envious.

For the children who prayed at the

[pp. 245-246]

Stratyner synagogue, Naftali Demianow was quite valuable in conjunction with the [Jewish] festival of “Shemini Atzerert.” An early-on precedent was established, whereby Naftali Demianower would invite the whole Stratyner congregation to his home, Shemini Atzeret during the day. He and his wife Breina prepared broiled duck and mead, the tasty Bursztyn mead.

Entering Naftali's home, one could already smell the broiled duck, which Naftali and his wife placed with shining faces upon the tables. The crowd did not wait to be called. We, small ones, also did not turn down [the opportunity], and chewed with both cheeks. And in the evening, [once it was] already a bit dark, we went to synagogue, singing, to the Hakafot [i.e., the ceremony during which there is dancing around in a circular motion with the Torah on Shemini Atzeret, Simchat Torah, and other occasions]. And so, there was an account involving our dear Naftali Demianower, which became inscribed within my memory.

The chametz, on Passover Eve, Naftali would sell, already for many years, to his nearest neighbor, an old peasant, Ivan. Until one lovely day, Ivan died. Before Passover, he called over Ivan's son, Stefan, and told him that for many years already he was conducting this business concerning the chametz with his late father and taking into consideration the long-term acquaintance that bound the two of them [together], he now wanted to conduct this business with him; that is, with Stefan. And he charted out all the conditions for him: he must sit for eight days in the tavern and be the full-standing proprietor of the business. All of this would be indicated on paper; and then, that is, following the eight days, the business would be transferred over to the previous proprietor, that is, to Naftali.

The business was completed. Naftali served Stefan a glass of 96 [i.e., some type of alcohol dating back to 1896]. Stefan ended off with another glass and went home. On the way [home], being under the influence of the second glass, a bright idea occurred to him, and he thought to himself, if I am indeed the proprietor of the tavern, why should I not serve my chums a glass of pure liquor? He thought about and did this. He stopped off at his chums, and just as with good brothers, invited them over for the following morning to the tavern for a glass of liquor.

The following day was the morning of the first day of Passover. Naftali comported himself as usual; he rose and went with Breina to the town to go and pray. Having finished praying, they went home. Coming close to the tavern, the exceptional for a usual weekday movement around the tavern attracted their attention. But not sensing anything bad, they went home in peace. But just as soon as they opened the door, everything grew bad [i.e., literally, “it grew dark in their eyes”]. Around the tables sat half a village of spread-out peasants, and Stefan was handing out with his generous hand whatever somebody requested. Liquor and accompanying food as with a king. Poor Naftali called Stefan over to a side, and between the two, the following dialogue ensued:

Naftali: Stefan, as far as I know, you have no holiday today.

Stefan: No, today is a usual weekday for us.

Naftali: Then why are they sitting here stretched out and drinking?

Stefan: That's because I invited them to come and drink a toast in honor of my becoming the proprietor of the tavern.

Naftali: What are you talking about, Stefan, proprietor of the tavern? Don't you know that this business is a joke and that you haven't invested even 5 greitzer in it?

Stefan: You are making a mistake. I in fact purchased the tavern, and we didn't speak at all about money, such that you must now leave me alone, because I need to take care of my chums.

The elderly Naftali Demianower remained

If one of us Bursztyners occasionally recalls, during moments of longing for one's childhood years, which we spent in our small Jewish town prior to the First World War, he must also recall Demianow, because Bursztyn without Demianow is, for example, is like a house without an alcove. Even the train station is called by the name Bursztyn-Demianow, and the conductor would call out in a single breath: BursztynDemianow.

I recall how we, small lads, would during the summer Sabbath days when our parents would go to sleep, run barefoot to Demianow. The road is straight; on both sides [there are] fields with grain that is ready for cutting, but here and there one could see male and female peasants cutting with sickles and binding in sheaves. The scent of the cut grain filled air, it was quiet all around, and we, small lads, galloped barefoot uphill, and then downhill, until close before the village. Not far from the village the road splits [in two], one going to the right, which leads to Martynow, and the other, to the left, cuts into the village. Before the road splits stood the tavern, in which resided the elderly Naftali Demianower and his wife Breina (children, I do not recall). In the center of the village lived our cheder colleague, Berl, who spent a whole week living at his grandfather, Itshe Gutstein, and learned together with us from Hershl Strelisker, and for the Sabbath he would return home to Demianow. We, young children would be drawn to go to Berl on the Sabbath, following lunch. Unfortunately, we did not always succeed at this, because before reaching his home we had to run through an entire series of peasant streets. And as much as we tried not to wake up the village dogs, we were not always successful, and many times we had to turn around from the middle of the village, so as not to barge into their canine snouts, because just as soon as the dogs began to bark, imprudent Gentile fellows would appear; and right away they would become provoked against us, and in unison, begin to pursue us. And we, not [being] dead, nor alive, ran back; and more than one of us returned home with torn pants and occasionally, even worse… And the Sabbath day escapades very often ended with… beatings, which we received from our fathers.

Later-on, Demianow had another provocation for us. We, already boys of 10-11 years of age, would chase after the couples in love, who would stroll in the summer evenings up to Naftali Demianower's place, and there, behind his house, in the orchard, where there stood simple, unfinished tables and benches, they passed around cold sour milk and black bread and butter. And we, young lads, stood at the other side of the fence, swallowed our saliva, and were envious.

For the children who prayed at the

[pp. 245-246]

Stratyner synagogue, Naftali Demianow was quite valuable in conjunction with the [Jewish] festival of “Shemini Atzerert.” An early-on precedent was established, whereby Naftali Demianower would invite the whole Stratyner congregation to his home, Shemini Atzeret during the day. He and his wife Breina prepared broiled duck and mead, the tasty Bursztyn mead.

Entering Naftali's home, one could already smell the broiled duck, which Naftali and his wife placed with shining faces upon the tables. The crowd did not wait to be called. We, small ones, also did not turn down [the opportunity], and chewed with both cheeks. And in the evening, [once it was] already a bit dark, we went to synagogue, singing, to the Hakafot [i.e., the ceremony during which there is dancing around in a circular motion with the Torah on Shemini Atzeret, Simchat Torah, and other occasions]. And so, there was an account involving our dear Naftali Demianower, which became inscribed within my memory.

The chametz, on Passover Eve, Naftali would sell, already for many years, to his nearest neighbor, an old peasant, Ivan. Until one lovely day, Ivan died. Before Passover, he called over Ivan's son, Stefan, and told him that for many years already he was conducting this business concerning the chametz with his late father and taking into consideration the long-term acquaintance that bound the two of them [together], he now wanted to conduct this business with him; that is, with Stefan. And he charted out all the conditions for him: he must sit for eight days in the tavern and be the full-standing proprietor of the business. All of this would be indicated on paper; and then, that is, following the eight days, the business would be transferred over to the previous proprietor, that is, to Naftali.

The business was completed. Naftali served Stefan a glass of 96 [i.e., some type of alcohol dating back to 1896]. Stefan ended off with another glass and went home. On the way [home], being under the influence of the second glass, a bright idea occurred to him, and he thought to himself, if I am indeed the proprietor of the tavern, why should I not serve my chums a glass of pure liquor? He thought about and did this. He stopped off at his chums, and just as with good brothers, invited them over for the following morning to the tavern for a glass of liquor.

The following day was the morning of the first day of Passover. Naftali comported himself as usual; he rose and went with Breina to the town to go and pray. Having finished praying, they went home. Coming close to the tavern, the exceptional for a usual weekday movement around the tavern attracted their attention. But not sensing anything bad, they went home in peace. But just as soon as they opened the door, everything grew bad [i.e., literally, “it grew dark in their eyes”]. Around the tables sat half a village of spread-out peasants, and Stefan was handing out with his generous hand whatever somebody requested. Liquor and accompanying food as with a king. Poor Naftali called Stefan over to a side, and between the two, the following dialogue ensued:

Naftali: Stefan, as far as I know, you have no holiday today.

Stefan: No, today is a usual weekday for us.

Naftali: Then why are they sitting here stretched out and drinking?

Stefan: That's because I invited them to come and drink a toast in honor of my becoming the proprietor of the tavern.

Naftali: What are you talking about, Stefan, proprietor of the tavern? Don't you know that this business is a joke and that you haven't invested even 5 greitzer in it?

Stefan: You are making a mistake. I in fact purchased the tavern, and we didn't speak at all about money, such that you must now leave me alone, because I need to take care of my chums.

The elderly Naftali Demianower remained

[pp. 247-248]

standing with his head downcast, with a pained heart, as he watched his labor being poured freely down the Gentile throats. For a long time thereafter, people would schmooze and relate the story that had taken place in Demianow.

[pp. 247-248]

standing with his head downcast, with a pained heart, as he watched his labor being poured freely down the Gentile throats. For a long time thereafter, people would schmooze and relate the story that had taken place in Demianow.

In the “rynek” [i.e., Polish for market square] in the extreme corner of the left side stood the house of Zelig Hammer. On one side it bordered on the house of Leizer Landner, and from the other side, on the house of Chaim Hochberg. Toward the street was a saloon, and behind it, a residence.

Zelig Hammer did not get involved in the saloon; his wife Baila oversaw the business, and with much success; a woman of valor on whom one could depend.

R' Zelig Hammer, a stately appearance, a lovely, tall figure – a tended-to beard, always clean and elegantly dressed.

An intelligent, energetic Jew. For many years he was the dominant [force] in the Jewish social life of the town; he was the head of the Jewish community, the overseer of birth certificates in city hall, the head of the Jewish councilors, and for a long time, the factual mayor of the city.

His leading admirers were the simple common folk, the artisans, cattle merchants, and horse dealers. Without R' Zelig, they would not initiate anything. They would confer with him, and he would give them advice.

The episode that I am bringing down here, I once heard told by R' Zelig Hammer himself. This episode shows us what sort of naïve, innocent, genuine Jew Reuven Schuster was. R' Zelig told it as so: one time Reuven came over to me, worried and scared, “R' Zelig – he says – I received a slip from the court. What do they want from me? I was never in my life in court, says to me R' Zelig; what shall I do?”

R' Zelig looks at the slip and says: “Yes, they are summoning you to court, Reuven. They are summoning you

Reuven the shoemaker, the long-term trade union leader of the artisans in Bursztyn

But R' Zelig, what shall I do? I am already over fifty, and never before tread across the threshold of the court. What shall I do and what shall I say? – asked Reuven.

Don't get scared – R' Zelig said to him – go to the court at 8 o'clock in the morning; when you come to the floor/landing, you should go to the right side,

[pp. 249-250]

you should count 3 doors, and you should enter the third one. There, you will see the judge sitting on a high chair. You should not say anything, only when the judge asks you your name, you should say – Reuven Drucker. Afterward, he will ask you, Did you see the neighbors engaged in a brawl? You should respond – No, I did not see anything. Then the judge will say to you: Go home.

On the designated day Reuven went to court. He went with fear. But he was surer of himself, on account of the instructions from R' Zelik… He counted 3 doors on the right side. He entered the third door, saw the judge on the high chair in the black robe, and a fear fell upon him, but remembering R' Zelik's talk, it became easier for him.

What is your name? – the judge asked him.

My name is Reuven Drucker.

Did you see your neighbors Ivan and Peter having a brawl?

I did not see this.

You didn't see this at all?

No.

You may go home.

Reuven the shoemaker ran straight to Zelik Hammer. Gaping [and] full of delight, he asked: “R' Zelig. It was exactly as you said, but precisely according to every shred. How did you know this? I counted up 3 doors on the right side. I opened the door, and the judge was sitting in a black robe on a high chair – and asked me, What is your name? So, I said, Reuven Drucker, [and] so he asked further – Did you see Ivan fighting with Peter? So, I said, No, I didn't see anything… So, he showed me the door and said: Go home! But from where and how did you, R' Zelik, know how all of this would take place, in advance?”

In our town there were Bursztyn Jews who traded in horses, broad-chested Jews, with healthy red faces, scorched by the sun and wind.

Wolf the Big and Wolf the Small. Eli Moshe the Big and Eli Moshe the Small, Shmuel Hreczka – Matye Shed [i.e., this is likely a descriptive and not true surname, meaning “devil/demon”] – and others; they were mighty, strong like oaks. Entire fairs of Gentiles would tremble before them. They were utterly good-hearted. If they only had one groshen in their pocket, they would often share it with a poor person.

I would like to relate here about Eli Moshe the Big. He was a completely nice fellow, but he was no great scholar. Eli Moshe the Big had 5 sons: Aizik, Shmuel, Luzer, Nachman, and Leizertshe; they were 5 strong men, but with the teacher in school they had no peace. The cheder also did not entice them; they were more drawn to the pasture, to cracking with their whip and to kicking on their horse.

From the youngest one, from Leizertshe, Eli Moshe the Big wanted to make a human-being, and so with force, he kept him in school; he did not spare any tuition money the Melamed, Yidl Purim. However, it did not help any.

He completely ran away from the school and from the cheder. Eli Moshe would complain to everyone and justify himself: You see, good people, I do everything that I can. I want the youngest should at least know [something], that he should become a human-being. But what can I do; he only wants horses. Well, tell me yourselves, can I then sit my head upon him…^[1]

[pp. 251-252]

The Bursztyner Bontshe Shvayg^[2]

Moshe Leibele was a newcomer to Bursztyn, but I recall him from my earlier childhood in Bursztyn. His wife, Libe, or Libkale, as people called her, was the sister of Yankl, the Gentile tailor. The couple, in fact, lived together with Yankele in one house.

Moshe Leibele, a small little Jew with a beard and sidelocks, belted in thick rope, although he seldom used it, because his primary work was to carry water to the houses. The rope he would occasionally use to carry a half a tenth of wood from Aryeh Shayeche to a poor homeowner.

It was difficult, very difficult for Moshe Leibele to piece things together for the Sabbath. However, he never complained, he did not ask anything of anyone.

Friday evening he would throw off the dirty, patched-up clothes and put on the long jacket and fur-edged hat [traditionally worn by Chasidim on the Sabbath and on Jewish festivals], so as to go pray at the Tailors' Synagogue. Here, too, he did not have any designated spot; he would sit down next to the door.

One would not hear him speaking loudly; he never wrangled about the wage that he received for his work. It goes without saying that he did not raise his voice or curse, which was a frequent occurrence among other porters. During the week, he would stop in at the religious study house and recite a chapter of Psalms.

It was related how, standing once in the yard at Zelig Hammer's place, and dragging water from the well – he looked in through the window and saw how R' Zelig was eating noodles and broth. He snatched away his head; it apparently “passed over” his heart; he once again took a look and averted his eyes.

He murmured to himself: What does it matter to you, Moshe Leibele, if Zelig Hammer is eating noodles and broth?

Once he received 50 dollars from a relative in America; he was afraid to keep it at home.

He came to Yankl Rudy, who at that time had a bank, and told him: R' Yankl, I received 50 dollars; I ask you to accept these at your bank, and for a percent, I will carry water for you.

It was the Bursztyn of those days, when the children obeyed their father and mother, and as good, religious people say, young people did not smoke any cigarettes on the Sabbath, girls did not wear any clothes with open backs. Just the opposite – with a collar up to the neck, long sleeves, and high lace-up shoes. They observed the Sabbath and the Jewish festivals, as God commanded.

It was during that time when Devorahtshe Banner sent her son, Moshe, to Lemberg, to be an assistant in a haberdashery store.

This young fellow spent a year in the big city – he longed for home, for Bursztyn; [and so] he visited “for the Sabbath.”

Sabbath day, after the food, he went out to the street. His friends did not recognize him, fancy as he was, in long trousers and yellow/amber shoes, a collar and a tie; a complete German [i.e., in the German or Western mode], he went for a walk with his gang toward the court, far, far away, en route to Nastaszczyn. He related all the wonders of the big city of Lemberg to them. Of the big walls, of the tramway that ran along the streets. Of the big stores, of the wealth, [and] of the wonderful people. He told them how progressive he had become. He went to the theater; and namely, he no longer prayed,

[pp. 253-254]

he no longer recited the Shema. His friends heard him out with open mouths, gaping from all the wonderment.

Suddenly, Moshe stood in place. He had taken out a match stub from his pocket and lit it, --- calling out with a trumpeting voice (a bit nasally): So, this is what Moshe can do!…

His friends all together cried out in fear: “On the Sabbath!” And they ran away.

Do you remember how one would go to the post office? Standing there and waiting for the letter carrier?

At the post office old and young would wait. The intelligentsia, the fancy proprietors; youths would wait for the newspapers, which arrived at their party headquarters, but did not have any patience to wait until they would be brought there.

Stable waiters were: the leaders of the “Hitachdut,” who would wait for party literature and newspapers.

The leaders of the Peretz Association – for the “Literarishe Bleter,” which one would learn as a page of Gemara; [and] the representatives of “Beitar” would wait for their mail.

One would nearly always see Mrs. Wattenberg and Shlomo Geller.

While waiting, one would often debate about various current events.

One liked going to the post office during the week, and particularly, on the Sabbath. One person would be reading a correspondence from America; another one, a certificate to go to Israel, and so forth.

It is understood that the only ones waiting were Jews; and while waiting, one would begin schmoozing about this and that. More than once, the clerk, Bogochwalski, would be shouting through the window that there should be quiet. For a few minutes it would grow quiet, until people once again became fired-up and noisy. – But then suddenly, the door would open, it would grow pitch quiet, [and] the letter carrier would appear with various mail packages in both of his hands. And in the blink of an eye, he would be surrounded by tens of individuals. The mail carrier would loudly and indifferently call out the names of the addressees. There would be outstretched trembling and greedy hands. When he finished, there would be many blotted eyes. Everyone slowly dispersed.

When Davidzshe Breiter Z”L built his large house in the middle of the marketplace with a story/landing, the significant people flocked there: judges, lawyers, teachers, and so forth. Just opposite of the residence, where he, Davidzshe himself lived with his family, moved a judge who had, not long before, come to Bursztyn; he was a Christian.

On Purim, proprietors would send the synagogue beadle to their homes, so that he would read the Megillah for their wives.

This is also what Davidzshe Breiter did that time; being himself at the synagogue, he sent Avraham Itzik the synagogue trustee, so that he would read the Megillah for his wife.

Abraham Itzik, already then, was a bit deaf. Coming up to the big wall, he got confused, and instead of going to Davidzshe Breiter's wife, he went in where the judge's wife was. Upon entering, he broadly conveyed a “good holiday.” He retrieved the Megillah from its long, metal canister, placed it down on the table, and… began to read.

[pp. 255-256]

The wealthy woman, who did not know what was happening here, began to ask, it is understood, in Polish, what he wanted here. A Jew does not reside here. Avraham Itzik did not hear and did not respond – he continued reading the Megillah… You, Jew, what do you want here? Leave my home – shouted the wife of the judge.

Avraham Itzik began to notice that something was not in order, so he shouted:

Well, there, at once, at once, woman!

You get out of my house, you, vile Jew – she ran up to him.

Avraham Itzik, the synagogue trustee, apparently did not finish reading the Megillah, because the judge came in and threw him out of the house.

There was once a Jew in Bursztyn named Zalmen Ber Loyfer. He was a big scholar and very smart. A person with principles. It was said of him that he had once overseen a trial involving a Bursztyn Jew, and he took it all the way to Kaiser Franz Joseph, who granted it an audience…

The older Bursztyn Jews ought to remember him. He was steeped in fine pedigree, that Zalmen Ber. He hailed from generations upon generations of rabbis and good Jews. He himself, though, was a Mitnagid. That is, he did not abide by any Chasidim.

And so R' Zalmen used to love relating: After my wedding, my father ZT”L, the Nadworner Rabbi, saw that I was taken by the matter, and that I was already considering something different, and not rabbinics. So, he once called me into his room and said to me as so:

I want to ask you something, Zalmen Ber, and want you to answer me. You know that your great, great grandfather, the Apter, the great master of miracles – [that it was] with him that our rabbinic dynasty began?

I remained silent.

Do you hear [me]?

I hear [you], father.

And your great grandfather, R' Meirtshe, you hear?

I hear, father.

And your grandfather, the Gaon, you hear?

Why are you silent?

And I, your father, should the rabbinate of our family, heaven forbid, end with me?

Speak! Why do you remain silent?

I remained silent.

I command you to speak.

If father will forgive my words, then I will speak.

Speak!!

If so, I will tell my father that it never began…

The Ladner Family

Rivka and Leizer Landner had 5 sons, a walled house, and a food shop. Whoever came up with the notion that a Jewish merchant must be a swindler, deceitful, should have been taken to Leizer Landner's store. The second [son] of the eldest son, Nunue, worked with the father [Leizer] in his food shop.

Both of them, the father and the son, were exemplars of honesty and decency.

R' Leizer, a religious Jew of the old style, was innocent as a small child. His 5 sons, just as innocently and honestly, believed in their ideas of rights, from the right to the extreme left. All the Jewish parties, which at that time

[pp. 257-258]

were active in the town, were represented in Leizer Landner's home; R' Leizer would listen to the fiery debates of his sons. He did not believe in their doctrines, but he was tolerant.

His eldest, Itshe, said that it is not sufficient to speak nicely; one must live like a proletarian-born person. One must work, [so] he went to Stanislawow and studied locksmithery. His brother, Lobtshe, who studied law at university, simultaneously studied tailoring.

Leizer Ladner's sons believed with a complete faith in the world, the human being, and in its justice.

It was this very world, this very human being, this very justice that so bloodily fooled us.

One son, the youngest, survived; her [i.e., Rivka Landner's] Landner studied in Paris. He fought in Spain; he was captured by the Germans. He lives in France. A daughter of my dear friend-from-youth, Itshe, who lives in Israel, also survived.

Koppel Henech's narrow, single-story house stood at the edge of the marketplace. Tightly sealed, to the left, stood Aryeh Shayech's small house. Next door lived R' Sholom Baumrind, a God-fearer and fiery Chasid. In addition, he was also a big scholar. Notwithstanding the fact that he was a poor, bitter man, he never lost his confidence. He had grown-up and overgrown sons and daughters. An entire week, one seldom saw a bit of cooked food at R' Shlomo's home, but on the Sabbath, a piece of meat [or] fish, had to enter his home; it is understood, not, for heaven's sake, to gorge oneself; rather, in honor of the Sabbath…

One Friday night, when R' Sholom returned [home] from praying and enthusiastically said the Shalom Aleichem, said the Kiddush, and sat down at the table, his wife right away passed him the broth with noodles. R' Sholom asked, strongly wondering, What happened? Where is the fish?

His wife quietly told him something; apparently, that there was nowhere to purchase it – or, perhaps, she had no reason to buy it…

R' Sholom remained seated, deep in thought. He had not touched the broth with noodles; it did not help any talking or coaxing. “There must be fish on the Sabbath – he said – and there will be.”

Where shall I now find fish, Sholom? – his wife asked. You are a Jewish woman! You don't understand. There will be fish – Sholom's eyes glazed over, he roared/hummed to himself, again and again: “There must be fish, there must be fish on the Sabbath, in honor of the Sabbath.”

The broth grew cold. The Sabbath candles went out. The residents were already asleep – R' Sholom sat in the dark and still murmured with confidence, There must be fish in honor of the Sabbath… He woke up once it was already [the next] day. He had slept through the night, sitting, with his hands clenched upon the table, waiting for the fish.

He used to relate, following this, that he had carried through: he ate fish…

She arrived on occasion, like something that had fallen from the heavens. We, children, had left the school. On the way home, we noticed that in the middle of the marketplace something exceptional was taking place. There were long and thick banisters thrown about, wooden planks and many-colored canvases. Next to this

[pp. 259-260]

stood a large, wooden wagon, and from a small window a girl with strongly colored cheeks looked out. The children said that she would walk on a rope…

It did not take long, and there already stood individual divisions: a “circus,” where one could see various clowns, a booth where one threw tin cans at a table with numbers. There, one won important things.

The primary thing, though, was the carousel – with moving carriages and horses, as though they could gallop the greatest gallop…

The carousel attracted all the children from the town. The poor ones spun the wealthy ones, as follows: up above stood ten children, who, with their little hands, pushed the big wheel in one direction; the wheel upon which the horses hung. With their strength, the carousel was spun. For spinning it ten times, a poor child went on a horse once.

Even grown-ups looked at the spinning and took pride in their children's feats.

I stood with my mother after I had already sacrificed/relinquished that which was mine. Next to my mother stood another Jewish woman, Chaya-Faige, they called her. She was Yankl Rudy's wife and always had a pale face.

They both observed how the children were climbing into the moving carriages and jumping up onto the horses, and it looked like the children's radiance was bouncing off their tired faces. The owner of the carousel gave the long-awaited chime, and the horses began to run in pursuit, growing faster over time. It dizzied the eyes, and the children shouted, shrieked, and laughed. Following several minutes, a chime could once again be heard. This was a signal that the carousel was coming to a halt. The galloping had ended, the “people” crawled down, for soon there would be another group with other people taking their places.

You see, Malka – Chaya-Faige called to my mother – this is the countenance/appearance of a person's entire life. He is seated in a wagon, and someone turns him around in a mind-dizzying gallop. It stops and lets off steam. But before he looks around, he is told to get out of the wagon. His spot is already taken up by another person…

My mother nodded her head [in agreement] and with a thoughtful voice, said: Yeah, yeah, that's how human life looks.

It would often happen that our dear teacher, Minne Tobias, would invite his students over to his home; he would read us Sholem Aleichem or Bialik – his most beloved writers. We had tryouts for a play, which we were preparing to stage for some type of holiday.

Aside from reading to us or directing, Minne did not have any great interest in spending time with us. He did not dance or participate in any of the young gang's fun.

Following the reading we would schmooze with the girls or dance, organize a collective game, and so forth.

Minne had relatives in the village of Luka. Once, his cousin came for a visit. Her name was Roize; [she was] a young girl.

We were there for the Sabbath. Minne read for the gang, and afterwards went out into the street. The gang remained [behind] and had a joyful time. We played “Zakonnik” [Polish for “Monk”]. The game consisted of making a corner partition of the room;

[pp. 261-262]

a boy would go under and then invite over a girl; then the fellow would leave, and the girl would again invite another fellow, according to her wishes. We, the “modern” and “revolutionary” youth, conducted ourselves very well.

Under the partition, it would often happen that the fellow and the girl would merely look at each other bashfully, and with this, everything ended. Olya Fishman invited the guest, Roize from Luka, under the partition. It happened – he hugged her and gave her a kiss.

The girl emerged from behind the curtain with a cry, and shouted ---- What will I do now? What will I do now?…

Translator's Footnotes

1. This expression is supposed to connote that the father, Eli Moshe the Big, would like to be able to take pride in – be built up by – his youngest son, but his wishes seem to have been for naught. Return
2. “Bontshe Shvayg” or “Bontshe the Silent” is a literary allusion to a story by I. L. Peretz. Return

[pp. 263-264]

The doctors who lived in Bursztyn at the beginning of the twentieth century, Mondschein and Mach, definitely needed to break their heads insofar as earning a livelihood. For who used a doctor, then? Both the Christian and Jewish residents had their own male and female curse removers. In our town there were several such grandmothers. But the most popular of them was Faige the grandmother [i.e., in this context, a midwife].

She was tall, thin, and dried-out, with long, dangling arms, but on her face she always bore a smile, and always greeted everyone with a nice word. She delivered 7 of my mother's children, from which four died soon [thereafter]. By my grandmother, Rochel, at the birth of her son, Naftali, they called upon Faige the grandmother. She had her remedies for all sorts of illnesses. Honey dough for swollenness, hot wax if the child was rickety; one had to bathe it in milk and honey.

To take care of a poor pregnant woman, moreover, with a small yoke, there were in the town Rochele Hammer, Leahtshe, Meir Tepper's [wife]. They already knew that it was necessary to take care of the pregnant woman at a particular time.

Faige the grandmother helped approximately fifteen hundred children come into the world. From many pregnant women she did not take any money, because at home there was simply nothing for a piece of bread. In her older years, Faige's stars as a grandmother began to become extinguished. Schooled midwives began to appear, [there was] Mrs. Nadler; and in the last years, Asher Blecher's daughter, Mrs. Sarah Zommer. Bursztyn was already more enlightened, and if it was very necessary, they would already call upon Dr. Zusman, or upon Dr. Schumer.

Faige passed away in the 1930s. Her final days were spent at [the home of] her son, Petachiah the doctor.

Fifty years ago, a great deal of effort was invested, so that the Yom Kippur candles should be made of pure beeswax, and that at the point of putting on the wicks, the names of deceased family members should be mentioned. This was expensive enough, and not everyone could afford it. Leahtshe, Meir's [wife] and Malka Berkes were involved in this [line of work]. Their candles cost a lot of money. Only the elderly Rochele Hammer did this without [asking for] money, for the sake of the good deed, but only for select individuals.

Her livelihood Rochele Hammer earned from a small shop, which she had next to a Polish church. On account of this and several good deeds, she neglected the shop.

She hailed from Podorozhnie, a village next to Rohatyn. [She was] a good-hearted [woman], always smiling,

[pp. 265-266]

a master of honesty, innocence, and religiosity. Living in poverty, she always gave away from her little bit, to those who were even poorer than she.

Aunt Libtze was a friend of Y. Fenster's mother O”BM [i.e., Of Blessed Memory], and of his mother's sister, Shifra, who hailed from Rohatyn.

Eli the butcher and his wife, Liftze

On the Sabbath of the Torah portion of Genesis, the Chevra Tehillim had the precedent of running the proceedings at the religious study house. The trustee of the Chevra Tehillim circle, Sane Yidele the Butcher's [son?], stood by, reading from the Torah, and saw to it that his people be called up for good “Aliyahs.” There was almost no Sabbath Genesis when a brawl did not ensue. The trustee of the religious house of study, Avrahamtshe Breiter, wanted to give his people the “third [Aliyah],” or the “sixth [Aliyah].” The butchers stood on the side of Sane and the Chevra Tehillim.

Sabbath Genesis had scarcely ended, [and so] the disputes also disappeared. The town became submerged in monetary concerns, in the difficult toil of daily [life].

Every Tuesday there was a fair in Bursztyn. From the furthest-away villages, male and female peasants came to attend. From the closer villages, such as Nastaszczyn, Kuropatniki, Demianow, Korostowice, Martynow, Czarow, and others, the female peasants would come on foot. They would sell chickens, butter, and sour cream, all sorts of grain, and cattle/cows. There were merchants who immediately grabbed everything from them. There was even a Jew who dealt in pigs.

Bursztyn Jews conducted business with Vienna and Prague. Entire transports of slaughtered calves and various foods would arrive in these cities. Among the sponsors there were also lessees of estates and such, who themselves worked the soil. Among them were: Ezriel Kleinfeld from Korostowice, Eli Treiber, Leibush-Eli Kimmel, and his father, Shlomo, Moshe Haber, and yet other Jews. To these ox-merchants belonged: Aizik Breiter, Velvele Yonah-Leib's, Yitzchak Kortasz, Yitzchak Berkes, Leib Moshe Ziskind's, and my father. The primary expediter of eggs to Germany was Berish Hornik, who employed approximately ten Jews.

Around the merchants at the marketplace there moved about various types of poor brokers who sought a way to earn a piece of bread. They would stand next to the peasant customer and give the appearance that they were giving more [than they were, in actuality]. From Bursztyn, one also went to fairs in other cities.

[pp. 267-268]

Carriage Drivers

Simple, good-hearted people, always ready to give away their last groshen as a donation.

Avraham Moshe Daniel's [or possibly Daniels] allowed his son, Yekele, to study at the University of Vienna. Yekele was a fiery Zionist and took an active part in social life.

Avraham's brother, Meir, was also a carriage driver. His children were also active in the social life of Bursztyn.

Avrahamtshi “Spitz,” a carriage driver, a sweet person, with a great deal of inborn genteelness/politeness.

Wolf Faige's Chatshulik [i.e., possibly a horse breeder or dealer] always had, during the most difficult times, a ready joke, a good word to say. Once, standing next to R' Nachman Breiter's shop, he consulted him:

R' Nachman, do you have today's newspaper?

Why do you need the newspaper – Nachman Breiter asked him – are you able to read?

For heaven's sake. I can't read, but seeing as I don't have any oats, any hay to give to my horses, I would like to collect the newspaper, so that they should at least have what to read.

All those who were present laughed. But many of them knew that not only the horses did not have what to eat, but also at home, Wolf's wife did not have a piece of bread for the children. This was just before the outbreak of the First World War.

Wolf had the loveliest harness. The children, Itzik Hirsh, Moshe Godele, and Berl helped out day and night with two drunkards, guarding the Demianow station, but they always ended up in dire straits/impoverished.

During the first year of the war, not far from his house, stood a division of the Austrian military, which carried with it, in a wagon, a large money chest. Wolf knew about this from the soldiers who were quartered at his home. At some point, the Russians began to shoot at the division. Two soldiers were killed on the spot. The others fled. Wolf and his son went outside and dragged in the chest of money to their home, and later buried it in the yard.

With this money, Wolf began to carry out major transactions. [But even] with that, he remained the same good-hearted person. In the town, one knew about many people who would have died of hunger, were it not for Wolf's help. During the nights, he would deliver whole sacks of flour to these people with his horses. Aside from that, he helped with money, and all of this [he did] with the greatest modesty and concern, that the people not be embarrassed, not become dejected/downhearted.

My memory does not recall Avraham Hersh Friedlander. I only recall the two brothers, Shmuel Mordechai and Yossel Friedlander. They ran the big mill, which operated day and night.

Next to the large mill was a small water mill where the peasants would come to grind for their home usage. Town cattle/cow merchants would also grind grain there for their cattle/cows.

In the year 1914, the entire Friedlander family fled from the town. The Russians plundered the mill. The peasants from the surrounding villages divided up the plundered flour, and the mill went up in the fire.

Approximately one hundred years ago, cholera broke out in the town. People fell like flies. There began to be a dearth of space in the Jewish cemetery, when a major righteous man ordered that they designate a new Jewish cemetery.

[pp. 269-270]

The Jewish Burial Society at the Bursztyn Jewish Cemetery

Next to the new Jewish cemetery stood a spring, which for many years was surrounded by a fence. People called it: the Water Elder Spring.

The entire surrounding population believed that bathing in this spring would heal all sorts of eye infirmities. In many homes they had water from this spring in sealed jars, ready as a remedy for some sort of trouble. When a boy cut open my head with a stone, a Jewish woman washed off the wound with that water.

Once, during a winter's night in the beginning of 1915, a Russian officer, a tall and sturdily built man, with silver armbands and a Cossack cap, perched to the side, and a nicely trimmed, grey, pointed beard, entered the religious house of study.

1. The crowd at the religious study house became frightened and stood up from their places, but the officer immediately began to speak with them… in Yiddish. He extended his hand to everyone, looked inside of the Gemaras, which lay open on the lecterns. Later on, he took out a notebook and went over to R' Leibush Kletter with questions. R' Leibush responded to him about everything, and we, boys, stood around them with open mouths.

The Rohatyner Klezmer players: Moyshele Poist and his sons: David, Itzik-Hersh, Mordechai-Shmuel, and Yankl, and others. Over the course of two generations, the Rohatyner Klezmer players led grooms and brides to the wedding canopy in Bursztyn. The four sons were murdered by the Hitlerist murderers.

[pp. 271-272]

The officer asked him how many Jews had left the town and how many had remained, [and] how they earned a living.

When leaving, he said that if any Russian should try to do something bad, they should come to him. He lived in the courtyard of Prince Jablonowski. His name was Shloyme [Shlomo] Rapoport. That was Sh. An-ski.

The Jews in the town once again waited for the officer, the following day. But he no longer came. For that very night, his unit transferred to another city.

Translator's Footnote

1. An organization oriented around the recitation of Psalms Return

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