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In the year 5712 (1952), on the 7^th of Adar, the day on which our tradition states that Moses our Teacher, of blessed memory, was born, Rabbi Chaim Mordechai Bronroth, may the memory of the righteous be a blessing, died. He had served as the rabbi and head of the rabbinical court in the community of Tel Aviv–Jaffa until his last day.

He was born in the year 5641 (1881) in Ostrołęka (Łomża district) in Congress Poland to his father Rabbi Natan Tzvi of blessed memory, a scholarly Jew who earned his livelihood from the sale of holy books. When the lad grew up, they could not find teachers for him in the city to develop his talents and broaden his knowledge, so his father brought him to the famous Yeshiva of Sochaczew, headed by Rabbi Avraham Borenstein, may the memory of the righteous be a blessing, the author of the well–known books Eglei Tal and Responsa Avnei Nezer.

When he was still young, he was accepted and ordained to the rabbinate by three great men of Israel: Rabbi Malkiel Tzvi Tenenbaum, may the memory of the righteous be a blessing, the rabbi of Łomża; Rabbi Moshe Nachum Jerusalimski, may the memory of the righteous be a blessing, rabbi of Kielce; and Rabbi Shimon Dov Anolik, may the memory of the righteous be a blessing, rabbi of Siedlice.

His first rabbinical seat was in the town of Czerwin, district of Łomża, where he served from 5661 (1901) until 5666 (1906). Then he set his eyes upon the community of Chorzele, district of Płock. He was chosen as the rabbi and the head of the rabbinical committee of the committee. The previous rabbi served in this position until the outbreak of the First World War. Then Rabbi Bronroth moved to Warsaw along with his entire congregation. I also moved to Warsaw at that time, and I spent a great deal of time in his small home. I had the chance then to get to know Rabbi Bronroth from up close, and to see his fine character traits – the love of his fellow Jew that pulsated from within him, and his efforts to be supportive of any downtrodden person.

Rabbi Bronroth did not close himself off within his four walls as the chairman of the local committee to assist the refugees from his community. He was also elected as a member of the central committee. He dedicated himself with all the warmth of his Jewish heart, and attached himself to the broad–ranging salvation activities of that committee. He was engaged in that holy work for two years.

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During those times, he dedicated his best efforts to rebuild the ruined Jewish homes in Poland and to strengthen their communities. His own community of Chorzele, however, did not return to what it had been previously.

He was chosen as the rabbi of Ciechanów (district of Płock). He served in splendor on the rabbinical seat that had been occupied by Rabbi Avraham Landau of blessed memory, who was known as Reb Avrahamele of Ciechanów. Rabbi Bronroth served in that position until the destruction of Ciechanów in the year 5699 (1939) – the year of the beginning of the Holocaust and the destruction of Polish Jewry by the brigades of Hitler, may his name be blotted out.

It is appropriate to mention that Rabbi Bronroth, one of the founders of the Mizrachi in Poland, an organization that Agudas Yisroel fought against, did not refrain from supporting Poalei Agudas Yisroel when it set up Torah classes for its members. He strengthened them by delivering the Talmud class for that organization as well^[1].

Rabbi Bronroth had a deep understanding of the spirit of the Hebrew youth and their cultural aspirations. He immediately recognized the new winds blowing in the camp of Israel, and girded himself to forge a path that would be especially appropriate for the development of the life of the nation. His fine speeches, delivered in modern style, woven with words of our sages, full of content and ideas, won over the hearts of the religious youths to Zionism. He also succeeded in influencing those circles of youths who had already distanced themselves from the observance of the practical commandments.

Rabbi Bronroth of blessed memory was a blend of an upright communal activist with a warm Jewish heart, and greatness of Torah. He merited to disseminate his Torah knowledge to the masses in his books Otzar Chaim (commentaries, and speeches, in two parts); Omer VeDevarim on the Torah, the first section of which (Bereishit, Shemot, and Vayikra) appeared in the year 5666 (1936); and Setirat Zekeinim (statements of our sages of blessed memory on Jewish law and lore) that was published in Tel Aviv in the year 5709 (1949). We must lament that many of his letters and Torah novella were lost in the depths of the sea on his journey from England to the Land of Israel, after he was summoned to serve as the rabbi and head of the rabbinical court of Tel Aviv. It is also unfortunate that the rest of his manuscripts on Jewish law and lore have not been published to this day.

We should note the pamphlet that he published on the laws of milking animals on the Sabbath. We should also note the refinement of his soul, his love of his fellow man, and his way of greeting everyone pleasantly.

Rabbi Bronroth was one of the select group of rabbis of Poland who were sufficiently daring and strong to establish the Mizrachi movement and to broaden its scope throughout the entire country. He and his friends even stormed the fortresses of the Aguda with the warmth of their heart and their deep faith. In those days, no community remained in Poland in which a Mizrachi chapter or Young Mizrachi had not been set up. The late rabbi was not only graced with his convincing power of speech, but also with his command of the written word and his publicist articles in various newspapers, that were always written with depth of thought, and at times also included pleasant humor of jokes.

In 1922, he was given the task, along with his like–minded friend Rabbi Yitzchak Trunk, may the memory of the righteous be a blessing, the rabbi of Kutna, to undertake an important communal mission to the United States. This kept him away from his home and community for two years. While he was in the United States, the heads of the Lubavitch Hassidim in Chicago looked toward him and asked him to

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accept the rabbinical seat of the Tomchei Temimim community in that city. However, he did not want to abandon his community, so he only agreed to serve in the rabbinate that was offered to him in a temporary fashion until he returned to Ciechanów.

In 1939, approximately two months before the outbreak of the Second World War, he was asked to undertake an important communal mission to England. Then the war broke out, and he was prevented from returning to his home. His community of Ciechanów was destroyed.

He was appointed as rabbi of Tel Aviv – Jaffa in the year 5703 (1943). With this, his aspiration to be in the Land of Israel and work there was actualized. He dedicated all his time and the best of his energies to reinforcing the Yeshiva of Rabbi Amiel, founded by Rabbi Amiel, the chief rabbi of Tel Aviv, may the memory of the righteous be a blessing. After the passing of Rabbi Amiel, he was chosen as the chairman of the Yeshiva leadership. He concerned himself with all its needs, and with expanding it.

I feel that I am not fulfilling my obligation if I do not take this opportunity to express my pain and anguish that this dear soul, who dedicated his entire essence to Torah and who served his community with faithfulness and dedication, seemed to be forgotten from the hearts of the leaders, administrators, and communal activists of the city. The heart is anguished that a Torah institution has not yet been set up in honor of the departed, and a street in Tel Aviv, to which he was a father and patron to all its religious needs, has not yet been named in his memory. The mayor, members of the city council and religious council, and the national religious party should ensure that the memory of this illustrious great person never be forgotten.

(Hatzofeh, 6 Adar II, 5725 – 1965)

During the Polish national holiday of May 3, 1930. In the center is Rabbi M. Ch. Sokolower, rabbi of the town.

1. Mizrachi is the Orthodox Zionist organization. Agudas Yisroel is a non–Zionist Orthodox organization. Over the years, they were often at odds with each other, especially with regards to attitudes toward Zionism. Return

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Rabbi Mordechai–Chaim Sokolower and his son Avraham

The letterhead of Rabbi Mordechai Chaim the son of Rabbi Y. Sokolower

I remember an incident when my father served as the rabbi on his first Torah adjudication between Reb Tevel Pater and Reb Yosef Chaim Marchaim. The issue was as follows: Reb Tevel received benevolent loans from Reb Yosef Chaim. After some time, when Reb Tevel wished to repay the loan to Reb Yosef–Chaim, the latter did not want to accept the money, claiming that Reb Tevel had already repaid what was owed. When the matter came before the rabbi for adjudication, it was of course difficult for my father to issue a verdict, whether in favor or against, especially since there was no precedent for such in halachic literature. After weighing the matter, my father decided that Reb Tevel should repay half the loan to Reb Yosef Chaim, and that they should mutually forgive the other half.

The essence of that case, where the basis of the dispute demonstrates the uprightness, logic and pure conscience of two Chorzele natives, influenced my father greatly. He would often discuss this characteristic incident in rabbinical circles, throughout many years.

I will now mention a fact that demonstrates the esteem and respect of the people of Chorzele toward their rabbi.

On a Sabbath afternoon, as I was sitting next to the window and reading Pirkei Avot^[1], the words

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of two apikorsim [heretics] of Chorzele reached my ears – Avraham–Yitzchak Glicksberg, the founder of the Bund; and Zelig Sniadower. The latter said that he was prepared to pass through the market place bareheaded, holding his hat in his hand (there was not yet an eruv in Chorzele, so it was forbidden to carry on the Sabbath)^[2]. The former claimed that he would not dare to do this. Indeed, Z. Sniadower began to carry out his “brazen” act, but as he passed by our home, the home of the rabbi, he did not stand by the test, and he put his hat on his head…

Ben–Zion Sokolower

The first one: the wedding of my sister Chana of blessed memory. There was a great deal of preparation in the city as the wedding approached. The women of Chorzele organized themselves in a spontaneous fashion and created a special committee to prepare for the wedding festivities. A few days before the wedding, four women, headed by the cook Chaya–Sarah, began to work voluntarily. Mottel Lichtensztajn and Berl Brener sent a sack of flour to the bakery that had been specially milled for the wedding. Natan Prznyczer and Shimon Sniadower, the fish merchants, brought special fish from Germany for the wedding. The butchers donated a cow and two calves. A sack of lentils was brought directly to the Beis Midrash from an estate owner in a village. People sat there and sifted through the lentils for entire days. In one word: the atmosphere of general joy enveloped all the Jews of the town, and its signs were very evident. Most of the residents took off work to prepare for the wedding. Meir–Yaakov even delayed his aliya to the Land of Israel, for he did not want to miss being present at the wedding of the daughter of the rabbi.

The second one: the illness and passing of the rabbi. When the rabbi became ill with a malignant illness, he traveled to Warsaw for medical attention. All the people of Chorzele were very afraid of his situation. A committee was founded, headed by the mayor. When the bitter news of his illness reached us from Warsaw, Zalman Szulcz, the son–in–law of Avraham Sirota, visited us with a delegation from the town council, and informed us that the community was willing to undertake anything necessary to save the rabbi.

When all hope of saving him disappeared, and they brought him back home, there was great worry. Members of the community set up a watch around his sickbed, day and night. Reb Yosef the shochet [ritual slaughterer] was disappointed that they did not include him in the watch around my father's sickbed because his age and weakness; whereas Avraham Sar, the town clown, had the good fortune of being part of the night watch at the bedside. Once again, the townsfolk neglected

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their personal affairs, and did not travel to Warsaw for shopping, lest the bitter day come and they would miss the funeral of the rabbi.

Translator's Footnotes

1. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pirkei_Avot Return
2. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eruv for details on an eruv, and how its presence can allow carrying in public on the Sabbath. Return

Chet – Grace and splendor are poured upon you^[1]
Your streets were glorified by our dear ones in their splendor.

Vav – Your houses of study beamed with the radiance of their worshippers
Woe! How you turned from nobility to debasement.

Resh – The evil ones desecrated your honor, and you were given over to them
Your ground absorbed the blood of the martyrs, and you did not tremble.

Zayin – Your memory will be wiped out, and your name will not be mentioned
Only through an innuendo I will mention it, because of those resting in your dust

Lamed – The memory of the pure martyrs who ascended heavenward in a whirlwind
May their memories be bound in the bounds of life.

Father of blessed memory and Reb Tanchum Kowel of blessed memory served as the gabbaim [trustees] of the synagogue and Beis Midrash for many years, until they resigned for an unknown reason. The entreaties of Reb Avraham–Michel Adler of blessed memory, the head of the community, as well as various householders that they continue as gabbaim were to no avail. Only after a brief conversation with the rabbi of the town, the Rabbi and Gaon Mordechai–Chaim of blessed memory, did my father declare that he was continuing in his post of gabbai together with his friend Reb Tanchum Kowel. We did not know what influenced him until one day father told the secret when we were sitting in the sukka of Reb Tevel Pater of blessed memory on Sukkot. The following is father's story.

During the time of the Bolshevik war against young Poland (1920), the troops of General Haller^[2] pillaged Jews throughout Poland. They also reached Chorzele. At that time, there were foreign Jews in Chorzele who moved from their places out of fear of war. Seven such Jews, mainly from Mława near Chorzele, were stopped by the army. The soldiers also wanted to remove Father from the house. We children began to cry. A miracle took place, for the soldiers left him and disappeared. The army commander promised that nothing bad would happen to the imprisoned Jews. They would be sent to their hometowns, where they would be given over to civilian guard. To our great sorrow, we found out two days later that these Jews were murdered along the way.

The war ended, and life resumed its normal course. One night, Father saw

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in a dream the aforementioned murdered Jews, dancing enthusiastically in a circle. He stood and watched. One of them extended his hand and said, “Matityahu, come along, and we will dance together…” Father refused to approach, but when the person tried to pull him into the circle by force, one of the group of those dancing shouted to him, “Leave him, do you not know that Matityahu gabbai…” Then he woke up.

He did not tell this dream to anyone other than the aforementioned rabbi. In the ceremony to ameliorate the dream^[3], the rabbi told him, “You were given a great opportunity, for you occupy yourself faithfully with communal needs, and this good deed will protect you.”

When he resigned from his position as gabbai, the rabbi reminded him of his dream. He then agreed to rescind his resignation.

Translator's Footnotes

1. This poem forms the acrostic Chorzele with the first letter of each pair of lines. Return
2. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J%C3%B3zef_Haller Return
3. See http://www.dailyhalacha.com/m/halacha.aspx?id=254 for a note on the Hatavat Chalom ceremony. Return

I will not reminisce about the childhood of my brother Fishel. Of course, in our family, they would always say that he was a very alert child, wild, joyous, and jocular. Therefore, all the members of the household loved him. His older sisters displayed special affection to him, and all spoiled him. Our mother used to say that when he would come home from cheder during the summer, he would take off his boots before he entered the house and toss them through the open window, as a sign that he was coming in. Garno, the “gentile” in our house, would say that “Fishek has come.” The entire area was then full of bustle and noise.

I will reminisce about when he was an older lad, already studying with the prominent teachers in the city, who always praised him to his friends. Even with all this, there were times that he looked upon the childhood games with jealousy. I still remember how, overcome by the rage of a game, he once grabbed a rubber ball from my hands, and bounced it enthusiastically from the grass heap behind the thorn fence – straight into the fruit orchard of our neighbor the “Gentile”. That person was known in town as the “witch” on account of her evil temperament. She instilled fear in young and old. And now, in the garden of the witch… The loss pained me deeply, and I cried bitterly.

He had a refined looking face, pale but not sickly. He was always thinking. He would pace back in the room for hours, to the point of dizziness. The look on his face stated that he was deliberating over something, for many thoughts eked at his mind. Our oldest brother, two years older than him, was also studying in cheder. The two youths were bond with a deep sense of love and friendship, even though they were different in spirit and character.

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The education of the children was primarily in the hands of our mother, since Father was employed in south Russia. He was away from home for most of the year. He would only come home for two months in the summer to rest a bit in the bosom of the family.

Fishel Lachower during his youth in Chorzele (1900)

Fishel was the primary speaker, and on occasion, he would be reproved by his Orthodox friends for his heretical viewpoints. He would be especially reproved by the “silken men”^[1] who came from afar, were supported at the tables of their wealthy in–laws, and were studying Torah for its own sake.

Our town of Chorzele was situated on the border of Eastern Prussia (only two kilometers away). Various business connections bound the two sides of the border together. The sons would also often become involved in this business with the Germans. On the other hand, the business of

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several of the prominent businessmen, such as our father, was in Russia. Thus, the town burst forth from its narrow, provincial confines, and became involved in international commerce.

These business dealings with the broad world were one of the factors why the lads would not only diligently study religious studies, but also the German and Russian languages. Of course, this was without the aid of teachers, for there were no teachers of this sort in our town. There was only one “intelligentsia” family in town. It was a bit of a mystery how they came to this remote place with their expensive, shiny utensils, their fine mannerisms, and their European politeness. The townsfolk would mention their name with special awe: the sons wore “short” garments and the girls were finely bedecked, even on weekdays. All of them were sent to study in gymnaszjas in Warsaw. The young Nachum Sokolow^[2] was apparently once a guest in this home, as is told, when he was passing through our town on route to Berlin. There was a Hebrew–German library there, where the few maskilim of our town quenched their thirst for enlightenment. There was another, larger library in our town, mainly Hebrew, owned by a neighbor and friend of our family, who had no children. (Like our father, he was a merchant in south Russia). He displayed a special love to my two brothers. This man was also known as “an outsider”. He dressed in finery, and his small, shiny, nice house stood at the edge of the city, surrounded by fruit orchards and flower gardens. Bright pathways, decorated with grass, led to the lovely entrance and the clean, cool rooms. The library in that house was the first stop on Fishel's path to Hebrew education.

As mentioned, our father came home for a few months during the summer. He was not completely satisfied with his son, who dedicated himself more and more to haskalah. Father's desire was that his son dedicate himself primarily to Torah, and become a receptacle for it. He himself was a pious, learned Jew, but not zealous. During the summer, when he used to come to live with the family, he would read Hatzefira every day, and would especially enjoy Haoreach Leshabat and Mamaranan Derabanan. Later, he enjoyed the feuilleton of David Frischman in Hayom. He enjoyed publicity material. He read biographies of famous people, travel books, and the like with great interest. However, regarding words of apikorsut [heresy] or books about love, he literally trembled in anger, and took out his anger on his son, or even on us, his daughters. Due to his asthma, from which he always suffered, he would not attend daily services, but he would worship on Sabbaths and festivals in the new Beis Midrash, where the honorable misnagdim [Hassidic opponents] worshipped. Nevertheless, he would turn to the Rebbe of Amshinov (Mszczonów) for advice during times of difficulty. When Father was away from home, Mother would travel to the Rebbe in his stead. She would tell us with holy awe that it was the custom in our house for many years to light a candle on the yahrzeit of the elder Rebbe of Amshinov. Our father never failed to ask advice about how to imbue this spirit on his son the apikorus [heretic]. Once he asked the rabbi of the city to bring his student to the Rebbe of Gur. Fishel often liked to describe this journey – how he

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was brought before the Rebbe on a Sabbath afternoon, wearing a silk kapote, a gartel [ritual belt], and a streimel on his head.

In the meantime, our oldest brother returned from Germany, where he had been convalescing from his severe illness for many years. He was diligent with his studies during his illness. He became fluent in the German language and its literature, and he greatly expanded his knowledge of the Hebrew language. The loving connection between the two brothers was renewed with greater strength. They would debate, and delve for many hours into literary matters. I remember how I listened excitedly to their words, praying in my heart that I would also be able to reach that level of understanding in my studies, and to understand the “language of innuendo” that the spoke.

Both brothers were immersed in their studies day and night – especially Fishel, who struggled greatly and attained new concepts in literature, history, geography, and the like on a daily basis.

Apparently, he began his literary attempts at the very young age of 14 or 15, but he kept the matter secret. However, when it seemed to him that he had succeeded in writing down that which was in his heart, it was difficult for him to stifle his spirit. “Behold, I have found a good word, but it is a word,” he would declare enthusiastically. After deliberating, he declared a new “find,” for in the meantime he found a “better” word than the first one. He continued to develop these “finds” and to forge and refine himself endlessly.

Our father was secretly proud of his successful son, but he would not admit such in public. He saw no “goal” for him in all of this. Out of concern for his future, he decided to direct him in the practical world. Therefore, he once took him to Rostov on Don in southern Russia where he ran a large–scale fish business, sending wagons of fish from the river abroad.

However, as could be imagined from the outset, Father's business did not attract the heart of the lad. On the other hand, he had his first opportunity to spend an extended period in a large city, to absorb the atmosphere of a metropolis, to visit libraries, and to meet with enlightened people. There he also met his good friend, a student of philosophy and a scholar of Hebrew literature, Vigdorov, with whom he exchanged correspondence for many years.

After some time, he returned to our town and to his studies. But our father did not despair of “turning him into a person.” Not long passed before he made a match for him with a lovely girl, the daughter of a wealthy merchant from the nearby district city of Ciechanów. He bore the yoke of a family before he was twenty years old.

Then he endured difficult years of deliberation, for he was suddenly removed from the world of his dreams and placed in the world of reality. The home of his wealthy father–in–law, with its splendid fine goods shop in which all family members were involved on a practical basis, was not conducive to broadening his knowledge. The army duty that was imposed upon him sealed off his path of completion. Even later, when he was discharged, he was perplexed and confused, not knowing the path to take for himself. Father then made his final attempt to bring his son into his business, and summoned him to Rostov for that purpose. Father's command and the idea

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of meeting his beloved brother, whom Father had succeeded in attracting to his business even though his heart was far from it, influenced him, and he set out on the journey. Of course, he did not gain a hold in the business even that time, and he quickly returned home to his father–in–law. However, this time he had a reward for this journey. He went through Odessa on his way back, where he met Bialik and Ahad–Ha'am for the first time. This was a deep experience for him, and left an indelible mark on his soul.

Now, his path was clearer. He did not waste the time in his father–in–law's home. He learned a great deal and broadened his knowledge. He produced the first of his literary attempts. When he was 20 years old, in the year 5664 (1904), he published his first article on Tchernichovsky^[3] in the literary periodical of Hatzefira. Later his work on Bialik and short article on Ahad Ha'am were published in Brener's Hameorer. Finally, his article on Sholem Asch was published in Haolam. His articles, which did not go unnoticed in Hebrew literary criticism, strengthened his spirit, and further forged his path for the future. He left his city of residence, Ciechanów at the beginning of the year 5668 (1907) and moved to Warsaw. He then fully decided that his path was to be in literature.

In Warsaw, he stood on his own for the first time. He was liberated from the environment and atmosphere of the town. He thirsted for creativity and activity. He met the great writers – Peretz, Frischman, and Zeitlin^[4], as well as the young writers of Warsaw, who gathered around the three great ones and formed a group of followers, as it were. On visits during Sabbaths and festivals, the homes of these three were filled with an enthusiastic crowd of admirers, who soaked up the words of their masters with thirst. There, they deliberated over matters of literatures, and conducted vibrant discussions, which were later disseminated by the young ones and served as topics of debate in the literary circles of Warsaw. Fishel, who already admired Frischman, would visit his home every Sabbath. His wife used to say, “He went to pray at Frischman.” Indeed, it was a sort of prayer…

This connection with Frischman quickly led to a collaboration between them – in editing three anthologies of Safrut and later founding a library with that name. Together, they published the 50 booklets of Reshafim, –– bi–weekly literary anthologies. As a sole editor, Fishel only published in the year 5673 (1913) in the Netivot anthology. In its time, it made a great impression on the literary circles. His plan was to publish Netivot as a monthly. The plan was abandoned because of the First World War, which broke out at that time.

The war quickly resulted in a cessation of all literary activity in Poland. Fishel who at the time was at the beginning of his path and in the spring of his life, with many dreams and plans in his mind, remained perplexed once again. He was also bearing the yoke of a large family. During the times of upheaval at the beginning of the war, he had no possibility in continuing his literary pursuits, so he started to work as one of the editors of the Merkaz publishing house. He edited several important books (in the public Achisefer Library of Warsaw–Berlin).

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These activities were insufficient for the livelihood of his family, so he was forced to take on the position of teacher of Hebrew literature in the well–known Gymnasja of Krinski. When Poland was conquered by the Germans, a pedagogic institution for teachers named for Sh. L. Gordon was opened in Warsaw, and Fishel was appointed as a teacher of Hebrew literature. (Hillel Zeitlin, with whom Fishel was very close, taught Talmud in that school.) The teaching job, which lasted for two years, and the preparations for it, which placed a heavy yoke upon Fishel at that time, later lead to the writing of his significant book “The Annals of New Hebrew History.”

At the end of the war, when the publication of Shtibel transferred from Moscow to Warsaw, its leadership was given over to Fishel on the recommendation of Frischman. Anyone who saw him at that time, when the building of Hebrew Literature fluttered before the eyes of his spirit, saw the man in his boundless dedication. It was as if he found the blend of effort and actualization. Fishel dedicated himself fully to the publication of Shtibel. Even though running those matters occupied much of his time, he edited many more books of fundamental or translated literature, which were published by that publishing house. He also wrote the introduction to several important books of world literature. Then he published his book “Research and Experience (A),” his first anthology, which included all his articles on books of Haskalah and books of his generation.

When he was appointed as editor of Hatekufa along with Yaakov Cohen (later Yaakov Fichman also joined them for some time), Fishel participated in each book, with major articles, as well as in other articles in various publications. He immersed himself fully in editing and writing for eight years, as he faced the many constant obstacles and difficulties that are natural in such a major enterprise. However, he knew how to bear his suffering, for the benefit of literature was before his eyes constantly.

Throughout all his hard work in publishing Shtibel, Fishel had only one year of respite, and perhaps of great satisfaction, when he came to Berlin to spend time with his revered teacher M. Y. Berdichevsky, who agreed to publish his writings only under his own supervision. The almost daily contact with his great friend did wonders for his soul and spirit. It seemed as if many doubts that grew in his heart from way back and tormented his soul very much were resolved. This meeting, which yielded great results, was fateful in his life. Even during his most difficult days, and to his final days, he imagined Berdichevsky before him always.

He did not arrange its day of celebration, for Shtibel's business took a sudden turn for the worse, and he lost most of his money. The publication of books, which was a very broad endeavor, involved significant investment, and Fishel encountered difficulties. He made plans for naught, and sought advice which ended up not being legitimate. When things got very difficult, he hurried to Paris, then to London, and finally to America. Unlike his nature, he knocked on the doors of philanthropists and non–philanthropists – but the solution was not to be found. Disappointed and broken in body and spirit, he returned to Warsaw. Out of great despair, he invested his sole property, his wife's jewelry and expensive wedding gifts, in this bad business,

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with the hope of salvaging a small amount. However, fate did not allow him to see the strengthening of this fine structure, the desire of his soul, that was built with dedication of the soul and great love by two men.

He left Warsaw in 1927 with his family, and made aliya to the Land of Israel. Earlier, he had visited there briefly, on his way to America.

During the final years of his life, he continued in the writing of his large book “Bialik – His Life and Creations.” At the same time, he busied himself with the translation of the Zohar^[5] into Hebrew, together with his friends Sh. A. Horodsky and Y. Tishbi. In his quiet workroom, with the backdrop of books crowded on the bookshelves surrounding the walls, the man sat immersed in his work, introspective, and serious. His face exuded a shine, and his eyes sparkled. The tenderness that was constantly in his soul now shone forth more strongly to his family – to his children, small grandchildren, and his close surroundings. He was always concerned about his friends. At times, he would get up suddenly in the middle of his work to visit a sick friend.

On the last day of his life (1 Adar, 5707 / 1947), he felt well. He worked on Mishnat Hazohar along with Y. Tishbi of Jerusalem from morning until noon. He continued with this work in the evening, feeling in very good spirits. At the request of the members of his household, he set out before dinner on a brief walk to the nearby boulevard. (Fishel loved to take such walks on his own. In his own words, he was able to clarify for himself during those times things that he could not clarify as he sat at his table). Before he set out, he excused himself to the guests and said, “I will return home shortly. I am very tired. I will get a bit of fresh air, and return…”

What did he clarify for himself during his final flight of thought, before the light was suddenly extinguished, and darkness enveloped him?…”

(Davar, Tel Aviv, March 12, 1948).

Shlomo–Yehuda Lachower (1846–1918)		Chana–Breina Lachower (1858–1945)

1. A term for the wealthy young men who are supported by their in–laws and do not have to worry about the realities of life. Return
2. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nahum_Sokolow Return
3. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shaul_Tchernichovsky Return
4. See http://www.yivoencyclopedia.org/article.aspx/Frischman_David and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aaron_Zeitlin Return
5. The Zohar is the major book of Kabbalah. Return

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F. Lachower (18 Cheshvan 5644, 5 Adar 5707 1883–1947)

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he devoted much of his talents, knowledge, and energy – much of his life. We feel that we lost a man of a clear pen and a clear intellect, for whom literature was not a diversion, who never treated his work lightly in any role that was placed upon him. He was a working man, diligent, trustworthy, a friend and partner in institutions of literature and writers – to whom he gave of his energy and time, and was also concerned about their honor, as he was concerned about the honor of literature. He was a man whom was always seen as stringent in his own work as a writer – a researcher, an editor – who literary gave his soul for these things.

Such was the echo that he left behind after he left – an echo of clarity and dedication. His connection to the work was as important as the work itself.

F. Lachower was born on the 18^th of Cheshvan 5644 (1883) in Chorzele, a Polish town on the border with East Prussia. His father, Shlomo Yehuda, was a wealthy merchant, Orthodox in outlook, but not extremist –– he would always read Hatzefira, and although he felt the Talmud and the religious legal decisions to be the main topics in the teaching of children, he also incidentally approved of the acquisition of secular knowledge. The writer displayed superior talents when he was still a lad, displayed a blend of expertise and sharpness. He tried his hand at the writer's craft when he was still a young man. Since most of his work was with works of research (one of the books which broadened his horizons in historical research of our literature was Dor Vador Dorshav by A. H. Weiss. According to his own words, he was also influenced by Shneur Zak's, whose works blended poetry and thought) – it is no wonder that his first efforts were in research. One of his attempts – regarding Hillel and Shamai – he sent to Dr. Sh. Bernfeld, with the understanding that this work would not embarrass him. Indeed, he received an encouraging response. However, he still did not see himself prepared for his great role as a writer, so he applied himself diligently to his studies. Through his reading at that time, he also gained vast knowledge in modern literature and world literature. By nature, he was diligent, and he loved learning for its own sake.

In 5664 (1904), he married Beila Krowiner, who was his faithful companion until his last day. He moved to Ciechanów, the city of his father–in–law, and lived there for about three years. During those years, he tried his hand at business, but did not succeed. He continued to study and to write.

In the year 5664 (1904), he published his first article in the literary supplement of Hatzefira. It was dedicated to the poetry of Tshernichovsky. He published his first articles on Ahad Ha'am and Bialik in Hameorer. The restricted confines of Ciechanów became too narrow for him. He set his intention on moving to Warsaw, with the hope and aspiration that literature or the publishing would be the source of his livelihood.

He moved to Warsaw in 5667 (1907). He became close with Frischman and began to publish the Safrut anthology, serving as co–editor. He also founded a publishing house by that name (the Safrut Library, and others). In 5669 (1909), he published the literary weekly Reshafim (in which he published the Frischman's translation of Nietzsche's Thus Spoke Zarathustra, and

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Gnessin's best work, Beterem). As long as he was still a novice to literature and publishing, he quickly found people to be close with, and attracted them to his circles. The following names are prominent in the books he published: Berdichevsky, Brenner, Shufman, Gnessin – the forgers of modern Hebrew prose after Mendele. However, the Safrut publishing house could not maintain itself. He moved his entire printing press over to Tushia (Central) where he worked as an editor. He succeeded in that department, in which Sh. Y. Ish–Horowitz also worked as a publisher. With his help, he founded the Sifria Hakelalit (edited by Frischman) and he published on his own the large literary anthology Netivot – his first enterprise as an editor, in which he expressed his leanings to which he was faithful for his entire life. There, he published his large article on Berdichevsky, in which he expressed his soulful closeness – it is possible to say, rhythmic, to the wonderful poet of prose, full of flourishing resonance, with innuendos to expression better than the expression itself. He learnt the “anti–classic” style from him, the power of which lay in truncated lines on the threshold of expression – the power of anything that was truly modern. He also drew him closer to Shufman and Gnessin. In his introduction to Gnessin's letters (first edition), he was one of the first to capture the delicate charms of the author of Beterem and Etzel.

These two articles, on Berdichevsky and Gnessin – were to some degree Lachower's first powers and strength, through which he acquired his place in literature. When he attained a certain status in his chosen profession, he began to wonder about his path, which seemed to light. This was during the time of the First World War, which for him were times of illness and great want. Nevertheless, they were times of study and preparation for the role of critic, in which he appreciated the significance of the works. As a teacher of literature in the Sh. L. Gordon institute, he stood up to the dilettantism that pervaded in the annals of history in general, and of the times of the haskalah in particular. Already at that time, as he would record his lessons in his notebook, he would turn his attention to the needs of the book, to light up the visions of modern literature for its era – without relying on hypotheses, but rather on an examination of the sources themselves. In Hatzefira (the seventh) during the war years, he published his articles on the era of the haskalah (on Ran'ak, Mapu, and others). The research strands of these articles were based upon the foundation of assessment. (Incidentally, in his articles on Mapu, there are several hypotheses – such as “At the time Mapu came to write Ahavat Tzion, his intention was to only create a type of literary allegory”, etc. This was later confirmed by Mapu in one of his letters. In the year 5680 (1920, he published his article on Shalom HaKohen in Hatefkufa, in which he displayed signs of a literary historian, armed with vast knowledge. He constructed his research on the basis of material that he gathered from all corners of haskalah literature. He never presented a hypothesis without “breaking it on its back,” without any struggle, but through enlightening the poet whose name had almost been forgotten, a sign of his new path – the transition of the path of the researcher. Or, as G. Kressel noted well, he forged the blend of the “law and lore” of the researcher, who did not forego the awakening of the heart, without which without which the words of poetry are only grasped from the outside.

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At the end of the war, he founded the Arachim stage, which had been cancelled in favor of Hatekufa, which moved to Warsaw. At that time, he was appointed as editor of the large Shtibel publishing house. Not only did he concern himself with its spiritual basis, but also, at the end, for its very existence when its time of crisis came. We cannot describe the energy that he imbued into the spiritual work, in terms of its content and variety. He became one of the editors of Hatekufa. He overcame and raised the status of that anthology. As would be done with any publication that tended toward fine literature, he also raised its scientific profile. As an editor and a publisher, he displayed the sense of a builder, whose attention was on the entire structure rather than solely on the isolated sections. His crowning achievement as editor of Shtibel can be seen in the organization of the writings of M. Y. Berdichevsky – an exemplary publication.

He continued with his personal work during this time of bustling activity. In 5685 (1925), he published his book “Studies and Experiments,” the first anthology of his research. It was renewed and strengthened ten years later in “Early and Latter Ones” (published by Dvir) – one of the finest anthologies in our literature. When he made aliya in the year 5687 (1927), he finally approached his primary life's work – “Annals of New Hebrew Literature.” The publishers of Dvir assisted the author while he was busy with that composition. It seems that everything that he had done until that point was only a preparation for that book, which served as an example, and to some degree a warning, for those that followed. In it, he presented a plan for an edifice of thoughts. The paths of the development of our new literature in all its facets are noted. With the legacy that pervades this profession, it was his duty to light up important and forgotten visions (especially in the areas of thought and science). He literally resurrected the dead. This was an effort that had some “novelty.” Bialik, whom he praised in a great composition, was restricted in definition to a book. Heaven forbid, not a sharp survey, “deriving something from something” but rather the fruits of collection in the body of the sources – he taught and did not leave anything behind.

That collection, perhaps with the addition of depth and preparation, was displayed in his final composition on Ch. N. Bialik. What especially stood out was the dissection of the biographical section (particularly related to the circles from which he emanated, from the days in Volozhin, and other places) with an exacting examination that he dredged up from Bialik's archives. Before us is the most complete biography – a concentration of material that no future biographer of Bialik would be unable to make use of. He places before the reader all the sources that that the writer used in their full depth, so the researcher can study them. This is very important with Bialik's works, for he used such a massive number of sources. His diligent hands also added notes from his [Bialik's] autobiographic material. He especially dissected his [Bialik's] autobiographical letter to Klausner, in which the variances of text illustrate small nuances of the soul of the poet.

This monumental work, which he undertook after Bialik's death, and of which two volumes were published during the author's lifetime, was his chief accomplishment, and occupied him until his final days. He did not abandon this even during his serious illness. His great desire was to complete this life's work, into which he invested the love and dedication of ten consecutive years. To our sorrow, the third volume only included

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a third of what he had planned. (It has now been published by Mossad Bialik and Dvir.) Chapters of the history of literature, only reaching up to the first chapters of Bialik, were also included in it.

In this addendum to his monumental book, he deals with one of the most interesting eras of our new literature – the era of the transition from haskalah [enlightenment] to revival. Here too, he leads us with a trustworthy hand through the fruitful web of the era of Chovevei Tzion, in which the first sprouts began to appear, a harbinger to the days of great fruitfulness that came with Tchernichovsky, Berdichevsky, Ahad Ha'am, and Bialik. He did not merit to record the new era, the era of actualization. Indeed, in “Early One and Latter Ones” he presented several of the great visionaries – from Ahad Ha'am and Berdichevsky to Brenner and Shufman, Agnon and Hazaz. In a small survey that was written twenty years ago, he outlines the main themes of Dvora Baron, the best female story teller in our literature.

While working as the editor of Knesset in memory of Bialik, in which he published several important compositions, including “In the Gates of the Tower” – he worked (along with Sh. A. Horodecki, and V. Tishbi) on the Hebrew translation of selections of the Zohar. His research during that time was especially dedicated to the mystical doctrine, especially in analyzing the Ramch'al from a Kabbalistic perspective. He struggled with enthusiasm and great zeal in exposing the mysteries of Luzzato's poetry. This was written during his last days, with great attentiveness. He was a small but powerful researcher in the Kabbalistic innuendoes in the Ramch'al's lyrics.

This enthusiasm for the Ramch'al, whom he regarded first and foremost as a great Kabbalist, demonstrates that those times in his youth that he spent with Hillel Zeitlin gave him a deep grasp of the world that only ripened in his latter days.

On his last day on earth, he sat for several hours with Y. Tishbi editing the translated chapters of the Zohar. When I went to visit him in the evening, his spirits were good, despite his weariness. It was evident that the work he was occupied with that day gave him great joy. Indeed, this was the final joy of his life.

When I entered his home, I found him in the corridor preparing to go for a short walk on the boulevard. I did not accompany him, for I did not want to get him involved in a conversation, since the doctors forbade such, especially at times when he was very tired.

He asked me to wait for him, saying:

“Sit down for a short while. I will return shortly…”

These were the final words that came from his mouth.

We, the entire family, sat together and waited for a long time. When his wife saw that he did not return, she got concerned and went to look for him. Before she returned, a representative from the Hadassah Hospital arrived, and we quickly found out that he suffered a stroke while he was walking. With a broken heart we saw the man, who was clear in his thinking throughout his entire illness and never lost any of his sharpness or even his sense of humor, now

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lying unconscious. The doctors did not conceal his desperate condition from us. His family members and friends, the veteran writers, stood guard by his bed day and night until he took his last breath.

When news of his death spread, all his acquaintances fell into a deep mourning. A large group from Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Haifa, and the settlements silently accompanied the writer, who maintained his position also during the days when the sharp knife was already resting on his neck. Everything that the man did was done with faithfulness.

Next to Beit Bialik, of which he was a dedicated member since the day of its founding, he was eulogized in his name and in the name of the Bialik Institute. He had imbued a great deal of his effort into that institute, and assisted in carrying out its construction. They presented the image of their member with penetrating and clear comments. I eulogized him to the extent that I could over his open grave. All the newspapers in Israel and the Diaspora dedicated words of appreciation to him, and noted his precious talents and the irreplaceable loss to our literature and our culture.

His personality was more complex than his thinking. From the beginning he displayed a dual leaning, to scientific investigation as well as criticism of poetry. Even though he tended toward the research side in his latter days – he did not stop being a critic. This was evident when he developed his letters on Gnessin to true achievement, demonstrating his power of penetrating such veiled poetry.

This dual connection to criticism was the characteristic trait of his personality. This set him apart from most of the critics of his time. He was almost the only one like that. He was the first to demonstrate that poetry and science are not two opposites, but rather can be of a single essence when they both have true quality. He perhaps caught on to forgery in science more quickly than he caught on to forgery in poetry, but he was shocked with lies in either of them. He had a sense of true values in contrast to imaginary values. From this perspective, the students of Frischman and Berdichevsky were united; both learned to grasp the quality of dual creativity, and to expose its value in all its covers that it wore.

He delved into this great quality in all the many varied matters that were included in his life's work – he delved into the comprehensiveness of knowledge and the depth of understanding, and did not jump to a conclusion without a sevenfold investigation the foundations upon which it was based. An investigation of the sources preceded any conclusion. Nevertheless, even though he was a man of detail according to his education and tendencies, he was blessed with an appreciation and thirst for poetry, which was the essence and chief trait of any critic of stature.

At the outset of his work, before attaining fame, he involved himself in orderly research. However, the young man was attracted to poetry, and it was the poetry of Tshernichovsky that preceded that of Bialik. Berdichevsky preceded Ahad Ha'am. His roots were in Poland: Warsaw and not Odessa. Odessa, which was overly clear and overly linear, lacked the mystery. In the early days, he also expressed his opposition to this (in a booklet that was published against Ahad–Ha'am). Nevertheless, when he matured, he also understood the secret of the structure of the mighty ones of Odessa, and began to research Bialik, which was a

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synthesis of all varieties of new poetry. Modern prose was close to his soul and his grasp. This led him to a different aspiration – poetry awakened an unexpected revelation, with an unexpected result. Therefore, his true teacher was not Frischman with his harmonic style, even though he served him throughout his early days; but rather Berdichevsky, whose pleasantness came specifically from the dissonance that accompanied him. It was not only the chapters of appreciation and memoirs that he wrote about Berdichevsky that demonstrated great sharpness and soulful closeness; but the style and forms of expression also demonstrated his strong connection to the man, to his poetry, to his struggles in style and struggles in thought. It was not easy to parse this, and he was not looking for ease. He did not become involved in anything in which he did not immerse his entire being.

When he came to figure out his prime role, and realized that his unique mission was in Hebrew criticism, and especially in an investigation of the sources and a collection of facts – he set his unique place in literature. This is what turned him into a literary historian, and led him to forge his path in this direction. All history is a control of the past. From Berdichevsky he learned the trait of investigating old vessels, and concentrating his gaze upon the values that his predecessors skipped over. Therefore, he studied, and studied again. He investigated and investigated again. He did not believe in anything that he did not conquer with his full investigation. From this perspective, he was a student of Rana'k, whose connection to this important way of thinking stemmed from the thought itself.

This precious trait of level–headedness – the trait of a scholar and person of refined traits, defined his unique place in literary criticism. He set a new relationship, a new essence in criticism, preceding all cultural paths. It was an uprising against nihilism, boorishness, and random ideas. He did not work with sharpness even though he specifically delved into the depths. Therefore, his teachings demand level–headed attention, getting accustomed to his methodologies and his means. Even his style, which is not always “smooth,” is never populist. Anything he struggled with he raised up, and imbued with his essence as well as his charm.

This trait, which drew him close to the labor of literary criticism, made him into a fighter against all who are hasty to the pen, against all randomness and sophistics – even those who had talents.

His suspicious nature was always tense whenever anything required deep pondering, or about anything that was not nurtured from the ground of the sources. He skipped over criticism based solely on opinions, which signified the era of youth of new Hebrew criticism. He was one of the first who demanded a change of values, a change of path, and a change of means in the essence of the work. His book on new Hebrew literature was without doubt a turning port in literary science, making demands on those that followed him. He raised the bar of the profession.

The moral foundation of his work, and of his personality in general influenced, educated, and established a relationship of trust toward him. Even when we did not agree with him on the details, we trusted his rectitude, and we knew that he did not reach any conclusion without maximal knowledge and maximal gathering of information – after analyzing the matter from all sides.

From the introduction of Y. Fichman to “The Annals of New Hebrew Literature” (d), by F. Lachower, published by Dvir, Tel Aviv 5708.

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