Dumbrăveni, Moldova
Yizkor Book Project
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On behalf of my eyes that saw the mourning
And filled my sorrowful heart with cries,
On behalf of my mercy that instructed me to forgive,
Until came the days that were too horrible to forgive,
I made the vow: To Remember everything,
To remember and not to forget a thing.(A. Shlonsky, Poems, II, 301)
In the pages of this short book, I would like to place a modest memorial to my native town of Dumbrăveni, a small Bessarabian[1] town, which existed in the past and no longer exists. It was founded approximately in 1835 and with the coming of the Great Holocaust, in 1940, it was destroyed to the ground.
The book is being published in two languages, in Hebrew, “the holy language”, in which these Jews recited and prayed to their Father in Heaven and in which they expressed their dream, longing and hope to return to the land of their ancestors, to the city where David dwelt; and in Yiddish, the “language of the martyrs”, in which they conducted their daily lives and in which they educated their sons towards Torah, Chupah and good deeds.[2]
I have spoken about my town and many of its characters as they were engraved in my young heart and preserved in my memory since I last saw them, close to the Holocaust.
In this book I dedicated only a small chapter to my father's house. More detailed descriptions of my father's house in general and the Bessarabian way of life in particular can be found in my books: “My Father's House” (Beit Abba) (5715 (1955)); “In the Shade of Gardens” (Betzel Ganim) (5721 (1961)) and “We Lived There” (Sham Yashavnu) (5731 (1971)).
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We, who were left bereaved and orphaned “from this fruit garden that was cut off” in the words of U.Z. Grinberg, are ordered to talk about what happened, so that our children and our children's children until the last generation will remember what Amalek of the twentieth century did to us, and understand what was lost to them and to us in the landscapes of that exile.
| Jerusalem, Hanukkah 5733 (1973) | Haim Toren |
The town, about which we are about to tell, was not different from other towns in Bessarabia, except for the fact that it was an agricultural colony. In the ways of life, the abundance of its characters and the internal organization of its religious and secular institutions - there was almost no essential difference between it and the other towns of Bessarabia from the Khotyn district in the north to the Izmail district in the south.
In Călăraţi in the Kishinev District and Tatarbunari in the Akerman District; in Leova in the Izmail district and in Razina in the Orhiyov district; in Rişcan in the Balţ district and in Romanovka in the Bandar district; in Lipcan in the Khotyn district and in Zaguriţa in the Soroka district, in all these areas lived honest and sturdy Jews, most of them were simple people, hard- working and humble, “artists of the beautiful silence”, and a minority of them were scholars who were engaged in religious service and had nothing in their world but fear of God, Talmud Torah and good deeds; and they were saturated with the love of Israel, the faith of Israel, the tradition of generations and longing for Zion.
And why was it annihilated? There were also many uneducated peoples, Jews who were given the nickname “Gentile”. And is it any wonder that the “tiny letters” gave them dizziness and eye pain? Their studies in the Cheder[4]
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often ceased already before their Bar Mitzvah, due to poverty, orphanhood at an early age, worries about earning a living and hard and arduous work; And sometimes due to their living conditions in remote villages, where there was not even a “minyan”[5] of Jews. And where there is no Torah study – how can there be [Torah] knowledge? With great effort they learned the Kiddush and the Kaddish, and even these came out of their mouths with “great suffering”. Letter writing or arithmetic were above their spiritual powers, even though by nature they were not weaklings but rather muscular and burly, who could cut down tree trunks with one swing of an ax and carried sacks of flour and barrels of wine as if they were “roosters of atonement”.[6] Even in their simple and coarse clothing they were similar to their Gentile neighbors, God forbid. However, beneath their simple coats, warm and innocent Jewish hearts beat. Their place of residence was usually on the “edges of the town”, in the suburbs, in streets called “Di gesleach von drei fayen” (that is, the streets whose prefix in Yiddish is the letter F: Fleischer's, Fisher's and Farer's - butchers, fishermen and cart drivers). And their homes, were as described by Bialik in the poem “Farewell”: “Poor dwellings, with broken roofs and inclined walls, sunken in dirt up to their middle.” These “simpleton” Jews, who differed from their brothers in town with their bravery and strength, were Jews in heart and soul, ready and willing at any time to spare their lives for the name of Israel, the Torah of Israel and the honor of the family. About them and alike, Zalman Shneur[7] wrote the poem “A song to the uneducated people”, in the opening of his book “Pandaria the Hero”:
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- “Where are you, big and solid Jews, with your heavy boots with square soles and with your wide and tanned noses, like lions: you - carters, cooks, porters, builders...
Your muffled voice that would sound as if from a big empty barrel, and in your childish eyes - the energy of life was entertaining.
The smell of the forest wafted from your heavy coats, the smell of tar and leather, the smell of mushrooms and bran bread - - -.
The longings for the life of the field and garden, who are now rejoicing in the people – originate from your patience. And even the bold desire to break down the last walls of the ghetto, - from your deeper souls it came.”
What was the secret beauty and magic of these corners, these cities and towns on the banks of the Prut and the Dniester? After all, we, as well as those from rich families, lived there (in the small cities and towns) a life of poverty and destitution and we were educated in dark, crowded and suffocating “cheders”; We drew water from the well and from the spring; We warmed up during the intense winter days by stoves stoked with straw (only in the houses of the rich people they used wood for heating!) and even by full pots fully cooked on hissing coals. In these towns we did not know about the existence of cinema and theater; a wretched circus, that was brought from afar by a band of gypsies, or a play put on by the band of “amateurs” in the town,
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were unforgettable experiences for us. There we walked for a long time to a dark, wet and cold bathhouse, to enjoy a hot bath from one Shabbat eve to another, and even this pleasure was allowed only to the “Nagidim” [the wealthy] and their families. And who would not remember how often we debated with the “leftists” of all kinds, who opposed the Zionist idea, mocked the pioneers who prepared themselves to immigrate to the Land of Israel and believed wholeheartedly that only their idea would bring redemption to the world and redemption to the people of Israel.
And yet, this small, meager and gray life was soaked and saturated with a special melody, a melody full of human light, faith and stickiness in human values, life values and tradition values; a melody that was full of devotion, joy of life and joy of work. This melody and this hidden light did not characterize this or that town in particular, but it characterized all the Jewish towns in the Bessarabian exile.
Everyone, everyone alike, rich and poor, the scholars and the uneducated, sang with devotion and lived, in practice, the well-known folk song:
Vos mir zenen zenen mir
Aber iden zenen mir;
Vos mir tuen tuen mir
Aber iden bleiben mir.(And in its literal translation: “Whatever we will be | we will be Jews | whatever our deeds will be | we will always be Jews”)
Indeed, in these areas lived and toiled and dreamed good Jews who were whole in body and spirit. And when the great and terrible Holocaust took place, which destroyed their cities to the ground and their villages, and thousands perished in all kinds of strange deaths, they died as kosher Jews, sanctifying God's name, when their lips whisper “Shema Israel”.[8]
When was Dumbrăveni founded? The famous agronomist Akiva Ettinger (1872–1945), a man of vision and action, who founded and managed on behalf of the Jewish Colonization Association a model farm for Jewish agricultural communities in Bessarabia and Podolia (in the years 1898–1911), writes in his book: “Together with Jewish farmers in the diaspora” (1942).
“In 1835, the Russian government encouraged the establishment of Jewish colonies in Bessarabia. Regulations were published on “attracting the Jews to be farmers”. According to these regulations, the owners of the estates, who supported the transfer of Jews to agriculture by selling or leasing them their land, received, in addition to the price of the land, or the lease fees paid by the settlers, monopoly rights and honorary titles. After the promulgation of this law, six colonies were founded in the district of Soruki and Balci on purchased land - Dumbrăveni, Lublin, Marculeşti, Vertozhny, Brycevo, Balaloblad - - -“ (page 80).
Dumbrăveni was founded, therefore, in 1835, approximately, during the days of panic and the period of the “kidnappers”, when the Russian government announced that the Jews who agreed to settle in Bessarabia and become farmers would be released from serving in the army for the rest of their lives and for ten years, they would even be exempt from paying taxes and property taxes. The Jews bought plots of land for them here with their money from the owner of the estate, whose seat was in Iaşi. Rabbi M. M. Davidson, in his notebook “Betzel Ha'ilan” (In the shadow of the tree) (year 5705 (1945)) on pages 13–14, testifies: “I have the original, hand written,.
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regulations of the Chevra Kadisha,[9] of the city of Dumbrăveni from the year 5598 (1838)”. If in 1838 the regulations of the Chevra Kadisha were already drawn up and drafted, it means that the colony was founded at least two or three years earlier.
Reb M. M. Davidson adds and narrates in his above-mentioned notebook: “Grandfather, the late Reb Mendele, who at that time already had a large family, was the father of four sons and one daughter, joined those who left Zhabush and Mogilev-Podolski, and settled with his family members in this colony as a farmer (colonist), he bought a plot of land, which his sons would cultivate like the other Jewish farmers, and he was engaged in Torah study and Torah work and served as the rabbi of the colony, at the beginning, without any reward, and only in the year 5600 (1840) he was officially appointed as the first rabbi of the colony, and he guided his community in faith and dedication and was loved by all the members of the community, for more than forty years, until his immigration in 5642 (1882), at old age, to the Holy Land” (Ibid, Ibid).
Indeed, it is a very significant symbol that the first rabbi of this small and remote colony immigrated to Israel ninety years ago and died in Jerusalem, a year after his immigration, on the 23rd of Adar, 5643 (20 March 1883).
Over the years, the colony grew and, in addition to the farmers, a handful of shopkeepers were added, merchants and artisans: tailors, shoemakers, blacksmiths, furriers, carpenters, carters, and about ten white-collar professional - the rabbi, two slaughterers, the doctor, the pharmacist, and a few primary school teachers, but in its foundation it remained an agricultural colony, one of the first in Bessarabia, whose Jews were hardworking farmers and practically followed the verse: “By the sweat of your brow you shall eat bread.” Even those Jews who owned large amounts of land and herds of sheep and cattle, did not sit idly by, but worked and toiled
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in the fields and vineyards, in the orchards and in the fields, from sunrise till sunset. Every grain and every fruit, which the fertile land of Bessarabia was capable of yielding and growing, was in their field of activity and interest, such as wheat and barley, rye and oats, buckwheat and corn, and alike, and even fruit trees, vineyard and tobacco plantations, fields of watermelons and honey from their beehives.
If Bessarabia was privileged to be used as “a way that the migrants should pass through” and was a kind of a “corridor” to the Land of Israel (“Through Bessarabia to the Land of Israel” was the slogan), it is thanks to a chain of agricultural colonies, and Dumbrăveni was the largest of them. And Ettinger wrote in his abovementioned book: “In the Dumbrăveni colony, the largest of the Bessarabian colonies, with a settlement of 400 families - - - the type of small farmer was formed, with a mixed farm on an area of 60–80 dunam, which was based on wheat and corn, on a vegetable garden and sometimes - on a garden of fruit trees and a vineyard and vines, one or two cows, or 10–20 sheep in a herd shared with neighbors. The owner of this farm and his wife, their sons and daughters, were all engaged in cultivating their land and also worked as laborers on other people's farms” (page 84).
Ettinger's testimony is faithful evidence on how industrious were the farmers of the colony
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and he adds and writes in his abovementioned book: “The people of Dumbrăveni began to excel in growing seeds of beans, peas, cucumbers and watermelons. In the exhibitions arranged on behalf of the Zimstavo [local self-government] in the district cities, there were exhibits of Dimentstein from Dumbrăveni, who grew seeds of field and garden plants of top-quality varieties, which were ordered for him by the famous seed firm in Paris, “Vilmorn”. Dimentstein won high prizes and was very proud of them” (page 103–104).
Dimentstein was not the only one in the colony who worked the land, according to his own testimony, not only with his hands but also with his mind... The Weinberg families (the only remnant of this family who immigrated to the Land of Israel was the agronomist Ze'ev Karmi) and Kornblit, Rabinowitz, Axenfeld, Hochberg, Fuchs, etc., all of whom were devoted to agriculture with their heart and soul, with enthusiasm and dedication, they established and perfected their farms according to modern work methods and based on tried and tested scientific innovations.
Dumbrăveni's agricultural nature did not change even after 1918, when Bessarabia was annexed to Romania. Visitors to the colony were greeted by strong and pungent smells of piles of hay and sheep's cheese (“brânza”), the mooing of cows and the neighing of horses, the barking of dogs, the crowing of chickens, the pounding of hammers and the rattling of carts, which were sometimes mixed with chants and tunes and heartbreaking songs, which were heard from one edge of the colony to the other, and testified like 100 witnesses that Dumbrăveni was not a city, nor just a town, but a Jewish agricultural colony.
The history of Dumbrăveni, where I was born and where I spent my childhood, is very short, while its geography could fit into the eye of a needle. It was founded over a hundred years ago, and when the Great Holocaust came, it was destroyed to the ground, emptied of its inhabitants, both living and dead, and in its cemetery only one tombstone remained! ...
In fact, it was neither a city nor a village nor even a town, it was a small town and in fact an agricultural colony, with about four hundred and fifty households, distanced about 12 km from the district city of Soroka, the city of vineyards, on the banks of the Dniester, and about 18 km from the train station in Mărculeşti. Two “main” streets crossed it long and wide, and there were about three or four more streets to its sides, which were probably more paths and alleys rather than streets, a kind of islands in the heart of the “great sea.” The first main street twisted from the road that goes up to the district city to the “Sheliach”, which was a road leading through villages and dense forest to the train station. The other main street, the street of the synagogues, started at the cemetery, went down to the town center and turned in the middle, near the Yar - a long and deep ditch, up to two hundred feet wide, a living monument to a long line of houses that collapsed and sank in the terrible landslide that happened there more than fifty years ago. That destruction, the reasons for which were the subject of countless stories and legends, passed down from word of mouth, turned dozens of houses on both sides of the street into ruins and desolate mounds. It is easy to assume that the Yar,
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which was used as a container for garbage and waste water, did not spread fragrance smells around it and in any case did not add much to the good name of the town. An honored guest who wanted to figure the nature and beauty of the town was shown the Yar from some distance away, so that, God forbid, he would not be attacked by a runny nose, while for a leisurely walk they took him to the Tolike - a green valley, surrounded by fields, gardens and meadows, a kind of carpet of soft and pleasant grass for the residents of the entire town, which extended from the school garden to the winding stream at the foot of the flour mill.
On summer nights, and particularly on Saturday evenings, the Tolike was crowded with people; Old and young people laid on the grass, breathed in the fresh, refreshing and perfumed air and drank thirstily the pungent smell of the meadows. The spacious Tolike served as a safe haven for couples in love and a regular meeting place for the children of the Cheder and the school students, whether for amusement or for pranks and antics. No noise and commotion disturbed its silence and did not mar its peace and it absorbed the best secrets and longings, whispers and murmurs, listened to confessions and debates, clashes and political and ideological bickering and witnessed pleasant melodies and vibrating expressions of feelings of the imaginative young boys and girls. And when you saw there, in the shade of one of the trees, in the silence of dusk, someone lying on the warm grass and immersed completely in reading, you knew that he not only reads but lives and breathes and believes with complete faith in every picture, event and drawing in the book. Once he was tired of reading in the sunset light, he laid his head back, listened to the singing of the birds, the mooing of the cows in the meadow, and the croaking of the frogs in the nearby stream, and he gazed long into the sleepy horizon, at the fields dotted with pastures, flocks of sheep,
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that were decorated with vineyards and gardens, forests and plenty of towns and villages, “a sea of Gentiles” ...
A special grace would spread over the town on heavy-heat summer days between the twilight time and the silent evening hours, when the heat of the day faded. The herds returned from the pasture, while the people, tired from the day's toil, relaxed on the open balconies and on the old, rickety wooden benches, others walked in public with the four edges of their little tallitot[10] scattered in all directions and the whole air was filled with the smells of hay and manure, the joy of work and the singing of a life full of toil. The noise of wagons loaded with grain and dry hay, the mooing of paunchy cows, the lowing of the mischievous calves, the neighing of horses and the agile foals, the barking of fierce and terrifying guard dogs, the crowing of chickens and the chirping of flocks of birds, merged with the sad sounds that were played by the shepherds' oboes. The screams of “Gentile” and the loud and wild laughter of the portly tanned faces and bare hands and feet of the ”non-Jewish girls”, who returned from work to their nearby villages with work tools in their hands and rucksacks on their shoulders, were heard from afar as a sad, prolonged and heart-warming melody. The ladies of the houses set tables with a lot of noise and commotion and prepared the Vechere (dinner), the only meal of the day that was eaten together, but not the only one that was eaten with great appetite and pleasure. And the youths, after bathing in cool water from the well and eating lustfully, went out for a walk in the gardens and vineyards, across the Tolike and all over the school garden. And some walked in the narrow paths, that passed through fields and winded between groves and villages. They walked a very long distance, until they reached the silent wilderness, where a blue mist hung on the horizon and a fire was kindled in the golden heavy dense wheat fields.
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However, the center of these tours and trips was the school garden, a lower paradise for all the townspeople, a city garden and a playground at the same time, large and spacious and well maintained. Everyone who entered the school garden felt that the trees, such as the stones that our father Yaakov put near his head, were arguing among them and offer him to rest in their shade and eat their fruits, fresh and refreshing fruits of all kinds: - reddish apples as big as a fist; juicy and sweet pears whose sweet juice dripped and burst from them with the first bite; black, yellow and reddish succulent plums; peaches with a brown pulp and a persimmon scent; tasty strawberry that is pleasant and delicious, the true taste of which you devoured while plucking it from the bush, whether with permission or without one, and above all - the pungent and intoxicating scent of the walnut trees, which penetrated with all its might, aroused appetite and increased the thirst. The school garden and the Yar were the two sides of the town's coin, and much of the symbol was hinted at in them: the Yar was the symbol of ugliness and things similar to ugliness, and in contrast the school garden, with the charm of its blooming and the sadness of its fall, the load of its ripe and heavy fruits and the grace of its nakedness, symbolized the devotion in labor and the faith in the blessing of the land.
Most of the town was inhabited by Jews, but in the slopes of the Tolike and the corner of shoemakers Street, in poor and wretched huts, lived some Gentiles, some of whom guarded the orchards, vineyards and watermelon fields, some were engaged in household and worked in the fields, some were woodchoppers and drew water, while most of them were Goy Shel Shabbat (Shabbat Gentiles)! In exchange for a slice of white challah or a cup of tea, on Shabbat they turned on the oven, removed the copper candlesticks from the tables and milked cows, and on summer days they even drew cool water from the well for invigoration after a sweet midday nap. These Gentiles practically served as the slaves
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of the town's Jews: they worked and served with dedication and submission, they understood Yiddish and were knowledgeable about the Jewish holidays, but everyone knew that they were faithful messengers of the masses of their brothers in the surrounding villages, who instilled fear and terror and always served as a warning sign, that the entire town is nothing more than a small, poor and weak island in a stormy and grumpy sea...
Dumbrăveni was one of the blessed and fertile towns of Bessarabia, whose reputation has traveled far and it became widely known as an exemplary agricultural colony. Its Jews, like most Jews of Bessarabia, were broad-shouldered with healthy and tanned faces, full of energy and joy of life, simple people, warm-hearted and open-hearted, they were engaged in agriculture and made a living from their hard work and adhered with all their soul and all their strength to the Torah of Israel and the customs of Israel. The men plowed and sowed, reaped and happily carried sheaves, weeded and sowed, harvested grapes and tread wines, gathered vegetables from the fields, erected warehouses and barns, dug cellars and prepared heating materials for the winter. And the women, they also contributed their part - they baked and cooked and washed, milked the cows and goats, took care of the chicken coops and stoked the stoves with straw, and all along, they gave birth to, raised and educated healthy boys and girls, cheerful and bright-eyed. And the boys, already in their childhood helped with every job and craft, whether at home or in the field, even though they were not exempt from their duty of attending the cheder and school, at least until the Bar Mitzvah age.
The town was founded by Jews who strove to take root and integrate in the soil and its black and fertile clod and wanted to be farmers, real farmers but “farmers in a tallit and tefillin”[11]. And when a melamed would arrive here from the towns of Lithuania or Poland, who was short, weak and exhausted, and was brought here to teach the Torah to the local people, he seemed “unusual” among these clumsy Jews, about whom they used to joke that “they eat more than an egg and their Torah is less
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than an olive” (i.e., they eat a lot and they are ignorant). The jokesters of the town used to tell a story about someone who became ill and they called a doctor, the doctor ruled that he had no cure for the patient but sweating, the patient asked for a pen and paper, gathered his strength, signed his name and recovered...
Most of the town's Jews were not unrealistic and did not live on “air business,”[12] and yet they encountered great difficulties in their livelihood. Some walked long distances and humiliated themselves in fairs and markets and in distant villages, to bring home some livelihood. The very poor, who lived in remote alleys and in the neighborhoods of the valley, barely made a living, lived with great difficulty and all their possessions a small and rickety house that tends to collapse, a meager vegetable garden, a goat and a horse with a sherban (a simple cart); They also leased plots of land and fields from Jews and Gentiles, worked it and received half or a third of the grain. There was also a handful of small merchants, shopkeepers and artisans, but these were insignificant within the diverse community of farmers and soil lovers, whose houses hummed with life and bustle and their appearance was like a noisy beehive from the early hours of the morning until nightfall. If the year's harvest came out well, there was joy in their residence and they allowed themselves all kinds of “luxuries” such as: sewing a new and decent garment and even fur for the daughter who had reached the marriageable age, they renovated their house and bought new furniture and utensils, etc. Even in a year of drought they did not know hunger and a dire shortage, corn flour for mamaliga and potatoes were found at all times, if not in the pantries of the city's poor, then in the silos and basements of the rich, who helped and supported and aided, as befitting merciful people.
It was only a small town, but how organized and orderly was the life of its community, even if it was in the most primitive way, and with how much patience and courage.
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its simple laboring Jews bore the brunt of its existence and its day-to-day struggle. A small and poor community with five synagogues, a rabbi, two shochets, cheders, a Talmud Torah for the poor, a fund to help the sick, a loan fund, a city library (one of its founders was Reb M. M. Davidson), a bathhouse, a Chevra Kadisha, etc., and everything was at the own expense of the town's Jews, from their own money and their volunteering. A small town, but how much warmth and devotion, love of Israel and love of Zion, brotherhood and rejoicing prevailed in it beyond all kinds of argues, neighbor quarrels, “a war of opinions”, acts of competition and miserliness. Its best sons were captured by Communism. It served as a nest for a Kultur Lige (Culture League) and an extensive battlefield for Yiddish followers. And yet, this town's inhabitants are scattered over most of Israel's cities, towns and villages, and there are also those who had the privilege of staying there for a short time, when they escaped from the horrors of pogroms in Ukraine, during the First World War. In the middle of the night, a fierce and harsh winter night, when the waters of the Dniester froze, masses of Jews were smuggled across the border and after many upheavals they arrived in the town, frightened and hungry, thirsty and freezing. And when it was heard that “Jews have come”, the gates of every Jewish home opened to welcome the refugees of the pogroms, a gathering of gloomy, bowed and embarrassed Jews. A warm bed was given and hearty foods were served. And to relieve their sorrow and make them forget their poverty, the hosts burst into singing, and cheerful and enthusiastic folk songs were heard across the narrow and dark streets of the small town. And the children, who huddled together in one room and sometimes even in one bed, gathered together, stared at what was happening around them, with eyes full of compassion and mercy, and welcomed the refugee children as if they were their brothers and sisters, gave them their food and their toys, and in their soft and tender hearts, fragments of words and pieces of unclear conversations were engraved on their hearts: “refugees”, “foreigner”, “exile”...
Life in the town was monotonous, gray and stagnate. The boredom and loneliness were more severely felt mainly during the short and rainy winter days and the long and sad winter nights, when a snow storm raged outside or a heavy rain was furiously falling. In those days, when the rain and snow were so heavy that not even a dog was seen outside and the small traders in the market closed their shops and stayed in their houses, loneliness and gloominess prevailed and the whole town resembled a terrible and terrifying desert. Sometimes the silence was broken by the ringing of the bells on the necks of Moishale's horses. Moishale owned a cart and when he returned at a late hour from the district town with a handful of his passengers, after many jolts and wanderings, the sound of the ringing bells was heard all over the town, from one edge to the other, announcing that there were indeed residences here and people lived in them. “Moishale, Moishale” was heard here and there, it was the voice of someone who dared to stick his head through the half-open door, which spread a pale and weak light across the dark street: “Maybe you have a note?” This referred to a letter from the son or daughter studying at the gymnasium, in the district city. And the good and comfortable Moishale, who was tired from the toil of the road, replied quietly and softly and with a melody and rhyme: “Yes, I have, please prepare a cup of schnapps and don't put out the fire in the oven.” Moishale whipped his thin horses (“I am still pampering them more than my wife pampers me,” he used to say) and disappeared into the darkness. And once again a deathly stillness took over that was interrupted here and there by dogs' barking, cows' mooing and horses' neighing, seeking protection and shelter from the moss and cold.
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Who were these passengers, who risked their lives and set off on a winter day full of wind, rain and snow, when the weather is crazy? – Someone who was called to the courts in land matters; a bridal girl whose wedding day has already been decided and she holds in her hands, like a precious stone, a winter coat in the style of the big city, which was sewed specifically for her by the tailor in the district town; a high-school student who came to spend the New Year's break at his parents' house and some poor passer-by, which could be a beggar or a matchmaker. Wrapped in his coat and flaunting his long hair, cramped and completely thrilled, the high-school student sat in the cart, looked at the empty streets and the old, low houses with their sloping roofs, which seemed in the darkness of the night like extinguished lanterns, and pondered: “Well, for this small and deserted corner do I long so much?” And in his heart, he felt the joy, the happiness and the light that his appearance would bring to his home and his family members.
Few and meager were the events in the town that freed it, even if only for a short time, from its solitude, and dispersed the clouds of poverty and shame. And the joys? – they were, homely, tiny, almost intimate and included a wedding, a circumcision, the arrival of a guest from overseas, the arrival of an emissary from Eretz-Israel, etc. And there were days when the appearance of taxis or a bus also stirred the spirits, and caused.
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a gathering, and not necessarily of the children only, and became the talk of the day. The arrival of a traveling band or a primitive circus to town were a rare event; At such times, the commotion increased and the “preparation” before the show's evening was great. Many days after that, the main lines and the heartbreaking chants played by the comedians (an inclusive name for actors of all genders and all types), were still being sung by the local people. And if the show itself, which took place in the only narrow, dark and stuffy hall in the town that was used for this purpose, was a rare event, then the meeting with the actors was definitely an unforgettable experience. The “dessert of the show” was not held in the hall, which was more similar to a warehouse or a granary, for one simple reason: the owners of the “hall” conditioned that the hall be vacated before midnight, so that the noise would not interrupt their sleep, as their house was adjacent to the hall. Therefore, the “dessert of the show” was held at the doctor's house or the pharmacist's house. In this kind of party, only the intelligentsia participated, the doctor, the pharmacist, part of the teachers and students, some educated people, led by Yankel Borman - a warm-hearted person, full of good humor and lofty idealism, who was knowledgeable and loved reading, portly and tall, who was considered, justifiably, as the faithful representative of the intelligentsia in the town. Nevertheless, he did not find a good and respectable living for himself other than being a cart owner, and it was impossible to convince him to change his occupation. He would say: “Look how good and how pleasant it is to walk with horses! If only they would, God forbid, give me back twice as much for all those blows and whippings that I give them, then I would appear before you full of wounds and bruises and a fresh blow.” And before he finished his words he burst into a loud and strong laugh, a hearty laugh, as he blinked at his listeners with large, smiling and playful eyes and revealed his white teeth.
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The celebration after the performance sometimes lasted until the morning light with gluttony and drinking, which was not necessarily sipping tea from the “samovar” only. “Water”, Yankel Bodman would say, ”animals drink, whereas humans sip wine or, at the very least, vodka.” However, the eating and drinking were only the “anecdotes” and the main thing was the interesting and ongoing conversation about important matters and the singing! Russian romances and Yiddish folk songs filled the space of the house, songs saturated with sadness and soaked with longing, which had the grace of the Tolike, the smell of the willow and the sweetness of the cool refreshing water from the well in the courtyard of the pharmacy... and when they drank wine, Doinot[13] and fiery Hasidic tunes burst and were sung with devotion and enthusiasm and with eyes closed, which would mix and merge, at times, with the echo of the voices of the veteran worshipers in the nearby synagogue. And the people of the place who woke up early, some for the work of the Creator and some for the work of the day, a day full of toil from dawn to sunset, looked with angry eyes at that strange group, walking idly and engaged with unrealistic matters and said: “Bums!”. The people of the theater, and rarely even a writer who happened to be here, the proverb author Eliezer Steinberg, the poet Itzik Manger, etc., brought information from the great world beyond the towns of darkness and boredom. And the intelligentsia in the town told them about their loneliness and difficulties, about their dreams and hopes that were not realized, while displaying to them the special characters, natives of the place, who served as the target for their scoff due to their innocence and simplicity, ignorance and bravery.
And indeed, there were many of these characters. Each one was a world in itself. Here, for example, “The Great Yankel”, who was tall and with a solid body, it was said about him that when he chanced upon an inn from the Bessarabian inns, he would address the innkeeper with this expression: “Aunt Rahima, look at me and cook dinner”!
And here, for example, Doodle “Bolshevik” - who did not know him and recognize him? His mighty and confident voice, the strength of his hands and the power of his fists earned him a reputation in the whole surrounding and terrified Jews and Gentiles alike. And how was he “revealed” in all the majesty of his power and the glory of his heroism? This is how it was:
One day, Doodle returned with his sherban from the fair in the nearby town and in his pocket a handsome amount from the sale of his cow, this is the “red cow” that his wife commanded him to sell at any price, because it miscarried several times. And this should be known, that Doodle, the same sturdy Doodle, became a newborn baby the moment he crossed the threshold of his house and was in the company of his wife, a short, fat and beautiful woman, a nice and quiet village girl, smart and hard-working, with black and burning eyes. Doodle sat in his sherban, sang a Doina[13] as he usually did, which he recites more than Kol Nidrei,[14] and entrusted himself to his faithful horse “Vaska”, who was more knowledgeable and accustomed to the road than he, Doodle, was familiar with Ashrei.[15] And even though it was darkening and the road was empty of passers-by, he did not speed up his horse and did not give a thought about the Arvit[16] prayer service, since apart from Shabbat and holidays he did not attend the synagogue. “The tefillin”, he would say, is
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a too complicated business for me, and during the Arvit prayer, I pray with my “Vaska”, I feed him, water him and say goodbye to him for the entire night.” And suddenly, as he passed through the forest, two suspicious shadows, masked, appeared in front of him, holding long, thick oak wood sticks, and ordered him to stop, get down from the cart and hand over his bundle of money to them without delay. If they had not seized the horse on both sides of the bridle, then he might have had a chance to get out of their hands, as had already happened to him many times, but because they were smart and stood up to him “like a bone in the throat”, he had no choice but to accept the verdict. Doodle lowered his eyes, untied the reins and held them between his middle finger and his pointing finger, pretended to be embarrassed and helpless and began to descend from his seat with his whole appearance expressing submission and entreaty. But by a devil's act, his legs became entangled in the reins and he fell and prostrated himself on the ground, right at the feet of the bandits, to the cheers of their laughter and mockery at the expense of the Jew.
At this moment, something unexpected happened, before they turned on their way, Doodle's long whip was wrapped around their legs and in the blink of an eye they stumbled and prostrated on the ground and their sticks dropped from their hands. Doodle did not lose his head, he did not hesitate much, and before they recovered from their fall, he grabbed the sticks and began hitting them with all his might, and when Doodle lands blows with all his might, it means that the opposite side is close to his death. When he realized that both of them were stunned to the point of losing their senses, Doodle was not lazy, he took out a long rope from under the straw seat of the cart, tied them like two goats, lifted them as if lifting bundles of hay in the field, loaded them into the cart and went on his way, as if nothing had happened. The rumor about the “bargain find” that Doodle brought with him from the fair spread
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quickly across the town. Very soon, the yard of his house was full of people and children who came to see the show. Doodle went out to meet them as a hero that returned from the battle, all radiant and jubilant, wiped the sweat from his face and told loudly in the ears of those gathered, and in the language of the state, of course, so that the two Gentiles that tried to rob him, belittled his honor and mocked him, would also understand his words. ”Have you heard” he said loudly, “the insolence of these two stupid and filthy Gentiles?” And in front of everyone, he hit them what he missed out on the way and afterwards, he sent them away, wounded and battered, with bound hands, torn and worn clothes, unsteady legs, walking heavily, as if they were drunk but not from drinking wine...
Was Doodle unusual in the town? Not at all, but he was different from others in his nature of showing off his acts of valor and heroism. Like many others, he was also large, tall and well-built, fond of work and half ignorant, if not more than that, but eager for a challenge, ready and willing at any time and hour to skirmish, even if only for a joke. When a skirmish broke out in the town, between Jews and Gentiles, Doodle felt like a fish in the water. Suddenly, as if from under the ground, he stood up and appeared, with a smile of excitement on his face and his eyes carefully inspecting the surroundings to see if his beautiful wife is not stalking him, because the look of her eyes alone was enough to embarrass and turn him into Samson after his hair was shaved... First of all, he rushed to help of his ally, whether he was in trouble or had the upper hand, his iron fists indiscriminately struck with strength and confidence. As soon as his presence was felt, the other side was already thrown on the ground, crying out from the force of the blows and writhing in pain. Doodle exploited that moment to prove the speaking power as well, and he started to preach morals to the Gentile, cursed him vigorously and warned him.
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not to dare raise a hand against a Jew. He uttered the last words with special emphasis and pride that is not ambiguous. Sometimes, a little while after the skirmish, when the spirits calmed down, they saw Doodle sitting with his “victim” at the bar, both of them drunk and conversing nicely and kindly, as if they were soul mates...
Close to the Great Holocaust, which fell upon our people in the Second World War, at the end of the bloody events of 5696–5699 (~1936–1939) [in the Holy Land], during a visit at my Father's house, I had a conversation with Doodle.
It was the evening of Tisha B'Av.[17] It was a hot summer day outside and, in the afternoon, I went out for a short rest in the shade of one of the gardens that the environment was blessed with. In the evening, on my return home, I met Doodle, reclining excessively and at ease in a small peasant cart drawn by a white horse, which proceeded slowly and scattered a fine dust in the air. When he noticed me, he stopped his horse and invited me to get on and sit beside him, so that we would have enough time to hear the lamentation in the synagogue. I willingly agreed and thanked him for his kindness. I was sitting next to him in the cart that was loaded with sacks, bundles and small barrels packed in straw. During our conversation, without much delay and asked:
- Do you come from there, from the Holy Land?
- From Jerusalem - was my answer, hoping that this name would speak to his heart and inspire him to ask about the nature of the land in general and of Jerusalem in particular. But he didn't ask anything, but continued to say:.
- I heard that the Arabs are causing you a lot of trouble there, constantly harassing you and “beating” you properly!.
- Yes, indeed, I answered him and briefly described to him the terrible events and their consequences for the Hebrew settlement, which was fighting for its existence and its right to live and work.
Hearing my words, he cast a furtive glance at me, measuring me from head to toe,.
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he pondered a little and opened in a whisper, as if he were about to reveal a top secret which is in his heart:.
- Do you know what the tested medicine is to calm the spirits and bring peace there?.
- What, for instance? - I asked in bewilderment and with a shred of curiosity.
Doodle extended his two brave and bony hands towards me and continued, with a broad smile spreading across his tanned face:.
- A thousand Doodles like me! Bring there a thousand Doodles, brave, tall, sturdy and strong, and you will be redeemed.
I must admit, that during the siege of Jerusalem in the War of Liberation, when we were told about that miracle weapon called “The Davidka”,[18] Doodle's words echoed in my ears in all their deep and redemptive meaning...
Anyone who has not seen Doodle dancing on Simchat Torah[19] with a Torah scroll close to his chest, his face happy and shining and his mouth mumbling fragments of verses and a mix of prayers and hymns, that no one could interpret, has not seen joy in his life. And whoever has not seen Doodle conducting the Bar Mitzvah of his only son, standing in front of the crowds of guests, urging them to eat and drink, to get drunk and be happy, has never seen a happy person in his life. He went from house to house inviting people to take a part in his joy, wine was poured like water and twenty women were busy preparing the roast. It was really like a very cheerful and crowded wedding. And when the rabbi came to bless him, his face shone with joy, he was content and with a voice trembling with joy and excitement he begged: - “Rabbi,
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bless my only son, please, that he will be a good Jew, a Kosher Jew” and tears of happiness sparkled in his eyes.
Such was Doodle's nature, he was strong and tended to be involved in fights, but inside him was beating a good, pleasant and soft soul, a Jewish soul, and in this regard, he was not unique. For example, Reb Shimon “the Gentile” and his sons, or as we children of the cheder called him “Yaakov and his sons”, even though the number of his sons was somewhat less than the number of the tribes of Israel. And we, the children of the cheder, whenever we reached that dramatic chapter in the Torah: ”And Yaakov called his sons and said, gather around and I will tell you”, etc., in my mind came the thought of the tall and upright figures of Shimon and his sons, sturdy guys, men of the field and men of work, agile and diligent, quiet, brave and daring. They spent the days of the week and sometimes the Shabbats as well, in Odiots (a place of mansion residences outside the city), in hotels and cabins, near their fields, vineyards, sheep and dairy. When they came to the synagogue on holidays, they looked so strange and different in their tallitot and prayer books in their big, bony and calloused hands. Even the saddest and softest tunes, when the space of the synagogue was filled with sighs and heartbreaking wails, did not make them shed a single tear, but it seemed as if their body bowed. And when they hid their big heads in their small and narrow tallitot, they looked miserable and somewhat embarrassed. And the people of the place joked at their expense and said: They are better than their father in work, in trade and with their intelligence! It should not be concluded from this, God forbid, that the father was a scholar. His knowledge of the “tiny letters” was very little, but in Kiddush and the blessing of the food he did not have much difficulty and even reached the level of writing, although the writing and signature were unique... And here is a story about a note that he handed to a Gentile in which it was written as follows: “Git dem earl 005 sakhem kemach” that is: ”Please give.
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to the Gentile, the bearer of this note, 500 sacks of flour”. And when they came to look through his notebooks after his death, due to matters of inheritance, they discovered a mixture of black and rough lines, long and short, round and square, and sets of numbers, but it was impossible to understand their nature and meaning. And the most amazing and surprising thing was that the top of each page in the notebook was covered with a large stain, and only after a lot of work and effort did the correct meaning became clear, and it was: “I gave”. They didn't know what he meant, because all his days he was among the recipients. After another careful look, two forms of the word were discovered, one that literally meant “I gave” and the other that meant “I received” ... Here is a story about one of his sons who was called up for the reading of the Torah and asked to bless his wife who was giving birth, the cantor agreed willingly and warbled in his voice, “He who blessed”[20], but when he lowered his head and asked in a whisper: “in return for?...” hoping that surely a worthy promise will follow, but the son answered loudly and confidently: “Sarah Beyla”, that is, his wife's name.
Reb Shimon “The Gentile” had a long and tiring land dispute with Reb Berl Dimentstein, a Jewish scholar, clever and shrewd, a sharp and witty conversationalist and extremely educated. Next to holy books of all kinds, there were in his library all the volumes of Hashahar and Hashiloh[21] in shiny and magnificent leather bindings, and the poems of Judah Leib Gordon were for him the holy of holies. Seeing his short and fat stature, the deep wrinkles of his forehead, and the dark eyebrows of his eyes, one would think that he was a strict and severe person, but that was not true. He loved life and was a jokester, second to none. He used to say, “I have never seen a white foal and a foolish baby, but I have seen white horses and stupid people.” And when he was asked what kind of bride he wanted to find for his firstborn son, who was blessed with the stature of the father but not with his intelligence, he replied: “I don't care if she'll be smarter than my son and I won't be sorry if her beauty will surpass my wife's”…
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One night a fire broke out in Reb Berl's house, billows of smoke were carried into the heart of the red sky. Flames of fire, which had gripped the house, spread and mercilessly burned all the granaries that were full of grain and it seemed the whole town was on fire. They escaped and, as it was customary, all the town's people, led by Reb Shimon “Gentile” and his sons, came to save and rescue whatever was possible. These did hard work, jumped into the flames and sacrificed themselves. The next day Reb Shimon was asked: - “How is it possible? Your house is located at a large distance from the scene of the fire, both of you are constantly in dispute, debating, arguing and clashing and suddenly you and your sons came to save your opponent, him and his property? Why would you care if Reb Berl's house catches fire?” Reb Shimon jumped as if he was bitten by a snake, his face contorted in pain, he was all fired up and with his thick, deep voice shouted: “And you, may you be taken by the forces of darkness and your mouths will be sealed, what would you think, that Reb Shimon “Gentile” is not a Jew? Do you think I spend all my days in Odia and have nothing to do with Judaism? Is it anarchy? Why were we ordered to wear tefillin of the head and tefillin of the hand? To teach you that the head alone is not enough, you also need the heart, did you hear? You need a heart, a Jewish heart! From this day forward, you will know that Reb Shimon “Gentile” is blessed with a heart, a Jewish heart, whether you like it or not!”.
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