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by Simcha Adler
Translated by Jerrold Landau
Tidbits from the Table of Memories…
I, Simcha Adler, the son of Reb Moshe–Shimon, prayer leader and ritual slaughterer (shochet), have come here to tell a bit about myself and a lot about my town. My story will survey the way of life in Chorzele during my era.
I was nine months old when my parents arrived to settle in Chorzele in 1893. (We came from a town called Grabowo in Greater Poland.) That year, the community of Chorzele had a population of approximately 150 families. From that time, I recall the old shamash in the synagogue, Todros. Was he the first (the synagogue did not seem old)? Was the rabbi who served there at that time the first?
Who were the first settlers, and when did they arrive? Were they border smugglers? –– for Chorzele was on the border of East Prussia, and much of its livelihood came from that manner. The only manufacturing enterprise was the “Broiz” founded by Grandfather, whom I knew in his old age. He was the first of the Przysuker dynasty.
When I grew up, I started to get to know the town, its houses, its streets, the “Marek” that was square as a final Mem. It had a well in the middle, which was rarely used in those days, other than in the event of a fire. I got to know the river, the wooden bridge, and the nearby forest. All of this created a homey feeling. This feeling was strengthened by the mannerisms of the people, as if they were responsible for each other.
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We lived for a few years in the courtyard of Mendel Sporn, and then moved to live in the courtyard of Reb Yossel Meir Leib's, where we were neighbors with his son–in–law Reb Kalman Ajzenstat. My father of blessed memory needed a large yard for the slaughter of fowl. He would make a small hole in the ground, and cover it after the slaughter with dirt that he took from the oven. This is how he maintained cleanliness and hygiene[1], for only a few feathers fluttered about and circled over the ground when the wind caught them.
Even as the family grew, we lived in two rooms, another small room, and a kitchen, where the maid's cot was located. There were no windows in the small room. There were two beds in it, in which four children slept. There was no room for a chair. A small crate was attached to the wall, which had four “Kopelech”[2] into which Father was very insistent that we place our heads when
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we slept. The straw upon which we slept was changed once a year. What was taken out was called“Shetshke”. We had to soften the straw before going to sleep, for it had become hard as a rock after a night of sleeping upon it. My brother Aharon liked to sleep very late, and he was a big “pest” during his childhood – his hand was in everything and everyone's hand was upon him. (Father would say about him: when the “mazik”[3] is asleep, it is good for him and good for the world.)
Around 1898, the rabbi of the city moved to serve in the city of Turek. As he left, the splendor of the Czortkow Hassidim departed, and they divided up into a shtibel, and a minyan that took place in the Broiz house every Sabbath. Rabbi Koblaski, the son of the rabbi of Grabowo, came after him. Father had originally been the prayer leader and shochet in that town, and he was the one who recommended the new rabbi.
In its time, the Large Beis Midrash was full of studying youths. The writer Fishel Lachower was among them[4]. People came from other places so they could be imbued with his influence. I met several of them many years later in London, who spoke about him with reverence. He later came to Włocławek on the recommendation of Nachum Sokolow, where he supported Rabbi Reines in the founding of Mizrachi.
I recall a large fire that began near the house of Yankel “Einbinder” [the binder] and quickly spread to the “Stadales”, which burned like boxes of matches, for their roofs were covered with straw and the wind blew from the side. After this event, the town purchased fire extinguishing machines that operated as a well. Four men would stand on each side to operate it. The rubber pipe would be placed into the well in the Marek, from which it would draw water to put out the fire. The families that suffered from the fire were hosted in private houses as well as the small Beis Midrash. Yankel “Einbinder” came to live with us until his house was rebuilt. That is how we became friendly with him. Later, I would often visit him to read the books that he had for binding.
This was the era of the Haskalah [enlightenment]. The influence of Peretz Smolenskin[5] (in his book: A Wanderer on the Path of Life), Mapu, and Mendele Mocher Sefarim was felt greatly. Those who received influence from them wished to impart this influence to others. Their method was to gather the workers together and lecture to them on Sabbath afternoons in the cheder of Yidel Melamed [the teacher]. They commenced the activity with Pirkei Avot[6], and they did not encounter opposition since this was connected to tradition. Then they would conduct a public prayer service next to the prayer leader's podium. Simcha Yaakov Sporn and Moshe Ajzensztat were among the first and most active of the Haskalah.
In our town, as in all towns, the heads of the Haskalah movement were autodidacts – that is, lads (in most cases boys from well–off families) who gained their education through reading and self–study. Since they were free from the worries of livelihood of their families (they were bachelors), so they dedicated all their time to reading everything that came their way. Some of them had the opportunity to obtain books in various branches of the sciences, fine literature (in Hebrew, Yiddish, Russian, Polish, and German) as well as textbooks for language study (including French). The enlightened lads were thirsty for knowledge, not only for themselves, but also to raise the cultural level of their surroundings.
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My brother Avraham–Michel (eighteen years old) began the activity. He was very attached to the aggadaic [lore] stories of the Talmud. He listened to such wonderful stories with great attention. This continued until Father became ill with a severe case of typhus that lasted for several months. Then Yidel stopped giving his lessons in the cheder for fear of infection. Later, they continued for some time to meet in the small Beis Midrash, until the endeavor was canceled due to lack of energy to continue.
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The Haskalah was associated with the following names: Avraham–Michel was called the Maskil, and his friend Yaakov Brzoza was called the Choker [Researcher]. Avraham–Michel attempted to learn Russian from Kirpichnikov's grammar book. It would not have made sense to study Polish, the language of the people, since Russia was the governing power, and the petitions were in Russian.
The merchants and shopkeepers learned to speak Polish through their contact with the gentiles (most of whom were farmers, and Polish language skills were not of a high level). They did not have to write in Polish, and it was not worthwhile to keep themselves from Torah study in order to learn that language.
Rabbi Rozenstrauch, a worldly, intelligent man, came to us after Rabbi Koblaski. The lads from various places did not return to the Beis Midrash, and it became almost empty. It was the era of pogroms in Russia, and there was an impetus to leave and wander off to America. The rabbi attempted to continue with tradition and to conduct a Yeshiva in his home, but few people attended. He also attempted to interfere with the founding of the library that was our ideal, and for which we struggled. The rabbi also lashed out against the fact that we would read Hashiloach, even though he himself read the Russian newspaper Rusikai Viedamasti daily to demonstrate his status as an erudite person who knows the language of the land. He later moved to Olkusz. He only succeeded in establishing two things in Chorzele: turning the roof of the entranceway into the Women's Gallery, and setting up the Fish Hut next to the fields of the gentiles. The Fish Hut is certainly still standing today.
During those times, several young mothers lost their lives from typhus. My mother died on Tisha B'Av 1902. The wife of Yankel Einbinder, the wife of Shalom Einbinder, and other women whose names I do not recall also died at that time. My mother of blessed memory had lost her mother and father by the time she married Father. She would send me with packages of soup to the houses of a sick child whose father was in America (I took care to
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carry out my mission in secrecy, so that the neighbors would not find out about it). My mother was tall, of thin build, dark haired, with fiery eyes. She conducted her household as a woman of valor. She was loved and held in esteem by all the members of the town. She died at the age of 35.
I was ten years old, and I did not understand the tragedy that had taken place in my life. I knew that I was now an orphan, and this would arouse mercy. The children had pity on me in the cheder as well, and were not cruel to each other for a certain period. As was the custom, our maid was fired immediately after the death of my mother. Sara and Miriam, the two daughters of our neighbor Kalman, took care of us five children. There was a great closeness among the neighbors. They participated in the concerns of the family, and took part in their joyous occasions as well as any tragedy and illness that afflicted the heart.
In the meantime, my brother Avraham–Michel was taken into the army, and Father brought his third wife into the home. Avraham–Michel returned from the army after four years (he had served in Tsaritsyn[7]). In 1910, I went to Palestine as a chalutz [Zionist pioneer] with two other people from our town. These were days of fear for the Jews of Russia, when the Chornaya Sutniya began to attack Jews, and the government secretly supported the attackers. Jews began to escape to America and any other country that would accept them. Jews who had a connection to Palestine or who were unable to travel to lands farther away due to lack of means also traveled to Palestine.
The youth made their own accounting and began to rebel against the placidness of their parents. The romanticism of Zionist pioneering attracted the youth – a return to the land and becoming proficient in productive trades in the Land of Israel. The Zionist congresses had their influence, for they were in accordance with their spirit. The word “Zionists” penetrated and took root in our city as well. An additional word began to be tossed around on the Jewish street, a word that made our good Jewish mothers very afraid: “Socialists.” It too took hold among us.
A portion of the rabbi's livelihood came from shechita (ritual slaughter). The rabbinical teacher also benefited from it. In addition, the rabbi and the cantor received a stipend from every wedding that took place, as well as from rabbinical judgments that for the most part took place in the presence of “arbitrators.” The rights to receive the income of two kopecks from selling every portion of yeast was in the hands of Dovka, a widow who owned a general store in the market. Her fame came from her son–in–law (Dovka's Eidem), who was the only groom in town who came from Lithuania (“der Litvak”).
The gabbai of the synagogue, and perhaps also of the Beis Midrash, was Reb Aharon Yechiel, a grain merchant and the in–law of Yehoshua Herzog. At the conclusion of services on weekdays, the shamash would walk through the congregation with the pushka (charity box), as everyone donated coins for the upkeep of the synagogue. There was a small box with a hole for coins next to the door on one of the walls of the synagogue. “Matan Beseter” [discrete gifts] was written upon it. When the elderly Todros, the shamash of the synagogue died, Shlomo the Rabbi's, the son of the rabbi who had been buried in our town cemetery, took his place. Hershele Yupak served as the shamash of the synagogue.
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The Names of the Bride and Groom…
There were days when “Tateshe” [Daddy] returned home from visiting his Rebbe. He would enter his house and declare, “Mazel tov, our daughter is engaged.” Those days passed with “a sigh.” Then the function of the shadchan [marriage broker] became obvious. Every Jew was able to become a shadchan, whether he occupied himself in that role for his own benefit, or whether to save a Jewish soul from singlehood, especially if she was the daughter of well–off parents… The shadchan had his eyes in his head as he attempted to solicit the interest both sides, to get them to meet, and to allow those who “speak of their honor” to get to know each other knowingly or unknowingly.. If interest develops, the lad would met the girl for a stroll, and a conversation would be conducted in the third person: “What does she say? Or “Her mother is very nice…”
In the interim, the parents would discuss the matter of dowry and the years of support during which the groom would be supported at the table of his father–in–law, and the dwelling that would be given to him upon his marriage. When they reached an agreement, they would write the tenaim [pre–marital agreement]. One condition would state that if the groom rescinds the offer of marriage, he would pay a fine for the anguish caused to a Jewish girl.
After the engagement, the groom would be invited to the house of his future father–in–law for a Sabbath. The lad would bring a present to the bride (charuzim), and the groom would receive a gold watch with a chain from his future father–in–law. The free side of the watch would be attached to a hole in the vest. The groom would button the hole for security and place the watch in his pocket. This aroused the desire to take out the watch on frequent occasions, to give a light push with the thumb to the pin when the cover would jump off and open on its own. He would briefly examine the many lines showing the minutes, the small hand that moved constantly, and be amazed at this wonder that he was wearing…
The parents did not agree that love would be a fundamental factor in the marriage. They would say, “There is no assurance that those in love will continued with their pleasantness. Love blinds. It can come after the wedding.” They would discuss the honor of the woman, and also denounce her. However, the woman was non–understandable to them. They did not make efforts to understand her, and that which they did not understand – they denigrated. For religious reasons, they continued with family connections where “he found”[8], for “regarding divorce – the altar sheds tears”….
World literature during that era, which was read in translation, was secular, romantic, and poetic. Love was the daughter of the heavens, and we fell in love with love. We loved its beauty, with purity and splendor. The feminine creation – the young maiden, enchanted us in all her pleasant mannerisms, with her eyes and her hair, her face and her small mouth. With our youthful dreams, we dreamt of our happiness to find such a woman… Master of the World! How much grace did you impart to the daughters of Eve.
The groom would be called to the Torah on the Sabbath prior to his wedding. He would receive the maftir aliya. As he descended from the bima, the woman from the gallery would throw raisins at him as a good omen and for good fortune. The friends of the bride would gather on the Sabbath to spend some time with her, to encourage her, and to make her happy. They would drink wine,
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lick up everything, and dance. They would feel the bride's gown and hair, and speak about the wedding day with a sense of jealousy and compassion.
Then the wedding day arrived.
All the relatives from near and far came to the wedding, for this was a family event. If anyone was lacking in funds for the return trip, they would ask the in–laws…
The wedding took place in two houses. The bride was in one house, dressed in a white dress, with a double veil on her head. She sat at the side, and her friends surrounded her. She did not dance. She did not taste any food all day, for it was a fast day for her. There was a great deal of preparation taking place around her. Soon the musicians and the jesters would arrive to play the “oyfshpiel.” Instead of jesting, the jester would talk about issues of the day in a voice full of emotion and devotion, “It is your day of judgment, bride, so weep…”
The house was full of guests. The girls would come in attractive, red velvet dresses with long sleeves. The cuffs would spread out in the fashion of flower leaves, covering the hands until the arm (the fingers looked like full sheathes). Every girl's neck was decorated with lattice over the chest. Her hair was done with a strand in the center of the head. A braid would surround the head in the form of a wreath. She would be wearing golden earrings. Who can describe the grace and beauty of the girls on that day!
The girls danced the waltz, polka, and polka mazurka with each other. This was a natural dance, with vocalization, as if fitting for young girls. The dresses would flutter as they circled, as if they were crinolines. Their faces were beaming. How rare were the opportunities to dance…
The mothers arrived later. The breasts of even the thinnest and most delicate of them were prominent. They danced enthusiastically and clutched their heads with importance. Their dance was a bit awkward. They jumped as if they were doing the hip hop. Their faces beamed with joy.
The groom was in the second house. The lads sat next to him, drinking wine and cracking nuts, until the groom was taken to the bedekin [veiling ceremony]. He approached the bride, lowered the double veil, and covered her face. Then came the turn of the jester. He spoke about the preciousness of women in general, and of the bride in particular, who followed the footsteps of her praiseworthy, important, honorable, pure and pristine mother, a woman of valor in the conduct of her house, and a dedicated mother to her children. The fortunate mother who reached this great day, to bring her daughter to the wedding canopy so she will become a housewife… The entire family listened to the slickness of the jester. The mother enjoyed it more than anyone. She wept.
They brought the groom back to his place. He remained there until the groomsmen and musicians arrived to lead him to the chupa next to the synagogue. The groomsmen led the groom in a procession in which they all joined. The musicians played joyous songs known to everybody.
The groom was stood under the chupa, facing east. He covered his eyes with a fine, white, folded, handkerchief. The musicians who accompanied the bride played once again. Those assembled received candles, which were lit one from the next. The mothers of the groom and bride held the bride, and together
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led her around the groom seven times. They would then stand her to the left of the groom. The cantor sang “Mi Adir”[9].
The shamash poured a cup of wine for the rabbi, who recited a blessing over it. They gave the groom to drink, but he only took a taste. The mother lifted the veil from the bride and put the cup to her lips. She tasted the wine. The rabbi then told the groom to recite the formula word for word as he placed the ring on the index finger of her right hand: “Behold you are married to me with this ring in accordance with the law of Moses and Israel.” The rabbi read the ketuba [marriage document] in the Aramaic language, and recited the Sheva Brachot [Seven Blessings]. At the end, the shamash placed a glass on the ground, and the groom broke it with one stroke, as a sign of his strength. Those gathered broke out with a blessing of “Mazal Tov!”
Then, everyone returned to the home where long tables were set up for the meal. The musicians played their melodies, such as “Tirel Lirel Lumpapa!” This was joyous. The bride took hold of the groom's arm, for he was now her husband and support. When they arrived at the home, they were brought into a room where they remained alone for the Yichud [ritual seclusion as part of the wedding ceremony].
They would bring the groom to sit with the men (even there, the men would sit separately from the women). When it came time once again for the Sheva Brachot, they would bring in the bride and seat her next to the groom. After the Grace After Meals, they would fill two cups of wine. The person reciting the blessings would pour one cup into the other, and give them to the bride and groom to drink. Then the jester would appear and recite the list of gifts as a “gift sermon.” He would sing with such breaths as if pieces of rubber were stuck in his throat, as he praised the gifts as “gifts fit for a king.” “So and so from the bride's side, a pair of silver candlesticks for candle lighting, the gift announcement.”; “so and so from the bride's side, a spice box for Havdalah, the gift announcement.” Dra–a–a–sha Gesha–a–ank, Dra–a–asha Geshank.”[10]
They would then arise to dance the Mitzva Dance. This was the dance of the elders. They would place their hands on the shoulders of their fellow and close the circle, with the bride in the center. Someone would take a red handkerchief out from his back pocket with a flourish and give the edge to the bride to hold. When they stopped dancing, the bride disappeared. The guests began to disperse, wishing each other, “We should meet at happy occasions.”
The next day, the grandmothers would gather to take part in the mitzvah. They would walk with bent backs. They would be wearing a type of hairdo with a bonnet that waved as they walked. A strand of velvet was tied under their chins, so it would not move. This added a sense of grace and honor to their appearance…
The grandmothers cut the bride's hair. From that time, she would wear a wig. At that time, her own hair would disappear, for the wind played with them as if playing a trick. They would make sure that the wig would match the color of her hair. At that time, the procedures of the bride ended, and the procedures of a wife began…”
The Sheva Brachot lasted for an entire week. A light meal was served. The main thing was those two
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glasses of wine, that were poured from one to another before a blessing was recited over them. They would spend some time singing secular songs. Somebody would sing: “With no money one cannot be proud,” a popular song in those days.
The Child and the Yoke of Commandments…
The course of life went on. A child was born with “Mazel Tov!” Children were sent from the cheders to the home of the new mother to read Shir Hamaalot[11]. The children were given packets of nuts.
On the Sabbath eve prior to the circumcision, they would make a Shalom Zachar. Friends would come, eat salted chickpeas and drink beer. For the bris, they would bring in the chair of Elijah the Prophet, upon which the sandek[12] would sit enwrapped in a tallis. This honor would be given to the family elder. The baby would be taken from his mother's bed and given over to the kvatter. The kvatter would transfer the baby onward until he reaches the sandek's lap. The mohel, with his flowing beard, would begin with the blessing over the wine. Those who were finicky would keep their distance to the extent possible. When they heard the screams of the baby, they knew that he had entered into the covenant of Abraham our Forefather. Someone was honored with the mitzvah of metzitza, and the mohel would place several drops of wine into the baby's mouth. The mohel would declare the name of the baby and state: This young one will grow up! In your blood you shall live, and it is said to you, in your blood you shall live[13]! The father, enwrapped in his tallis, recited the blessing regarding the bringing of the child into the covenant of Abraham our Forefather. They baby would be returned to his mother's bosom. They would sit down to eat and drink.
They would bring a cradle into the house and lay the baby down in it. If he cried for a short time, they would rock the cradle until he calmed down. However, if he cried for an extended period, the mother would try to comfort him with a song:
At my child's cradle
Stands a golden goat
The gold will do business
With raisins and nuts.
Another song from Goldfaden's[14] repertoire is as follows:
In the Holy Temple
In a corner room…
As customary, the mother would nurse the baby. However, under certain circumstances, the baby would be fed from a bottle with a nipple on top. There were cases where they would hire a healthy village woman to nurse the baby, when there was a risk to life.
Another child, and another child came. If the situation allowed for it, a maid would be hired to supervise the children's hygiene and clothing.
In his fifth year, a boy would be brought for a term, that is to study from Passover until Sukkot, or vice versa. There were two teachers of young boys in our town: Avraham–Leib and Aharon–Yankel (the latter was a Hassid, and the Hassidic children studied with him). Avraham–Leib served as the Torah reader in the synagogue on the Sabbath. (He was our teacher).
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The father would bring the child to the cheder. The first time, the teacher would open the siddur with the large letters, and tell the child to look at them. He would hold the pointer at the aleph, and say to him, “Be a good boy and learn quickly.” Suddenly, several kopecks would fall on the siddur. This was a present from the good angel who loves good kids. Then the father would leave and the child would be greeted by the other children, some with encouragement and some with anger.
At cheder, the child would learn to read the aleph beit, to recite Modeh Ani and the Krishma – the Shema. After two years, he would know how to pray from the siddur. He would then transfer to the “Stelmach” [wheelwright] to learn Chumash and Rashi. Then he would transfer to Feivish to study Gemara, where he would study the case of the ox who gored the cow in Tractate Bava Kama, or Tractate Gittin, Ketubot, or Kiddushin. There were Talmudic discussions such as “He said, and she said” which the mind could not grasp. They would be misty, and the answers were not clear. Suddenly the teacher would be standing next to you, and ask, “So, where are you holding?” I would awaken as if from a slumber, and a pall would fall upon me. He certainly sensed that I was not listening, and was daydreaming.
A law was issued by the Russian government that the cheder children must attend a school for two hours a day to learn Russian. The teacher was an elderly, weak Pole, and there were several children in his class. He taught the gentile boys and girls in the morning, and continued with us in the afternoon, when he had no more strength. We did not learn a lot.
In the winter, when the day was short, we would return to cheder in the afternoon. We would bring a kopeck for kerosene, and sit there until a late hour. We would make a paper lantern to light up the way home, like the pillar of fire.
There was another cheder, unique in its type. This was the Talmud Torah for poor children. The fathers of the town made sure that all Jewish children would know how to pray and recite Psalms. The Talmud Torah was next to the large Beis Midrash. The teacher was a short, stout Litvak [Lithuanian] who would laugh with an open mouth. He would sleep on a bench in the cheder, and eat at different homes on a rotation basis. He did not like potatoes, only noodles and egg drops. He would beat his students for his enjoyment. He would lay the child on the bench, put his head between his legs, pull down his pants, and whip him with a four–thong whip until the child thrashed with all his might. Those who experienced this would wail for several hours. Nobody protected the children of the poor people…
The parents sent their daughters to Yidel the teacher learn how to read and write in Yiddish, and then to the Blind Mottel. The laundry iron press was next to his cheder, and the noise did not interfere with the studies.
We studied with the aim of gaining knowledge. We learned how to write in Yiddish with the orthography of that time. We also learned arithmetic (addition, subtraction, multiplication) without a teacher. We helped each other, and we developed the aspiration to study other languages in an external fashion.
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The last of my teachers was David–Leib. He was sickly, and died several months after I finished learning with him. His father of blessed memory, who was a great scholar, reviewed the Talmudic lesson with me twice a week. In the morning, I went to the Beis Midrash to study a page of Gemara on my own. I continued on to study Tanach [Bible] and used all of the commentaries, including the Malbim[15]. This was not acceptable to the parents, who did not look favorably on the study of Tanach.
I was called up to the Torah when I reached Bar Mitzvah. My father recited the Baruch Sheptarani blessing[16], and I entered the yoke of commandments…
To Greet the Sabbath…
The townsfolk were busy with the worries of earning a livelihood all the days of the week. A large part of the livelihood came from the market days, when villagers would come to buy and sell. Our yard was filled with farmers' wagons who entered via the gate on the Bridge Street side. The farmers settled themselves into the home of Yosel–Meir Leib's (Pani Mankarsz) and smoked strong machorka[17]. The house was full of thick, sharp smoke that burned the eyes. The members of the household were busy in their iron implements shop that day. There was a large rock in the yard. They would place the iron rod on the rock, in accordance with the correct measure, and cut it with a chisel on one side and a heavy mallet. They would bend the rod back and forth until it broke. The echo of the banging and the clanging of the iron filled the yard with noise. (The grandson Mordechai was affected by the noise and became deaf.)
On Thursday, there was extra hustle and bustle as people did their shopping for the Sabbath. People who could afford it would by a chicken or a duck, aside from the meat for the cholent. They would buy the fish on Friday from the brothers Eli–Beinish and Heinich, who were assisted by Shmuel Zilarsz. The fish would be sold in the market directly from the barrels, in which they had been brought the previous day from Germany. Pike and bream were the desired species which were enjoyed by everyone. They would make excellent gefilte fish from these types of fish. It would be a disgrace if the only fish that arrived for the Sabbath were smelts.
On Friday afternoons, young and old would stream to the bathhouse and the mikva [ritual bath] which were located behind the large Beis Midrash. Prior to this, they would cut their nails, place the cuttings into paper, add three pieces of wood, and burn them. One does not cut one's nails on Thursday, because the nails begin to grow on the third day, would be the Sabbath. One must watch out for this…
On the other days of the week, the mikva served the mothers and brides. The tikern (the widow of Todros the shamash) lived close by. The bathkeeper, his wife, and their son who was ill with tuberculosis lived in one room. The entrance to the mikva was through that room. When the door was opened, one would see the residents walking around naked. The mikva had a pipe through which the hot water was brought in from the large, wood–fueled, oven. People entering the bathhouse would strip, put their clothes on a shelf, take a flask of water, soap themselves, pour the water over their heads, then go to immerse.
Some bathed in a bathtub to warm up their bones (there were two round, wooden bathtubs). They would be filled
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with almost boiling water. People would sit in them with their head and feet remaining outside. The champion who succeeded in sitting in this heat for five seconds was “The deaf Baruch.” He would say, “Oy” and “Ha” with great enjoyment…
From time to time, a steam bath would be set up in the second room of the mikva. They would purchase a beziml [little broom] at the entrance, ascend three steps, take a flask of cold water, hold the beziml, which has now become very hot, over the head, and use it to whip all parts of the body. Everyone shouted in chorus, “Ay! Ay!” and suddenly, “Enough!, Enough!” They quickly come or slide down. When they went home, they would hide in their clothes and cover their face in such a way that they could only see the eyes and the nose, red as a turkey.
Evening began to fall on Friday. Girls with their hair adorned with a white or blue band, tied like bird wings to their heads, with two braids like two snakes winding down their backs could be seen outside. The movement slowly increased. As if at the same moment, everyone burst forth from their houses to go to the various houses of prayer: some to the synagogue, some to the Beis Midrash, and some to the shtibels or other minyanim. The last of them arrived, and the streets emptied. The Sabbath fell upon the town.
The Sabbath Queen…
The mother recited the blessing over the candles that were placed in the silver candelabra passed down the generations as an heirloom. The mother, bedecked in jewelry, lit the candles. She moved her hands over the candles in three circles, placed her fingers over her eyes, and recited the blessing in a whisper.
The Sabbath would be greeted in the houses of worship with “Lecha Dodi Likrat Kala”. Chona Schneider used to lead the Friday night service in the synagogue. When the congregation began to go home, the shamash would bang the bima twice and announce, “Jews, there is a guest here for the Sabbath.” The guest would be immediately snatched up.
The shtibels had also concluded the evening service. The Hassidim were wearing their zipicha, their gartel around their waste, their velvet cap on the heads, and a red scarf around their necks, even though an eruv had been set up for the Sabbath. Here and there, someone wearing a streimel could be seen.
The eruv permitted people to go outside the city for a distance no more than the Sabbath boundary (2,000 cubits), but whom would think about going to the Sabbath boundary? The distance to the forest was not even that of the Sabbath boundary. Yisraelka Tyk, who would go out on Sabbath afternoons to check that there was no breach in the cemetery fence, did not venture outside the boundary.
When they returned home on Friday night, the men would announce loudly, “Gut Shabbos.” Father recited “Shalom Aleichem Malachei Hasharet” with feeling, and it seemed that the angels were present even though they could not be seen or felt. This was the additional soul that entered to dwell within us on the Sabbath day, which would see it and sense it.
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It was immediately noted that there is a woman in the house, and one is obligated to declare her glory, therefore one begins: “A woman of valor who can find, for her worth is more than pearls.”
Two challos, a bottle of wine, and cups were already placed on the table in order to fulfil the commandment of having a set table for the Sabbath. Kiddush was recited on the wine. The Savri Rabanan phrase was recited silently. The hands were washed with a cup that held no less than ¾ of a quart. Hamotzie was recited, the bread was cut, a piece was broken off and salted, and was eaten. After the fish, the hymn Kol Mekadesh Shevii Karaui Lo[18] was sung. After the meat and the tzimmes, the Grace After Meals was recited. If at least three males over the age of Bar Mitzvah were present, the leader would recite in Yiddish: My masters, let us recite Grace,” and those present would respond, “We will bless He from Whom we have eaten.” The rest would be recited silently. The lips would move until they stopped and closed.
Early in the morning on the Sabbath day, the members of the Psalm Recital group would gather in the large Beis Midrash. These were common folk. They did not understand the meaning of the words, but rather enjoyed the reward of performing a mitzvah with the mere recital. They would also worship early, and then clear the place for the second minyan.
The Hassidim in the shtibels worshipped late, according to their custom. They stood out in this matter, for they were Hassidim.
A Kohen was called up first to the reading of the Torah. If no Kohen was present, they would call up a Levite in his place, and the Levite would also receive the Levi aliya as a Levite[19]. The rabbi would receive the third aliya. An important, honorable man would receive the sixth aliya. Maftir would be given to a Bar Mitzvah boy or a groom prior to his wedding.
At lunch, after the fish, Father would distribute a small cup of 40% liquor that was purchased from the Russian Monopol. His opinion was that one does not drink liquor, but rather only tastes it on the Sabbath. The main course would be cholent and kigel[20]. It was good to rest after such a sumptuous meal. And who did not know that it is a pleasure to rest on the Sabbath… After the nap, the Sabbath fruit would be eaten: apples, pears, plums, cherries, etc. Tea with kichel would be eaten, and a berry cake would be eaten.
Grandmother would read Tzena Urena[21] silently in Yiddish. Her voice sounded weepy, as she recited: “And God said to Moses, go speak to the Children of Israel.”
The Third Sabbath meal would be eaten, and we would go to the Mincha and Maariv services.
The women would sit at home, waiting until nightfall. Then they would recite: God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, in Your love…[22]. They would wait until three stars appear in the sky as a sign that the Sabbath has ended.
Lights were lit at home. The men came home and said, “Good week!”. Havdalah was recited: He who differentiates between holy and profane. When there was no older child, the wife held the four–wicked braided candle. The spice box from the hutch was on the table. The husband recited over the wine “Behold my God of salvations.” When he got to “And the Jews had light, joy, gladness, and honor” those assembled answered “so may it be for us.” He put down the cup, recited the blessing over the spices, and smelled them. He put his fingers to the candles, looked at
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is fingernails, and recited the blessing “Who creates the light of the fire.” He lifted up the cup, drank from it, and wished everyone a good week once again. Women were not given the Havdalah wine to drink lest they grow a beard…
It was a proper Hassidic custom to conduct a Melave Malka [post Sabbath meal].
The Feast of Unleavened Bread – Passover…
When Adar comes, joy increases. When Purim ended, matzo baking would start. We would bake at the home of Rachel–Leah, who brought us milk every morning. The kneading woman [kneterke] sat in a room. She kneaded the dough. Twelve women wearing white aprons that covered their entire body stood face to face on both sides of the table that was supported by stilts. They would roll the dough until it was thin and round. The dough would be given to the redler who made holes along the matzo with a studded roller. Then it would be given over to the sheiber who placed it into the baking oven, from which kosher for Passover matzos emerged.
All the furniture was taken out of the houses and placed in the yard. The double windows would be removed. The rooms would be whitewashed. The aroma of spring encouraged and awakened the desire to act, do, and help.
The search for leaven would be conducted on the night before the festival Crumbs of bread would be placed in several corners. Father would take a wooden cooking spoon in one hand and a bundle of duck feathers in the other hand. I would hold the candle. Father would recite the blessing for the search for leaven, and we children would go and seek out the leaven. He would sweep the leaven into the cooking spoon with the feathers, cover it with a cloth, tie it, and burn everything completely.
After the search for leaven, we would go to the wooden bridge at the Orzyc River, where we would immerse the new tableware that would be used for the first time on this festival. We would draw water for the matzo shmura with a special pitcher, to use for baking the next day, the eve of the festival. At home, the Passover dishes would be taken down from the piekelek.
I had the job of taking down all the books to air them out, including the large, leather bound set of Talmuds and about a hundred other books. They had to be removed from the shelf and checked page by page due to the suspicion that crumbs of chometz might have fallen into the pages while eating or reading.
On the morning of the eve of the festival, prior to 9:00 a.m., we would quickly eat three rolls of bread with coffee. 9:00 a.m. would be the transfer time. We would have to eat on the porch, for the inside was already sealed off from chometz.
We would go to bake matzo shmura. Here, the men did all the work: they kneaded, rolled, etc. They recited verses and sang. The matzo shmura was very expensive, and was designated only for father, and only for the Seder nights.
In the afternoon, we would eat potatoes with borscht. This borscht would be brought from the cellar, where there was a barrel of beets that had been picked for some time, had become sharp and sour, with the taste of good wine.
We would go to Fiszlender to get a haircut (he lived in a one room attic). Many people would be waiting.
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He received a “machinka” from his daughter in America, but he did not know how to use it, so he continued to work with scissors. He was not the only Jewish barber in the town. There were people in the town who grew their hair like monks. There was also Notka Yaakov–Pesach's who had a haircutting machine. I would say to him, “Notka, I am already big, and I want you to leave me a grzyba.”[23]
I went to the son of Chaim to purchase a hat that he had brought from Warsaw. He would look at me, measure my head size with his glance, and say, “Number 32 will fit you.” It did not fit. He would put two fingers on one side of the hat, two fingers on the other side, and pull it forcefully until they had made a knock. He put the hat back on my head and said, “It fits you,” as he pulled me to the mirror on the wall.
At home I found out that they brought a new coat from Feivel–Berl. I was fortunate, for he was the best tailor, and he would sew for me. At Father's order, they would make it wider, so it would also fit me five years hence. I went to the synagogue with the new coat and hat, and felt like a scarecrow in the fields…
There was a spring wind, and an encouraging feeling. The prayers were recited by Father in the festive melody that was unique to him. I believe that the festivals have their own additional soul.
At home, all the preparations for the Seder were made. Father would wear his kittel. There would be a large pillow on the chair to lean upon, as a sign of royalty. Everyone sat around the long table in a crowded fashion. Many exacting preparations had been made. The maror [bitter herbs] was checked to ensure they were strong, and the charoses was checked to see it has been made properly. There were three matzos on a plate, covered with a cloth. Everything was set up in accordance with the laws of Passover: the shank bone, the karpas, etc., some on the right side and some on the left.
Father was a scholar, but he nevertheless reviewed the laws, even though he knew them well, to ensure that no error would be made, Heaven forbid, in any of the minutiae of the Seder.
We would wait impatiently. We were very hungry. The weakness penetrated to the heart, but we sat patiently, with appreciation and reverence for everything that Father was doing. He began by explaining the essence of the festival, the exodus from Egypt. We did not rush, for it is a mitzvah to tell the story at length.
We filled the cups of wine. Father recited Kiddush out loud, and we recited it after him. The youngest present asked the four questions. Every word was a question. When he finished, we all broke out in unison in the recitation of “We were slaves.” Only someone who has read books about those who were captive or sold as slaves could understand, “and today we are free” in its unique sense.
We recited the haggadah, and stopped to listen to explanations and commentary, until we finally reached the meal. The first course was a hardboiled egg in salt water. We ate with an appetite. However, I suddenly got a stomach ache. The pain grew worse, and I writhed. However, I had to continue on.
Father took the maror with his fingers. The portion was the size of an olive [kezayit], which is equivalent to a small egg. He swallowed it, and it got stuck in his throat. We were afraid. Avraham–Michel stuck his finger into Father's mouth,
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to take remove maror. There were tears in Father's eyes. However, he quickly resumed the Seder as if nothing had happened.
The Seder continued until after midnight. We drank the four cups in accordance with the law. We ate the afikoman (a custom that turned into a law because it was a custom). Wearily but with excitement, we recited Chad Gadya.
Throughout the festival we played with nuts: nis and druit, or seven gribelech, three next to three and one on top. We tossed a nut from afar. If it fell on top, we would take everything. If it feel on one of the three, we would only take that. I always lost my nuts.
The same Seder took place on the second night. However the additional soul was somewhat diminished, it did not tolerate repetition…
Between the Festivals…
Seven weeks, would be counted from Passover until Shavuot. This was known as the counting of the Omer. Weddings did not take place throughout the entire time, other than on the day of Lag B'Omer. All of our festivals, with the exception of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, were connected to historical events.
The Shavuot festival in the month of Sivan is the festival of the Giving of the Torah. The gates of heaven open at midnight. After we ate, we returned to the houses of worship and continued with prayer, supplication, and the recitation of Psalms. I raised my eyes toward the heavens. My soul desired to see the wonders, but I feel asleep. I saw the wonders in a dream…
There is a special charm to the recitation of Akdamus. It has its own rhythm. There is praise to G–d with sublime excitement, imparting pleasure to the heart and soul.
At this point, the season was particularly enchanting. The harsh, Polish winter had been forgotten. We enjoyed the heat of the sun and the aroma of the grass and fields. There were pleasant trees filled with green leaves in the forest. It was as if the place sang a song to the life that had awakened.
The only fruit orchard owned by the priest was leased to Yissachar the tailor as it was every year. We would go to the garden with Nachman Tikulsker to eat of the fruit. We quieted the noisy dog with “Czycho Burek.” He listened to the command and went away. We had a ten [money bill] and we were able to eat of the apples, brown, sweet pears, and plums until we got a stomach ache… When we did not go to the orchard, we would buy the fruit from the women sitting in the market. They had “milters” and “angres” that were sold by weight, as well as stems that were given for a kopeck. They had cherries, and sometimes also berries.
On days when it did not rain, we would go to swim in the river. Behind the wooden bridge, we would turn right through the fields next to the forest, and reach the “Small Reide.” On Friday, we would go to the “Large Reide,” a bit far away, behind the slaughterhouse. We would swim to the other side of the river. We would try to wait
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for the two champions who made motions with their hands (Hirsch Dan and Avraham Sher). Who could compare to them? They were older, and they had long arms and legs.
We returned to get dressed. We stood naked between heaven and earth. There was no shame and no modesty. We were children of nature and the world for a few moments..
The Nine Days [prior to Tisha B'Av] arrived. We did not eat meat. We purchased butter, sour cream, hard cheese, and eggs from a Jewish villager who came to the market twice a week with his wagon.
The shochtim rested. Father went to expiate his sin in a cottage for seven days, for the sin of slaughtering a small animal outside the slaughterhouse. There was an immediate need for meat when a large animal was declared treifa[24]… He took his samovar, the Gemara, and pillows, and set them up in a comfortable fashion. We brought him food from the house. Relatives came to visit him in the cottage. They would come and go as they pleased. The door would only be closed at night.
The Days of Awe
As time goes on, the month of Elul arrived. The Days of Awe were approaching.
Father rehearsed with the singers every night as the holy days approached. If they sang incorrectly, he would shout, “Treif, treif.”
The High Holy Days instilled fear upon all the townsfolk. They would awaken themselves to repentance, for there is no person who does not sin, some on purpose, and others by accident – and not merely with an impure thought.
During the month of Elul one would visit the graves of their forebears, to supplicate and awaken regret in the heart. Unhealed wounds would be reopened. Heartbreaking weeping would be heard.
Father, who regularly woke up at 5:00 to study his daily page of Talmud, did not rest during these days. He could be found in the cemetery early in the morning, memorializing the departed with the Kel Maleh Rachamim[25] prayer for anyone who requested such. Mourners would not visit the cemetery during the first year. When I would visit my mother's grave and whisper silently, it was if she heard my conversation, “My mother, my mother, why did you leave me. You were so young, and we were still children…”
Pirkei Avot[26] would be recited each Sabbath starting from the beginning of Elul. On the Saturday night prior to Rosh Hashanah, after midnight, Selichot would be recited[27]. The gaze in the eyes would become more serious, the body would thin out as if a heavy load was hovering over it. The fear of the Day of Judgment could be felt. Only one hope encouraged people, that prayer and repentance would avert the harsh decree.
For the book was open, and the hand was writing in the book of memories. We went to worship on the night of Rosh Hashanah with a feeling of fear and oppression. The prayers and supplications continued for both days of the festival. After the Shacharit service, Rabbi Rozenstrauch ascended the bima with Yisraelke the shofar blower, and they recited a silent prayer. Everyone was enwrapped in their tallises, quaking like trees in the wind . The congregation waited, as if streams of water had been streaming, and were now quiet.
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The waiting could be felt. Suddenly a frightful, loud voice could be heard, the voice of the shofar blower reciting, “From the depths I call out to God!”
The Satan was frightened. The tekiah, teruah, and shevarim sounds came out clearly. Father recited aloud to the nation and the community, “Happy is the nation that knows the teruah sound”[28] and began the Musaf service. After the Shmonei Esrei, the kohanim ascended to recite the Priestly Blessing. Prior to that they removed their shoes and washed their hands, for they would be standing next to the Holy Ark. The congregation did not have to look at them when they recited the blessing. Rather, they lowered their tallises over their faces.
In the afternoon, we walked through the fields to the river for Tashlich[29]. We stood next to the river and recited the special prayers. We shook out our clothes, thereby casting off our sins, and we returned with song and hymns.
The days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are called the Ten Days of Repentance.
On the night of the eve of Yom Kippur, we fulfilled the custom of waving kapores[30]. Two or three children would hold the legs of the chicken and recite the prayer “Benei Adam”. When they reached the section “this is my atonement, this is my replacement” they would swing the chicken above their heads, as the chicken spread out its wings to fly and made all sorts of sounds. We finally tossed it under the table. We would eat it the upcoming day at the concluding meal before the fast.
The gabbai [synagogue trustee] would sit next to the table in the synagogue anteroom on the afternoon of the eve of Yom Kippur. There were three plates on the table, with a note in each plate indicating to which charity one is donating.
A person would then lie down on the threshold of the synagogue and somebody else would administer 39 lashes with a whip. This was a busy day. Even the women went to the mikva that day, and the men went afterward. They did not use the bathtubs that day. Everyone immersed, and everyone was in a rush. Toward the end of the day, people would partake of the final meal. Then the fast began, from evening until evening, an entire day.
Large tallow and wax candles would be brought to the synagogue, which would burn for 24 hours. They would be placed in the sandbox that stood empty all year, for it was designated for this purpose.
They would remove their shoes. They would be wearing white socks. Dry grass would be placed under their feet to make it easier to stand. They would stand when the Ark was open. It would be opened many times.
The cantor began with his private supplication in which he asked permission to pray for his congregation as its representative. He began “Hineni Heani Mimaas”[31]. His voice grew stronger from stanza to stanza. Then Kol Nidre would be recited. It was accepted that this was the echo of the auto–de –fe[32], the echo of a person suffering for his faith, the voice that passes from one edge of the earth to the other. On Yom Kippur, there are several prayers that touch the heart of the worshipper, especially Unetane Tokef, where it says “it is true that You are the judge.” Some people burst out in weeping. The sounds of weeping emanated in particular from the women's gallery.
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Father's assistants (the singers) stood next to him on the stairs that went up to the Holy Ark. Father did not use a tuning fork. It is forbidden, and furthermore, he did not own one.
The son of the Blind David would sing his solo, “Is not Ephraim my darling son”[33] with such a clear voice, it sounded as if it was coming from the violin. His “Li, Li, Li, Li” is etched in my mind to this day, to the point that I cannot forget it even if I tried.
Yizkor was also recited on Yom Kippur. Great weariness was already felt at the Neila Service. Some people suffered greatly from the fast and got headaches.
Yom Kippur finished. It was the longest day of the year. We went home. Along the way, we stopped and recited the blessing of the Sanctification of the Moon, as a mitzvah counted toward the new year. After we ate a bit, we went out to the yard to drive in the first stake of the sukkah.
At the Sukkot Festival
The sukkah is a temporary hut, with a window and a door, covered with schach, which is tree branches through which the stars cannot be seen[34]. Then it was kosher in the best way possible. The Etrog, lulav, and four species played an important role on Sukkot. The splendor of the Etrog is its beauty. A small blemish on the pitam [stamen] will render it unfit.
The Etrog was kept in a box, and one was very careful with it. The service [with the lulav and Etrog] began with the Hallel prayer. The Etrog would be held in one hand and the four species in the other. The four species would be waved in the four direction and up and down at the recitation of “Ana Hashem Hoshia Na”[35]. The lulav and Etrog would be brought home so that the women could also recite the blessing on them; however, they satisfied themselves with a quick shake. After sukkot, the Etrog would be given over to a woman who wishes to have a child. She would bite off the pitam as a segula[36].
On Hoshana Rabba, they would hold the “shanna” [Hoshana bundle] and beat it until most of its leaves fell off.
On the last day of Sukkot, Simchas Torah, they would conduct hakafos [processions with the Torah], in which young and old, rich and poor, would participate. The children accompanied the hakafos with flags on sticks, upon which was placed an apple and a lit candle.
In Summary…
The nights got colder. The winter was approaching. The cold penetrated the bones. We again filled the windowsill with sand, place in it cups of “vitrol”[37], and sealed the double windows. The heater, which stood unused all summer, was lit. We now appeased it, and caressed it with our backs and hands.
Snow fell all night, and the world was white before us. Snow covered every living thing. People who rose early would leave their footprints in the snow. Others would walk in their footprints, broadening the steps and a
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path would slowly be created. The children waited for the puddles in which they could skate. If the adults were not careful, they would walk on them, and slip and fall. We began to wear our jackets, furs, shawls, and galoshes.
The farmers who came to town would exchange their wagons for sleds. They would tie a bell on the neck of the horse to sound a warning not to trample. The sled drew near to all the householders from the briz. The girls would sit there with their friends, covered in warm clothes, and their gentile would whip the horse, pass through the market and the Bridge Street until the route to the forest. The girls would enjoy this pleasure, whereas I did not.
The days of Chanukah approached. In memory of the miracle, candles would be lit for eight days, and a blessing would be recited. The neighbors would come to visit and we would play with the “ternishke.”[38] Everyone would put a groszy in the plate and receive a pad. Each person, in turn, would declare the numbers, made out of wood, that would be removed without looking from the sack. He, like everyone, would cover the number (if he had it) on the pad. Whomever succeeded in covering all the numbers in one line received the money.
We also played cards. The game was 66 or Oko. Those who did not play cards permitted themselves to play “kvittlech.” Father did not play at all.
Father and Yosef Leizer would take turns in teaching the Chevra Mishnayes [Mishna study group] after the Maariv service in the large Beis Midrash. When the portion of “turning after the majority”[39] was read, father immediately told his listeners about the dispute between the sages and Eliezar the son of Hyrcanus reading the Bat Kol [Heavenly voice] that supported him. Even so, they followed the majority. Then Pavel–Bunim got heated up and said, “Wonder of wonders!” Father continued and said, “Pshh, this is indeed a wonder of wonders, pssh.” He raised his hand and shook it vigorously[40].
My father was very pious and a great believer. He was an optimist by nature and distanced himself from all worries. He only worried about the poor of the town. He would buy wood for them in the summer from Yosel–Meir Leib's and prepare the wood for the winter. Reb Yosel's habit was to review several pages of Talmud every morning. He would host a large celebration [siyum] each time he concluded the Talmud. I remember the 13th siyum.
Father was perplexed by our townsfolk who did not understand his tunes. It was primarily tradesmen who worshipped in the synagogue in which he served as cantor, for the wealthier householders worshipped in the Beis Midrash or shtibels. Reb Yakov–Pesach and Mr. Botchko (the son of the rabbi with whom I studied) were among those who understood music. The former would walk through the streets and hum to himself, and he would stand next to the windows of the Blind David to hear the singing of his daughters coming from inside.
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I felt a sense of respect for Rabbi Shlomo–Hirsch, who always spoke calmly, with understanding and appreciation for everybody. He spoke to the youth as a man speaking to his friend, in a quiet voice that penetrated the depths of the heart. He did not preach, but rather explained that we should not distance ourselves from the traditions of our fathers.
This was the era of “marching toward the nation” and escape from the norms. I was strongly attracted to these ideas. I would gather workers in the forests, speak to them about Socialism and read the brochures to them in Yiddish, as well as sections from the popular literature of those days. On account of this, I was not considered “completely kosher” by our townsfolk. This was also due to the fact that I talked to girls openly and even walked along the market in their company. Somebody even tried to malign me in the eyes of my father, telling him that I was smoking on the Sabbath. My father did not believe this, and curtly stated, “A lie and a libel…”
I felt great love toward my brother Avraham–Michel, who was attracted to the Haskalah [enlightenment]. Even though our world outlook was different, I was influenced by him in my way of life. He concerned himself with my studies and education. He became involved in business and frequented the Aleksander shtibel. He also concerned himself with the needs of those far away who were in need of economic and social aid and assistance. He was a refined soul with a heart that tended naturally to appreciation of his fellow. He inherited these traits from our father, even though he did not inherit the enthusiasm for cantorial singing from him. Nevertheless, Avraham–Michel excelled in his understanding and knowledge of popular songs, and he would sing many songs of this nature at home, in Yiddish and Hebrew, with a thin, pleasant voice. On the other hand, my brother Aharon had a powerful voice. He was interested in cantorial singing, and we hoped that he would continue the tradition of cantors in our family.
An elegy to my brother:
| My brother, | enchanting to me was | God! |
| My heart is to you | Your good heart | How was it |
| An eternal light | and the purity of your soul | that You did not have mercy upon him |
| For | And I loved you. | And upon me… |
Our family were misnagdim [non Hassidim]. On Sabbaths, I would go for a stroll with my friend Yehuda “Di Grajevke's” – today Mr. Wilson in Canada, who stemmed from a Hassidic family. He walked in a silk kapote with a crease and a velvet hat, whereas I was dressed as a misnaged. His father worshipped in the Kocker shtibel.
The shtibel was not considered by us to be a holy place, for it was not the same level as the Beis Midrash, where people would worship and also study. A Hassidic youth who wanted to learn would come to the Beis Midrash.
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The main activity in the shtibel was on Friday night and on Saturday. The tunes that burst forth from the shtibel on the Sabbath were those brought back from visits to the Rebbe. There were tunes that were appropriate for various prayers, and tunes that were sung without words “Ri, ri, reir,” etc.
On the Sabbath eve, the melody received its soul, its warmth, and enthusiasm from the person who led the congregation in the service of Welcoming of the Sabbath and from the congregation that joined in with him. This was a communal song, albeit undirected. Everyone sang alone, and then suddenly, everyone together. With Hassidim, the voice was not important, but rather the manner, and the manner was the person.
It took some brazenness for a non–Hassid to go to worship together with the Hassidim, especially on the Sabbath. I once went to the Aleksander shtibel for the Friday night service, and all eyes were upon me. I was a stranger who did not belong to this community, and I found a place in the second room, as if I was hiding…
A prayer leader with a hoarse voice led the services. This was strange to me, and I asked about it. I was given the answer aloud, “This is the Heizeriker.” Nobody had to explain how honorable the man was, and that his honorableness covered for his lack of a voice. I learned a principle of Hassidism from this.
Once, the Trisker Rebbe came to visit his Hassidim in our town. He conducted his tish [table celebration] in the Beis Midrash with 12 challos, in accordance of the number of loaves of the shewbread. He recited his Torah discourse in two voices, one for questions, and the second for answers.
I brought a book home and connected to it. My father was curious to know why I was looking into this book with so much diligence. He took the book from me to look at it for a bit. He began to read. He sat down and read it for several hours until he finished it. He said, “What type of a black thing might have they with this…” The name of the book was “Memories from the House of David.” At times, father read the newspaper. I found Hamagid in the attic – a complete package of newspapers spanning several years.
Purim arrived. It was a secular holiday, the festival of giving of food gifts to friends, as is written in the Book of Esther. Plays about the Binding of Isaac and the Sale of Joseph were performed. Young people put on masks, visited houses and sang, “Today is Purim, tomorrow is not, so give me a groszy and throw me out.”
Preachers came to visit throughout the year. An announcement would be posted on the door of the Beis Midrash: “Tonight after the Maariv service, so–and–so the well–known preacher will deliver a sermon. It will be pleasant for the listener.”
The preacher ascended to the bima and waited. The Maariv service ended. The shamash knocked twice on the table, and the congregation turned their attention toward the preacher. The preacher was enwrapped in his tallis. The preacher presented three lectures, on three evenings. He began with a traditional melody, as follows, “It
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says in Midrash Rabba.” He continued to draw his material from sources that were unknown to the large audience. The audience listened. They were finally listening to words of Torah, and it did not matter from what source they were. This is Torah and this is it reward. The preacher concluded his lecture. He then hastened to the door with a plate, and a candle in his hand, to collect his reward.
A preacher came who only had one lecture. He began with “Rabbi Bar Chana.” This was not the first time that he had appeared before us. He began to sing “The Rabbi Bar Chana” as he repeated it, “Rabbi Bar Bar Chana said as follows; oy, he said as follows! I saw a bird with its head reaching the heavens. Oy, oy, until the sky.”[41] He repeated it, repeated it again, continued, got confused, and finished… The congregation laughed in enjoyment. They had mercy and were generous with him.
A book seller would also come to town. He set out his wares on crates next to the door of the Beis Midrash. He sold Gemaras, Chumashes , Machzors, books of moral teaching, tzitzit, mezuzos, and tefillin.
The streets of the town had names: Brik Gasse [Bridge Street], Tifle Gasse [Church Street], Patshet Gasse [Gossip Street], Shil Gasse [Synagogue Street], Stadele Gasse [Stable Street]. There were also smaller lanes that were called by the names of the important residents who lived on them.
There was only one house on the market that had a balcony. Shlomo–Asher's house was called the Brick House. The streets in the market were paved with stones. The mud began on Shiel Gasse – the street where the polkovnik [colonel] lived, and continued until the border with East Prussia. The mud filled this area during the winter and the summer. The wagons would plough through this route and the grooves would fill up with puddles.
The market was on the incline at the side of Brik Gasse, and one had to go up steps to get to the shops there. The highest ones were next to the store of Itshe–Meir Richter at the corner of the street.
During their free time, the women of the town would sit next to their windows and doors, looking at everything passing by, following them with their curious eyes. Women did not go out to stroll, as it was not befitting for them. The husband did not walk along with his wife. He would walk in front and she behind if they were going to a celebration or a visit. When she reached the destination, she would be greeted warmly, “The kitten has arrived.” The conversation was always flowing, revolving on the topics of children and diseases. If the topic was not polite, they would say, “permission.”
One day a year made me afraid. This was the Green Thursday. The shops did not open. The gentiles put up images in two places in the market, next to the pork butcher and the tavern. The images were full of icons with the Matka Boska [mother of god] as well as images and statues with the crucified Jesus.
There were no Jews in the street that day. There was an unpleasant sensation of waiting. This situation
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continued until 12:00 noon, when the church bells sounded. I was always filled with fear. The fear on Green Thursday increased from hour to hour. When the procession began, I looked at it through a hole in the door.
The front marcher, a youth, carried a large cross with the crucified Jesus upon it. Two other youths wearing white cloaks covering their black clothing marched behind them, with incense vessels in their hands. The priest with his assistants marched behind them, followed by the men and women. All of them carried a plethora of icons. A large crowd of villagers (korpiankes) came. The korpiankes wore blue kerchiefs doubled over their forehead and tied behind their head. They all sang together, and the priest proclaimed in his thick voice, “Gospidi, Gospidi, Ba–aa”[42]. When they reached the hut, they would bow down on their knees. From there, they would return to the church with all the icons. A wonderful sight would then ensue. All the Jewish shops suddenly opened. All the fear left my heart…
There was an empty lot in front of the synagogue. There were always planks of wood there. Once, I was watching when they cut them into boards, the plank was placed on large poles. Stepan was above, and Antek below. All day, one pulled the saw from above, and the other from below. The one on top planned his steps very carefully so he would not slip. I was standing and staring, perhaps he might slip!
Once, I had the duty of collecting money for purchases and fixing of books for the Beis Midrash. The names of the people who were obligated for such were listed in a notebook. They paid their donations weekly. When I entered the house of the wealthy Feivel Szer, he took the pencil from me and himself drew the circle around “three kopecks” to indicate that the payment had been made. I got to know many people up close from visiting all the houses in the town for this purpose.
That is how I met all the family members of the “Briz.” That is how I got to know refined young girls who got married very soon after. That is how I entered the home of Gwiazda, from whom I was given the opportunity to read the book “At the Crossroads.”
At cheder, the rebbe taught us the story of Rachel weeping for her children[43] as follows:
And I
I am troubling you
With my burial
Even though for your mother Rachel
I did not do such.
When I came
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From Paddan Aram
Rachel died before me.
And I buried her in Bethlehem in Judea.
This was according to the Divine word.
For when Nebuzaradan would drive
The Jews into exile
They would pass by
Mother Rachel's grave
And she would begin to weep and shout out.
Then a Heavenly voice
Will come from above
And would say:
Refrain your voice from weeping,
For the children will return to their borders.
And the Jews
Will come back
To the land of Israel!
Today my home is in Israel with my family.
The cycles of life in the town of Chorzele have ceased. It is empty of its Jews. Strangers inherited our inheritance. The only thing left is the memory of the days of your youth. Our parents' home turned into a small plot of land where the bones of our parents are buried, without protection and without supervision.
What still remains? Only a legend. That is our inheritance that we can transmit to our children. Legend tells that there was once a Jewish town called Chorzele. However, for us and our children, only a legend remains, the legend of Chorzele.
Very few things move the heart of man as such a legend…
Translator's Footnotes
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