 |
|
|
[Page 122]
by R. V.
Translated by Allen Flusberg
Social life was better in little Kamenetz than in many of the other little towns of Poland. Individuals' concern for the community was very well developed in our little town, and there were many Jews who unceasingly gave of their time to benefit the community. Some of these personalities whom I remember well were Yosef Vigutov, Bendet Winograd, and others. Yosef Vigutov headed all the associations, but Bendet Winograd also worked hard for the benefit of the community. He was always ready to help others, and it was never too much for him: he worked to benefit Linat Hatzedek[3], provided aid for those in need, and before Passover worked for Maot Chittim (money for the needy to purchase matzot [unleavened bread] for Passover).
|
|
| Yosef Vigutov |
[Page 123]
As in every little town in Poland, the Jews—particularly the Jewish shopkeepers—always had run-ins with the police. The shopkeepers kept their stores partially open on Sundays, something that was forbidden by Polish law; but on Sundays many farmers came to town from the surrounding areas where they lived, and the main livelihood of the town was derived from these farmers. The policemen used to walk on patrol, giving out fines (violation summonses), and so there was a need for someone to mediate between the town residents (i.e. the Jews) and the police. Bendet Winograd was one of the few townspeople of his generation who could speak Polish. Most of the Jews of the town did not know Polish, but rather Russian or Ukrainian, the languages in which they could communicate with the farmers who lived nearby. Thus Winograd was someone who could readily mediate between the Jews and the police, and he always had his hands full providing this service.
It once happened that the police arrested three Zionist youths whom they suspected were Communists. But thanks to Bendet Winograd's patient dedication in interceding with the police officer, they released all three of them.
There was a Polish hospital in Kamenetz that was not particularly sophisticated. Its physician was a Polish doctor whom the Jews of the town did not have much confidence in, and so in practice the Jews of the town had no physician at all. Jewish communal volunteers, among them Bendet Winograd, worked hard to bring in a Jewish doctor who would move to the town—for very few Jewish doctors were interested in settling in small towns.
There was also a training group[4] in Kamenetz. Since there were not many opportunities for work available in the town, the material situation of the group was difficult, and for the most part its members required aid. Bendet Winograd was also ready to help them as well as he could.
There were many other cherished Jews in the town who were always ready to provide aid to others. The Nazi beast destroyed them all.
Blessed be their memory, all of them!
Footnotes
[Page 124]
by Professor Shmuel Eisenstadt, Tel Aviv
Translated by Allen Flusberg
My father, Yosef Meir, was a scholar and a Maskil[2]. He participated in the Chovevei-Zion Conference in Katowice[3] in 1884[4]. And he was one of the founders of the Poalei-Zion[5] movement in Russia in 1898. He had been born in the village of Chemeri[6], near Kamenetz Litowsk; where his father R. Yaakov Ber had leased an estate from Count Grabowski.
From the beginning of his youth in the village of his birth he thirsted for Torah and Haskalah, and he was searching for a way to improve his knowledge and resolve the issues that had arisen in his mind. At that time his relative R.[7] Yekutiel Rabinowitz was working as the manager of a flour mill in Kamenetz-Litowsk; he had become well known as a scholar and as one of the pioneers of Haskalah. The 16-year-old Yosef Meir had a burning desire to meet this remarkable relative of his in person and to get his help in his studies. And so, on a spring day of the year 1881, the young boy set out on foot to Kamenetz from his father's estate in Chemeri in order to visit the home of R. Yekutiel Rabinowitz.
R. Yekutiel received him warmly, and with hugs and caresses he seated him on the wide sofa. As he looked at the youngster with gleaming eyes, he sat down opposite him and began speaking, as follows: “I have already heard about your thirst to extend your knowledge, and I have also known that your path would eventually lead you from your isolated village to my house. Please feel free to come to our home often and to consider yourself like a member of the family. As you know very well, 'It is not the shy person who learns'[8], and 'Turn it over and over'[9].”
“Thank you, Rebbe Yekutiel, for your warm words and your encouragement. Had I been shy I would not have come here to pester you. I truly need your guidance and your advice,” replied Yosef Meir in a voice that shook with emotion.[Page 125]“First of all, my dear Yosef Meir, do not call me Rebbe, a title that comes with a degree of rabbinical garb…Tell me Yosef Meir, simply what kind of help you need; what is bothering your thoughts the most?”
“You probably know,” began Yosef Meir in a more courageous tone, “that all these years I have been studying with R. Simcha Grunem, who lived in my father's estate until Passover of the last year. I learned Shas[10] and Poskim[11] thoroughly. He was a first-rate Talmud teacher. He put me on a learning path that followed generations-long tradition; but articulating and thinking about the material was up to me, and many a time I found myself stalemated. Initially I tried to ask R. Simcha Grunem one or two questions; but although he is sharp and well-versed, he was unable to properly address my questions. I did not want to embarrass him, and so I stopped asking…”Rebbe Yekutiel felt he had sufficiently delved into the matter, although he could have continued on and on; but his lunch break was coming to an end, and Yosef Meir also had to leave, so that he could get home before dark. So he summarized his thoughts succinctly, saying:“You acted correctly, Yosef-Meir: you refrained from committing a great ethical wrong. For Rebbe Simcha Grunem could not explain something to you that his teachers had not explained to him. As it says, 'Rabi did not teach it, so how could Rabbi Ḥiya have known?'[12]” Rebbe Yekutiel added, in almost a whisper, “And still more: had you asked Rebbe Simcha Grunem for a clear explanation of a very difficult Biblical verse, particularly in the Book of Job, he would have mumbled on and on but not been able to explain it properly; and no wonder, for during the long rabbinical era the method of study in the old Beit Midrash [House of Study] went awry, particularly in Poland. The first thing taught to little children was not the Bible, but rather the Talmud. The children began their studies with the Tractates Gittin and Kiddushin[13], and even that was taught without extensive explanation. There was only a dry page of Talmud with the commentary of Rashi[14], and later that of Tosefot[15] and Maharsha[16]; and without distinguishing between one topic and another or between one period and another, so that the students completely lacked any concept of the nature and topography of the Land of Israel, or of Jewish history; and also of the grammar of the Hebrew language and of the language of the Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmuds…”
“I brought all this up, my dear Yosef Meir, as an example. The reason for the developmental delay of the Haskalah Movement goes much deeper. Our generation received, as a heritage from the Ghetto Era, one-sided spiritual riches that had lain folded up within the confines of the Beit Midrash. Most of our people were separated from the world, distanced from secular knowledge. We had frozen our own spiritual riches, clothing them in a narrow, religious garb, and we had been fearful of any cultural development and contact with what lay outside. The thinkers and philosophers who did arise among us were forced to separate themselves from the ghetto and to distance themselves from their own people, who stigmatized them as heretics and unbelievers.”[Page 126]“It is incumbent upon the Jewish youth,” added R. Yekutiel with particular emphasis, “to learn and to become familiar with the spiritual assets of the world: philosophy, history, and literature; and primarily natural sciences, since our people have distanced themselves from nature, from all that grows and blooms, flourishing around us.”
And as he extended his hand, warmly parting from his young relative with a fond smile, he said: “Come to me, my dear boy, during some evening next week; you can stay over with us, and I will tell you about the great luminaries of science, about Darwin and Humboldt[17]. And I will also give you books to take home so that you can look through them and study them. For out of Kamenetz will come forth teaching[18],” he ended, his face beaming even more, as he kissed Yosef Meir on the forehead.
Translator's Footnotes
by Pinḥas Ravid-Rudnicki
Translated by Allen Flusberg
A proper memorialization of a community that was destroyed by the Nazi foe should include a eulogy for its finest members. In the dreary life of the little town these people did not stand out very much. After all they were only single individuals—but perhaps it would be better to describe them as singular individuals. What characterized them was that they were unappointed, unadorned volunteers, who became committed, heart and soul, to the pioneer-Zionist movement. Since achieving this idyll was their vision, they endeavored to intellectually prepare others for the redemption of the People and their Land. More than a few of the former residents of the little town were rescued from the Inferno of the Holocaust thanks to these individuals, who had urged and goaded them to hasten their immigration. And yet they themselves remained to the last, like captains on the deck of a burning ship. They perished with all the other members of the community, sharing their tragic destiny of utter annihilation.
|
[Page 128]
In the town of Kamenetz-Litowsk one of these singular individuals was Zelig der Einbinder [the Bookbinder].
He got this name from his profession, bookbinding, in which he was involved in his earlier years—and the name stuck. His real family name was Trastnitzky[2], and in later years his actual business was distributing daily newspapers that were published in the capital city, Warsaw. Most were in Yiddish and a small number in Hebrew. As the agent for the newspapers Heint, Moment, Hatzefira, Heintike Nayes, Radio, etc., Zelig became an expert not only in distributing newspapers to the few individual subscribers, but also in forming subscription groups that consisted of 2-3 people who shared a single subscription. Once one of them finished reading a newspaper, he would pass it along to the others in the group.
It is no wonder that Zelig's job led him to know everyone in the town—and that almost everyone knew him, too. However, his activity was not limited to this profession of his, for making a living was not his main concern. He was quite willing to devote much of his time and energy to the Movement. When I use the term “Movement”, I am not referring to any particular “movement”, for Zelig the Bookbinder did not hold any particular narrow, isolated view when it came to activity supporting the revival of the People and their Land. Every Zionist organization that was active—whether to collect money for the nationalist funds, to arrange indoctrination sessions, or to send members for training and aliya [immigration to Israel]—all were dear to his heart and benefited from his support. His home was always open to potential candidates for aliya and to all advocates of the Zionist idea. He loved to quiz anyone he conversed with in knowledge of the land, in the annals of Zionism, etc. If he thought it necessary, he would explain anything that needed to be explained, preaching on the personal fulfilment that the pioneers experienced.
There were many indoctrination sessions in the town, particularly by the pioneer youth movements. Similarly, there were public fundraising events, lectures to raise money for various funds. There was practically no meeting of this type that Zelig did not attend. Being in an indoctrination session or in a meeting to solicit contributions made him feel very much like a fish in water. He would enjoy it when Zionist “stock” rose in the town; his face would then beam with endless joy.
However, Zelig was strict, a stickler when he came up against someone who deviated a bit from the original idea of national revival—for example, if in a conversation with someone he heard words and sentences that he interpreted as heretical to this idea. In particular he would be shocked by the melding of Zionism with Communism, Heaven forbid. On this point he showed no mercy: he poured his wrath out on these heretics and was able to avenge himself upon them when it was their turn to go on aliya. He insisted that these candidates not be given the requisite recommendations by the Zionist institutions on the aliya questionnaires in the applications unless they agreed to atone for their sins with “ransom”, i.e., one-time respectable contributions to the funds. Thus it was no wonder that each candidate for aliya would breathe a sigh of relief when Zelig gave him his stamp of approval, indicating he was fit to immigrate.
[Page 129]
Sermonizing, particularly to the members of the pioneer youth movements, was the main activity he was noted for. The leaders of these movements “suffered” from him, more than just a little, when he vehemently attacked them for their gentle approach to educating the younger generation. He demanded unlimited devotion to the Zionist idea. When he saw the young people dancing the hora pioneer dance, he would sigh, muttering “ho-ra!”[3]...As I recall, when a member of the Merkaz heḥalutz [Pioneer Center] one visited the town for a meeting, Zelig's colorful image was described to him by several of the attendees. The visitor suggested that we “immigrate” him—ship him off to Israel—as quickly as possible, so that we could “rid ourselves” of him and breathe freely…For by nature Zelig was very unbending, unable to change with the times.
Zelig was accustomed to “sticking his nose” into everything. There was not a single Zionist town event that he was not involved in. For example, holding elections for ḥalutz-branch committee members would give Zelig the opportunity to propagandize in support of a candidate he favored, and to pour fire and brimstone on a candidate he disliked. He was also able to absorb derisive insults from others with little concern and no qualms. His spontaneous response to everything was consistent, substantive and uncompromising.
Zelig appeared to be headstrong. In his role as the reprimanding “preacher at the gate”[4], he acquired both friends and opponents. He ridiculed the loafers who were strutting about like fine gentlemen; instead, he esteemed the young people who were engaging in physical labor. Yet since it was not in his nature to hand out compliments, very few merited his praise.
When I returned to the town from hachshara [pioneer training] in the beginning of the year 1938, a short time before I left on aliya to Israel, I found that the youth movements and the Zionist organizations there were in a state of complete stagnation. Their ranks had been thinned, emptied of youth leaders and counselors who had gone on aliya or were preparing themselves to go. This fact indirectly influenced Zelig's role, reducing it to a minimum. There is no doubt that in his heart he longed for the good old days when the pioneer Zionist activity was vibrant and thriving.
The Holocaust wiped out all the Jewish townspeople, organizations, and volunteer workers of our little town Kamenetz-Litowsk, leaving not even a remnant—nor did it spare Zelig. May his memory remain preserved among us!
Translator's Footnotes
Translated by Allen Flusberg
His activity in the Zionist Movement and in the Tarbut[2] Institute began a bit late. For many years he did not engage in any community work of any kind, not because of any indifference to public needs, but simply because no suitable area of activity—one in which he could invest his abundant energy with passion— presented itself. And then one day a lecturer came to our little town to speak on behalf of the National Committee of Tarbut. He gave a public talk on the need to establish a Hebrew-language school locally. As is well known, the vast majority of the boys of the town had been receiving a religious education in the ḥeders [at the level of beginning elementary schools] and the yeshivas, while nearly all the girls were attending the Polish public school. To attain the goal of setting up a [secular] Hebrew school, a committee, headed by Isaac Shostakowski, was assembled. Under his leadership, the committee energetically undertook laying the groundwork for the project.
However, it was no sooner than the undertaking had begun that it confronted a serious challenge: the heads of the town's yeshivas declared war—a religiously obligatory war[3]—against the enterprise, aiming all their attacks on the committee members. The townspeople were divided, some supporting and others opposing the campaign. A veritable culture war—with all the little things that come along with it[4]—had been unleashed. Yet even under these circumstances, Shostakowski demonstrated his abilities as an exceptional, bold public leader. He performed his mission fearlessly, taking on every job or role he was given. Afterwards it was not long before he was elected local head of the Zionist Histadrut [Federation], and he remained in this position, continuing to serve with great devotion.
[Page 130]
We, the members of a pioneer youth movement, held him in great esteem, even though we experienced a parting of the ways in some respects. Who knows how many fruitful years of activity supporting Zionism and establishing Hebrew culture in the town he might have been able to contribute had it not been for the approaching Holocaust?
During the short period of Soviet control of the town[5] following the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact[6], the Soviets began expropriating all the assets of private-property owners. According to eyewitness accounts, Shostakowski had the audacity to protest against this expropriation. The authorities of the new regime had him shot, putting an end to his life.
Translator's Footnotes
Translated by Allen Flusberg
Z. Ḥ. Kirschenbaum was an unpretentious Hebrew teacher who taught dozens of the youth of the town, providing them with a basic knowledge of literature, Tanach [Bible], and Jewish history. There was no Hebrew school in our town, but his private lessons served as an excellent alternative. He implanted in his students a burning love for our people and for the Land of Israel. Even before the pioneer youth movements arose, he was good at inspiring us, heart and soul, with a desire for redemption—of our people and our land.
He was proud when he observed that what he had taught his students had borne fruit. Many a time, when he would run into one of his former students in the street, he would quiz him briefly on meanings of newly coined words in modern Hebrew and on deciphering Biblical verses.
As soon as the Gordonia movement was established, it organized evening Hebrew classes for some of its members; and naturally Z. Ḥ. Kirschenbaum was invited to serve as teacher.
During some events that we celebrated—such as: the anniversary of Dr. Herzl's death, the commemorations of the Balfour Declaration and of the ground-laying of the cornerstone of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, etc.— Kirschenbaum used to give a public speech in the Large Synagogue. Since he was an emotional man, he would get excited and speak very passionately. When he would finish and get off the stage, he would approach some of his former students, feeling compelled to ask them what they thought of his speech. He would be overjoyed if they said they liked it.
As mentioned above, he was a modest person who never sought to stand out—and it was actually for this very reason that his students and everyone else who came in contact with him liked him.
[Page 131]
Like so many others, he was destined for a cruel and bitter fate in the Holocaust, perishing together with our other townspeople.
Translator's Footnote
Translated by Allen Flusberg
Asher Saperstein, too, was a well-known Hebrew teacher in the town. His best class was the Tanach (Bible) class that he taught with a pleasant melody and interesting explanations. He had a social personality and approached his students in a friendly and intimate manner that would win them over and get them to like him.
His home served not only as a classroom, but also as a meeting place for the amateur actors of the town, who used to put on various plays that he directed. Later the Gordonia movement organized a troupe of this type; it, too, was stage-managed by him. He also served as the prompter during the plays. And he would compose various monologs that he used to integrate into the program of the plays.
In the last few years before I immigrated to Israel, I didn't have a chance to talk to him very often; but when I did run into him, I enjoyed his crisp, critical analysis of community affairs. And he always had a special place in my heart for all the kindness he showed me in the old days, when we were young.[2]
He, too, was cut off, his life taken, with all the other victims of the Holocaust.[3] May his memory be a blessing!
Translator's Footnotes
Translated by Allen Flusberg
Binyamin Bogatin came from a prominent family. His father was a dentist who, when he grew old, served as a senior official in the branch of the Jewish Cooperative Bank in the town. His mother was educated and had a noble character. He and his sister Esther-Ḥana, who lives here in Israel (and may she live a long life), served as an example of excellent upbringing for the other young people. Among the local youth Binyamin stood out as an intelligent and educated young man.
In spite of the Polish education—far removed from Jewish tradition—that he received in his parents' home, he became interested in the Jewish movement for national liberation. At first he did not have a well-defined perspective. We were glad that he was contributing his intellectual capability, and we worked together with him in the educational activity of the Gordonia Movement[2]. As time passed, he grew closer and came around to be with us more often, joining our group of young people. We were very pleased by his friendship, and we enjoyed spending time together. Many a time we held discussions and debates on politics, literature, society, etc.
When a branch of Beitar[3] was established in our town, our paths diverged somewhat. He became more sympathetic to this movement, and before long he moved over to it and became one of its leaders—a deputy commander. In spite of his radical turn to the right, we continued to think highly of him because of his virtues and personal qualities. In mock trials that we held, we appeared together with him on the same stage. He approached everything seriously, practically and methodically; and the conclusions he reached as a prosecutor in such trials were well founded.
[Page 132]
After his father had died and his sister had immigrated to Israel, we used to meet from time to time at his home. I recall that when his mother became ill and her serious condition demanded continuous care, several of us pitched in to take turns caring for her at night, to ease his heavy burden. Once, when I was on duty with her, she woke up, and in a weak voice turned to me and said: “A pity that you're wasting all this strength for nothing—my days are numbered and my end is near.” And indeed, shortly thereafter she passed away.
After I immigrated to Israel, I found out that Binyamin had later moved to the nearby city of Brisk[4], where he had to some extent made a place for himself.
He, too, was one of the victims of the Holocaust.
Translator's Footnotes
[Page 133]
by Ḥaya Krakowski-Karabelnik
Translated by Allen Flusberg
Hershl was born in Kamenetz-Litowsk. His parents, Avromche and Fayga Nehama, ran a business. He was the third of four brothers. All four were well known in the town for their self-initiative and ability. They were considered part of the intellectual circle of the town.
|
Like his other brothers, Hershl Tzvi was a teacher, and for a while he served together with his brothers as a teacher in the Jewish[2] school. I, too, was one of his students.
He was known for his good temperament and relaxed attitude. He was usually cheerful and happy—humming a tune as he walked down the street.
[Page 134]
He was one of the few Yiddishists[3] in Kamenetz. He supported the Left Zionist Workers[4], who were essentially inactive in the town after the First World War. He was among the remnant of that movement in Kamenetz.
Hershl Tzvi had a broad knowledge of literature, particularly in the Yiddish language. Devoted to its promulgation, he was glad to contribute whenever an opportunity arose to take an active part in this endeavor.
He was one of the few Kamenetz townspeople who was rescued from the inferno of the Holocaust.
We were aware that he was about to immigrate to Israel from one of the refugee camps in Germany. And indeed, on the day after he immigrated in 1948, I happened to run into him on Allenby Street in Tel Aviv. Our chance meeting brought him unbridled joy.
To our great sorrow, he never had the chance to put down roots in Israel. Soon after his arrival, he was having great difficulty adjusting to life here. And then the heart disease he suffered from after he got to Israel overwhelmed him, and he died, childless, in mid-1949.
May his memory be a blessing!
Footnotes
[Page 135]
By Asher Glezer
Translated by Allen Flusberg
He was a modest man, God-fearing and learned—not only in Torah and Judaism, but also in modern secular knowledge, and especially in Hebrew and arithmetic.
As they say, “I have learned something from each of my teachers”;[2] but, of the little I still remember, I have not retained as much from any other melamed or teacher. And I recall a particularly boring school day—when I was told that on that very day R.[3] Leibl was going to be giving a class in Hebrew grammar—how unable I was to contain my excitement.
All the time that I was his student I never saw him hit any child. And I recall that once a boy—who was from the poorer class of society—came to the Talmud Torah school in the winter, wearing a very meager outfit. R. Leibl went straight to the gabbai [functionary in charge of charity], R. Michael Kaplanski, to try to see to it that the boy received some better clothing so that he could come to school, rather than having to stay home.
Anyone who passed by the window of his house late at night could see him sitting bent over some book, studying.
Footnotes
by Asher Glezer
Translated by Allen Flusberg
R.[2] Nuske (R. Nosson [Natan] Kravitsky) was fortunate to have passed away a few short years before the Nazis invaded our little town, Kamenetz-Litowsk in the province of Brisk. He apparently merited this good fortune for his sublime, good qualities and for being a God-fearing, charitable Jew who got along well with all people great and small, his pupils. (R. Nuske passed away on the 23rd of Av[3] in the year 1934.)
R. Nuske's funeral was large—for so many of the townspeople wanted to pay him their last respects with a final, unrequited kindness. R. Yosef Vigutov[4], the representative of the Jews of the town who was quite learned in Judaism, delivered a powerful eulogy. Yet with all his words of praise he was unable to articulate R. Nuske's small, everyday acts that had been engraved in all our minds, especially those of his young students.
He had a long, white beard that was always carefully combed. His black cap, with its short brim, never departed from his head. All of his simple clothing was neat, and he was accustomed to making sure that his shirt was clean and unwrinkled.
[Page 136]
We, his students and others who respected him, knew him as someone who was meticulous about Jewish observances, down to the finest details. And we were therefore careful when we were around him, so as not to upset or infuriate him. But there were two things he was particularly strict on: the observance of Yom Kippur [Day of Atonement] and the preparations for Passover.
On Yom Kippur the Mayer-Hersh Synagogue was packed. R. Nuske was careful not to start Barchu[5] before three stars were visible in the sky; only after that would he slowly begin reciting the evening service and prepare himself for Havdala[6] while his wife was standing at his side with a reverent gaze.
|
R. Nosson lived in a poor home. In the front room there was a table and stools, where we, his pupils, used to sit, drinking up his teaching with great thirst.
In his home they would bake matzot [unleavened bread] on the day before Passover— a great experience. R. Nuske was especially strict and would recruit his finest students for the job; and more than once I, too, was fortunate enough to participate in the baking of the matzot.
R. Nuske would also see to it that charity was collected for the widows and orphans. For this purpose he himself would go to the houses of the wealthy on Fridays—from one house to the next—thereby feeling the pain of the impoverished children who did not have any bread in their homes.
He was a dear man, and his memory will always be with me.
Footnotes
[Page 137]
by Baruch Mordechai Kotik
Translated by Allen Flusberg
I recall that right after the Austrians conquered Kamenetz[2], and the town was full of Austrian soldiers, a soldier stole a gold watch that belonged to our neighbor, Isaac Steinberg. My father caught him, took the stolen object away from him and returned it to its owner.
Starting with the beginning of the German occupation all employment ceased in our town; anyone who had a horse and wagon would fell some timber in the forest and bring it for sale near my father's house. My father was prepared to encourage and help each of them to the extent that he could.
|
Both Jews and non-Jews would turn to my father to settle disagreements and mediate between two claimants.
He was a devoted, enthusiastic Zionist who sent his children to Israel and was prepared to part from them even though he was in poor health. He himself wanted very much to immigrate to Israel, but did not merit it: two weeks after he passed away, he received an immigration permit.
May his memory be a blessing!
Footnotes
|
|
JewishGen, Inc. makes no representations regarding the accuracy of
the translation. The reader may wish to refer to the original material
for verification.
JewishGen is not responsible for inaccuracies or omissions in the original work and cannot rewrite or edit the text to correct inaccuracies and/or omissions.
Our mission is to produce a translation of the original work and we cannot verify the accuracy of statements or alter facts cited.
Kamenets, Belarus
Yizkor Book Project
JewishGen Home Page
Copyright © 1999-2024 by JewishGen, Inc.
Updated 24 Mar 2021 by MGH
