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My Grandma Rive had the gestures and charisma of an aristocrat, only unfortunately, she had no principality to go with it.[1]
She came from Poland but a sad fate cast her as a young Jewess into a Lithuanian shtetl located in a valley between Bialystok and Grodno.
This shtetl Krynki, which connected itself with the outside world by ox and horse carts, resembled in all its characteristics all the other towns that were in the “Tkhum” (the Jewish residential area) of Tsarist Russia: There was the shul (synagogue), the Bote-Medroshim[2] and quite a few Hasidic shtiblekh (prayer rooms or houses) of Lithuanian Rabbis[3]; also a leather factory, which was among the second most important in all of Russia.
And there was a youth that was drawn to the wide world, dreaming of shaking off all the old habits and customs of their grandfathers and fathers to create a world of freedom, brotherhood and justice.
But the shtetl additionally housed its fools and quacks. And to tell the truth, it was precisely these characters who shaped life in the Jewish residential area and drove it dynamically. They provided variety and strove to create constant curiosity and expectation.
Well, actually such a small town full of “Misnagdim”[4] condemned everything that looked like noise and tumult as sacrilege against the Holy of Holies. But the cliques of schoolchildren had fun chasing through the streets and tormenting those miserable unfortunates who came to the town from Poland for income reasons.
That they had to laboriously move forward with the ox was still the least punishment compared to the torment inflicted on them by the adults, in the form of silent scorn and derision, but by the children, in a quite open manner, when they saw the Jews coming with their long caftans, the little “goles“(exile) hats and their strangely drawn-out, singing language.
The merchants, who even came all the way from Warsaw to buy leather, survived a few days of agony with misery, only to return to their families - far away from the Lithuanian rascals. It remained bitter only for those who had to settle down, either for financial reasons or as a result of a marital union with someone from the town.
And this very misfortune came upon girls from distant and foreign lands,
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who were destined to marry a lad from Krynki and had to move to their husbands to live the life of a kosher Jewess.
They had children who were brought up to be Misnagdim and later probably also belonged to that crowd of school children who caused suffering to those Jews who so strangely lengthened the vowels “i”[5] and “o”[6].
It was precisely to this shtetl that Grandma Rive was banished - and thus torn away from her Jewish-Polish environment. And she was not spared from the attitude of the townspeople and for quite some time became the target of all kinds of mockery.
It was not only her language but also the strange contrast between the appearance of her and Grandpa Khayim-Osher that provided enough material for the small-town wisecrackers and mockers. She was tall and thin and behind closed doors they called her “Big Shabbat”[7]. In contrast, Grandpa was small in stature and had been nicknamed “Short Friday”[8].
But it was not that Grandma was annoyed that the townspeople were having fun at her expense; no, from the beginning it only aroused her defiance and stubbornness to maintain her otherness now more than ever.
She clung stubbornly to her Yiddish-Polish dialect and even many years later, as is still clear in my memory, she used to repeat her “nuu, vuus zoogstii” with special fervor[9] even longer and stronger and, on Friday, she entertained me with a piece of her potato “kigl”.[10]
Which areas in Poland she actually came from, I could not find out to this day. After all, I left the shtetl when I was still very young. I never asked my mother, peace be upon her, about Grandma Rive's origin and so her place of birth is actually not registered anywhere.
Her appearance, not only in terms of the physical aspect, was certainly very strange for a Jewish woman at that time. She had a self-confident appearance and her own perceptions of things and events. And she did not give in so quickly.
As long as she was convinced she was in the right, it was hard to persuade her. If she was defiant she had to go through with what she thought was right, come hell or high water, even if it meant taking a risk with herself and her family.
My strange Grandma Rive!
I was perhaps six years old when I listened
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to Grandpa Khayim-Osher telling the story of the shidekh, the marriage match between him and Grandma.
My Grandpa, a Slonimer Hasid, had married off his daughter, and as is the custom among the Hasids, they celebrated the “Sheve-Brokhes”[11] with large feasts. At long wooden tables the Hasids from the Slonimer Shtibl[12] sat, drank and conversed with stories and miracles of the Rabbi.
The Rabbis of other dynasties had been “excluded”, and people gave themselves up to hours of continuous debate and joyful enthusiasm.
As for Grandpa's family, they were all Hasids of the Slonim dynasty and influential people, the richest in the city, and now they begged Grandpa urgently, to tell the story of the “shidekh” with his “Polish” wife.
Thereupon, such a whimsical story unfolded that everyone listened to Grandpa's sincere narration with open eyes, quiet as a mouse, while the grandmother's figure shone in its majesty in ever greater light. It spread, grew in height over the guests, and soon encompassed the shtetl and the whole surrounding area.
Grandpa's father, Yosl, had come to Krynki at that time from the village of Tsherezbug[13], which the town Jews mistakenly called “Tsherebukh”.
He, a Jewish merchant, traded in wood and manufactures, and for this he traveled throughout the great “Tkhum Hamoyshev”[14], to Volhynia, to Rasin and Poland.
In a Polish town he befriended an innkeeper, moved in with him, and virtually became a member of the family there. The innkeeper owned a house, and in it there were children - but above all five grown-up daughters.
Yosl “Tsherebukh” was a passionate man, and one Shabbat, after the cholent meal, and after several sips of brandy, both Jews - Yosl Tsherebukh and Moyshe the Schenker (the Innkeeper) - decided to crown their friendship with a marital union.
“I,” said Yosl, “have a lad at home who sits and learns diligently. An upright and honest man he is, and no financial problems he knows. So let us become relatives!”
Thus they gave each other the holy handshake[15] and after the havdole[16] they concluded the tnoim[17]. The day of the wedding was agreed upon, which, according to custom, was to take place in the bride's little town.
When the holiday approached, Yosl returned
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from his journey and summoned Khayim-Osher to inform him that he was hereby a happy bridegroom. And to his near ones he informed that they may prepare themselves for the wedding.
Already several weeks before the wedding, the carriages with the groom and his closest relatives rolled out of Krynki. The roads were bad, and it was necessary to prepare for a lot of time that the journey would take until the arrival in the Polish town.
On the wedding day, they prepared for the (new) relatives in the bride's house. But from the “Litvakes”[18] there was not the slightest sign. They had lost their way. Night fell, but nothing was heard or seen of the “Litvakes”. The bride's house was in a catastrophic mood. It was not until late at night that the message finally came, “They have arrived!”
The Poles ran out to receive the groom's family.
The bride was burning with curiosity: what does her intended one look like? Is he tall? Is he handsome? Is he a Jewish lad who resembles the son of the big landowner who always comes to the tavern with yellow boots and a whip in his hand?
Rive was a personality! A tall one, a confident one with brown hair and expressive eyes. Surely, she thought, he takes after Yosl, his strong, tall and broad-shouldered father with the thick blond beard.
Her curiosity drove her. Secretly, she sent one of her sisters downstairs to look through the window into the parlor where the men were staying and see what her groom looked like. It remains a mystery how her sister found out who among the many strange men was the groom, in any case, she told her sister that he was a personality.
But when the groom came and put the veil over her face, she saw him - and she felt sick. And when everyone was preparing to go to the “khupe”, the wedding canopy, the bride refused to go. She would not budge. There was an uproar; they harassed her.
But she persisted:
“Naain, naain, for such a little creature I will not go!”[19].
Not even the moral sermons moved her. She remained stubborn. Her father's Rabbi threatened her with all the punishments of hell. Her mother fainted, her father screamed and raved, her sisters cried, and the “Litvakes” stood there quite perplexed and awkward.
“Why won't you go to the Khupe?” the Rabbi asked her. “A Jewish daughter must not shame a Jewish lad. It was finally decided to have a shidekh, by a holy handshake!”
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Bitter and difficult is the fate of a Jewish daughter.
“Rabbi,” she said, “how can I marry such a little creature? The children will look like him!”
Thus the Rabbi pronounced a blessing on her:
“Your children and your children's children will not look like him!” So she gave in. This blessing had broken her stubbornness. But her dream was over. She went to the khupe and after “Sheve-Brokhes”, she drove away together with the foreign Jews- away from her parents, sisters, brothers, friends, relatives and comrades; away from the carefree youth, from father's house, and from his psalm-singing on Shabbat evening.
She lost herself in the unknown, strange somewhere, among Jews with strange rituals and a strange, harsh language. There she went with the special blessing of the Rabbi, away to that “little creature”
Would the blessing come true?
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Translator's footnotes:
Grandma Rive not only brought the Rabbi's “brokhe” (blessing) , but also her Yiddish-Polish dialect with her to the shtetl. Never before had she embraced the strange flavor of her language as she did there, after her arrival in the valley of the little Lithuanian town.
Because there it had an important meaning for her. With the help of her long-drawn dialect, she was able to maintain a connection with her (former) household: her father, her mother, her brothers, her sisters, with her old home, and not least, with all her dreams.
Her Yiddish-Polish language only aroused in her more resistance to the new town, to the Jews there, and to the “little creature” who had become her husband. The more people were amused by her linguistic expression, the more doggedly she clung to it. She took particular pleasure in using her dialect in front of the townspeople.
On purpose she came to the butcher's store just when it was crowded with other customers, and in her serene but very drawn-out way of speaking, she used to order the “find flaisch” (pound of meat) or ask for a “ling” (lung).
The women then winked at each other, laughed silently to themselves, and looked at her like a savage who, God forbid, had been dragged from far away places.
The winking and laughing, however, only made her prouder. She looked the women straight in the eye and, with a tossed “gitn tung” (good day), she then strutted through the streets, basket in hand, toward her house feeling very pleased with herself for being “different”; after all, she was the only one who had attracted special attention.
And Grandma wanted to be “different” with all her might! She wanted to make everyone feel, and know, that she stood out from others and went her special way.
She loved to grab attention in her surroundings and impress everyone, be it with her confident figure or even with her different language.
Everything that happened outside, she tolerated. But in her house she shaped every little corner and took all activities there into her hands.
Grandpa was only the “little one.” He was not really of substance to her, but only a something that had been grafted onto her through the Rabbi's blessing. And that very blessing created in her a martyr complex. She believed,
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that it was her destiny to suffer for the sake of the “brokhe”. The blessing lived in her and gave her hopes for later, both in the form of children and grandchildren, and for a happy afterlife[1] that would be granted to her: namely, for the mitsve[2] to tolerate such a man, such a shtetl with such Jews, and on top of that to have been chased away and cast out into homelessness, away from her parents and neighbors.
Rive now lived only for the brokhe. With great anxiety she watched her first child grow up. What would happen if the brokhe did not come true and her boy, Perets, took after his father? So time passed, and one day she saw that the boy was already taller than his father. The brokhe had indeed come true!
All of a sudden, Rive felt that she had taken root. Everything now belonged to her: the shtetl, its people and also its language!
After all, it was the language of her son - and the blessing was revealed through him; because of him, hopes and dreams were revived. Her son did not speak like her; to him his mother's different way of speaking sounded rude and weird, and when she called him with “kimm ahier!”[3], it seemed strange to him.
However, if she now spoke like her son, it would create a close relationship. But if not, she thought, he would, after all, become very much like his father; for the boy was simply more familiar with his father's mannerisms and his way of speaking.
Thus, Rive began to listen more closely to the sound of the Yiddish-Lithuanian dialect. She tried to communicate better with her son - and with her other children who were born year after year.
She began to alienate herself from her dialect, with all its elongations, and to reject it. She got used to saying “meat” and “come here.” But on those days, when she was stricken with loneliness and sorrow, she would stretch out on the bed, dressed as she was, and stare at the ceiling remembering, in Yiddish-Polish dialect, her youth in the shtetl with her parents and all those close to her.
And so there were times when she wept bitterly, with longing and the pain of life, over her fate; the terrible estrangement from all who had been near and familiar to her and had caressed her.
The duties of life and the bustle of children soothed her longing a little.
Then, all at once, she realized that it was imperative that she keep a watchful eye on all things, even the smallest, for otherwise everything would crumble like dust.
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Rive realized that she could not rely on her husband. The financial support that her father-in-law, Yosl “Tsherebukh” had granted the young couple for 5 years had already been exhausted. However, three new little souls had already been added in exchange.
Khayim-Osher simply did not know how to face the duties of daily life. He did not know what occupation he could pursue to provide a living for all the family members.
His father Yosl had grown older and did not want to travel around. He limited his business to the surrounding area.
In his hands was the entire trade of “dub”. This was an article made from tree bark, which after a drying process was crushed and sold to the leather manufacturers.
This shredded bark called “dub” was very important for the processing of leather, especially for the “wet” tanning techniques[4]. Yosl also took the “Korobke”[5] of the shtetl under his wing.
As Yosl grew even older, one of the younger sons, Yisroel-Toivye (Tuvia) took over the business. Yisroel-Toivye was completely different from his older brother, Khayim-Osher, both in appearance and in his approach to life in business matters.
Yosl Tsherebukh began to rely completely on his younger son, while he himself was engaged in “Toyves-Haklal”[6]. Yosl strongly engaged in city affairs and, with his own money, built a Bes-Hamedresh, which became known as “Kavkazer Bes-Hamedresh”. The name was given to this “House of Prayer” because of the area, or rather, district of the city, which was called “Kavkaz” (Caucasus).
Once upon a time, the “strong boys” of the shtetl had lived there, a gang known as “Akhim”[7], “the brothers”.
In his Bes-Hamedresh, Yosl assumed the function of a “Gabbai”[8]. He was engaged in charity, and when travelers stopped for a rest in Krynki, they knew only too well that when they arrived at the “Kavkazer Bes-Hamedresh,” everything would be taken care of: a night's lodging and a meal for the guests.
As long as Yosl lived, he took care of Khayim-Osher and his household. Khayim-Osher, meanwhile, sat in his father's Bes-Hamedresh and studied.
During that time, the Yeshive[9] was also housed in the Bes-Hamedresh, and Khayim-Osher studied[10] there along with the Talmud students.
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It seems that Khayim Osher's family never really lived comfortably and contentedly.
Khayim Osher was a Jew who did not care about all worldly-material things. A desire for wealth seemed foreign and absurd to him, and so he looked with disdain upon his younger brother Yisroel-Toivye and his commitment to material pleasures.
He had his own philosophy of life. Like all very pious people, he regarded the earthly world as a kind of antechamber through which a person had to pass in order to reach the afterlife. The true profession of a Jewish person, he used to say, was to accumulate as many mitsves as possible in order to earn a (happy) existence in the world to come.
As a result of his attitude to life, money meant nothing to him; in fact he did not know what it was exactly.
I still remember how, in his old age, he took the greatest pleasure in warming himself in winter by the stove of his son-in-law Dodye, the baker.
His whole attitude toward life becomes even clearer when I relate the following:[11]
The wealthiest people of the town, all factory owners and merchants, belonged to his family. Nokhem-Anshel Kinishinski, the biggest leather manufacturer of Krynki, was his “cousin” (on his wife’s side). The latter, that is, Nokhem-Anshel's wife Roshke, was Khayim-Osher's biological sister's child (niece)[12].
Grandma Rive was not only very angry about her poverty, but also about the fact that her husband was so indifferent to worldly life and did not feel the need to provide his family with at least the bare necessities.
She constantly compared him with his rich relatives to make him realize even more what a good-for-nothing he was.
“Now just look at Nokhem-Anshel!” she criticized him bitterly, “of the same family he is, of the same blood and flesh! But he's an influential, distinguished man - and you can't even manage to support your family!”
But Khayim-Osher never got upset about it. He did not get excited, but tried to make her understand in his soothing way how null and void[13] human “tkifes” were.[14]
Then, when she had calmed down a bit and unloaded all her grievances, Khayim-Osher used to calmly explain to her:
“What is the value of man's wealth? What happened yesterday is already over, so what difference does it make now?
Well, a person may have eaten something better yesterday, but then it is already gone - eaten up! And in relation to today? Well, it does not matter, Nokhem-Anshel eats just a piece of meat and I eat only dry bread, however, we both are alive!
But tomorrow? You see, this is important: what tomorrow is, none of us knows, I don't and he doesn't either! The future is in God's
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hands! And so we must ask Him and place our hopes for the future in Him!”
When his father Yosl was alive, Khayim-Osher never demanded anything from him, nor did he mind that his younger brother, Yisroel-Toivye, had brought all of his father's business enterprises under his supervision and control.
In my grandmother, however, it blazed like fire. She used to make demands of her father-in-law, but Yosl rejected them. He did not want to put the management of his business in Khayim-Osher's hands. However, he promised her that Khayim-Osher would never do anything wrong in the next 120 years.
And besides, he would receive his share of the inheritance.
However, Khayim-Osher was not destined to become an heir. His father died suddenly of a stroke while praying. And the sole heir of the legacy became Yisroel-Toivye.
Translator's footnotes:
Yosl Tsherebukh's sudden death left all his children orphaned. His inheritance remained exclusively in the hands of Yisroel Toivye.
Besides Grandpa Khayim Osher and Yisroel-Toivye, Yosl had had a son and a daughter.
His daughter Shoshke's husband was a leather manufacturer and, for various reasons, had to flee to America.
One of the sons, Borekh Mair (Meyer), traveled to Wolin, married there, and was not heard from again until, some twenty years later, he came to Krynki to earn a dowry for his daughter.
Khayim Osher did not resent the fact that the complete inheritance had passed to his brother; he never fought for his own claims and was never angry with him. But Grandma could not accept this and found no peace. She dragged Yisroel Toivye to the Rabbi and used to litigate against him constantly.
And there was not a single thing that Grandma Rive did not finish.
But what she ultimately achieved was to sow discord in Yisroel Toivye's entire family. In connection with the inheritance, she also made sure that the inheritors took the surname “Tsherebukh” as a legacy. But pronouncing and associating this surname used to mean scorn and enmity. This name became a synonym of wickedness. Now forever the descendants of Yisroel Toivye remained the “Tsherebukhs”.
After Yosl Tsherebukh's death, the need became even greater. Grandpa Khayim Osher became a “Gemore teacher”[1]. All “Khosn-Bokherim”[2] learned with him.
However, to all appearances, he did not derive any income from it. He himself only dealt with the subject matter.
And so Grandma had to go out herself to collect the school fees, which brought her very little. In the end she persuaded Grandpa to give up his teaching job and look for a new livelihood.
Well, the naive Grandpa Khayim-Osher, what could be suitable for him?
He was not suited to, and did not have the right attitude towards, regular work. He had no idea at all of what people called “khayune”3].
Grandma made heaven and earth move. In addition to providing a permanent livelihood, there was also the dowry for the daughters to think about.
The
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oldest boy, Perets, was sent to an apprenticeship as a “Toker” (turner). And until the end of his life, his work was associated with his name: The townspeople called him: “Perets, the Toker”.
The only thing that came to mind for Grandpa was to become an employee of the Jewish community. And since his father had built the “Kavkaz” Bes-Hamedresh, Grandma Rive came to the conclusion that Grandpa was entitled to the position of a Shames, a synagogue servant, in this Bes-Hamedresh.
They went to Yisroel Toivye, the community gathered and Grandpa became, “with Mazel” (luck), the Shames in the Bes-Hamedresh that his father had built. This probably remained all the inheritance he received.
The larger the family and the older the children became, the more Grandma took control of the family members into her hands.
Grandpa did not wrestle with her for leadership and influence. In general, he did not concern himself with what happened in the house, because it was not there that his center of life was, but only in the Bes-Hamedresh.
Grandpa's words were not followed anyway, because he never insisted on their abidance. Rive had begun to run everything with a sure and strong hand. She introduced a strict discipline and none of the children ever dared to contradict her.
She not only dealt with their education, but also regulated their lifestyle and behavior.
She chose the professional activities for the children and likewise determined their spouses.
Inside, her children may not have loved her. Well, she herself did not receive love and attention from her own life either. Her influence was limited to a few family members. In the shtetl, however, she remained a stranger. For the “Litvakes”, the Lithuanians, she remained a “stranger from the boondocks”, and they punished her by calling all of her children, except for Perets, whom they gave the surname “the Toker”, after their father's name and not hers.
So they added the name of the father to the first name of each of their children. Such as: Mashe Khayim Osher‘s, Yisroel Khayim Osher‘s, Yente Khayim Osher‘s.
She hated the rich and distinguished relatives, but at the same time tried to betroth her children to the rich and powerful. Because through the marital connections of the children, she herself hoped for a more elevated status within society.
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She could not stand the rich and powerful, and would not tolerate Grandpa going to them now and then as a guest for a meal. She herself also never wanted to come to them for family celebrations or feasts, and usually punished Grandpa for it when he visited the rich Nokhem Anshel for “honey cake and schnapps”.
He used to keep his guest visit a secret from her. But Rive noticed immediately if he had been there. For Nokhem Anshel's wife Roshke, it was a custom to invite Grandpa on the days before parties for “honey cake and schnapps”. Then, when he came home a little tipsy, Grandma already knew where he had been and not only scolded him, but also inflicted suffering on him.
It was easy to deceive my Grandpa. He could not understand at all how one person could deceive and cheat another. He simply believed everything.
For him, life in this world had only one purpose: to do good deeds and behave like a decent Jew.
He did not need to recite lies and tell fibs. His life was oriented in such a way that he did not feel the need to deceive anyone or obtain anything by trickery.
His credulity was a nuisance for Rive. She thought he was a good-for-nothing and controlled him with a hawk's eye. However, even she could not prevent him from being seduced or deceived.
For her, it was considered an act of stupidity and clumsiness to be invited by the rich relatives.
But just as he had a lot of problems because of her, it was also the other way around. He also caused her heartache because of his diminished sense of reality.
His relatives knew him only too well, and a few times tried to exploit him for their own benefit.
Khayim Osher felt very sorry for Rive. He wanted to win her over with something in view of her difficult life, but he did not know how and with what.
Grandma Rive, with all her stubbornness, also had a tendency to faint. When she realized that she was absolutely no match against certain odds, she used to suffer a fainting fit.
Often, this was a hysterical reaction, but a few times it was also done to attract attention.
The fainting fits she played on the children, namely when a child refused something in relation to her instructions and wishes.
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However, she never used to manipulate Khayim Osher with this trait. But once, after an evil prank was played on him, she actually fainted.
From the entire inheritance, there were quite a few benches left on the eastern side of the “Kavkazer” Bes-Medresh. To my grandmother, these were very precious and she swore that no one would take these benches away from her as long as she lived.
However, the influential Yisroel Toivye had it in for the benches. It is not clear why he wanted these benches so badly from Grandpa. Presumably, he was not comfortable with Grandpa's family claiming the east side of the Bes-Hamedresh, which their father Yosl “Tsherebukh” had built.
For Grandma, however, those benches actually meant “her life.” With a bit of haughtiness, she used to take her place on the east side of the women's section, surrounded by her daughters and daughters-in-law: Then she looked down with pride from the Ezres-Hanoshim[4] to her sons-in-law on the east side of the Bes-Hamedresh.
Her sons were Slonimer Hasids.
Yisroel Toivye himself did not use to pray in the Bes-Hamedresh. He owned the benches on the east side of all the Bote- Medroshim, including in the cold shul[5]. To pray, however, he went to the Slonimer Shtibl.
Grandpa Khayim Osher was also a Slonimer Hasid, and never used his bench in the Bes-Hamedresh. He was primarily the Shames there and took every opportunity to sneak into the Slonimer Shtibl. The benches were used only by his sons-in-law, and by his daughters-in-law and daughters.
Grandma used to take very pronounced possession of her place on the east side. It gave her security and underlined her prestige and importance.
Yisroel Toivye tried several times to “grab” these benches.
But Grandma fought him stubbornly. For a while he let go of his ambition to get hold of the benches. But he did not give up his desire. He had set his mind to it and was a man who finished everything he set out to do.
Besides, it did not suit him at all that a stranger from Poland could win the fight and make a fool of him. Once he came running into the Bes-Hamedresh quite innocently. Supposedly he just wanted to see how my Grandpa was doing. He invited him to his place as a guest, and when Grandpa was already a little tipsy after a few sips of liquor, he took the opportunity to talk to him about the benches
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“Khayim-Osher, what are the benches good for, what do you need them for? Let's make a contract and sign them over to me!”
Grandpa admitted that he actually didn't need them. “But,” he said, “what will Rive say?”
But Yisroel-Toivye waved it off, “For her I have a present, namely Mother's fur coat!”
Just at that time, Grandma was sitting on the porch and saw Grandpa, who was in good spirits, coming with a fur coat in his hand. When she saw the coat with the shabby, shed fur that had been lying around in Yisroel Toivye's attic, she knew right away that he had swindled something (from Grandpa).
But when she learned that it was the benches that Grandpa had signed over to Yisroel Toivye, she didn't scream out, but just waved her hands and fell unconscious to the floor.
Translator's footnotes:
Grandma Rive had a difficult fate. She had been thrown out far away, and in such distant places that she could not visit her parents, brothers and sisters even once. She was all alone now among strangers, with a man who had no meaning for her and remained unfamiliar to her. She did not have a single close person, not even distant relatives around her.
But the more Rive was plagued by loneliness, the more pronounced her hostility became towards her husband's family. She passed on her hatred of the “Tsherebukhes” to her children, and all the other descendants of her husband's family could not escape her contempt either.
With the “Tsherebukhes,” Rive used to have only extremely rare contact. She also did not have much to do with the children of her husband's sister, Shoshke. She used to mockingly call their eldest son “Yisroel the Great”. And by that she didn't mean his tall stature, but labeled him a big fool.
Whenever she wanted to show him that he was not clever or that he had done something stupid, she called him “Yisroel the Great”.
Yisroel himself - whereby there were about ten Yisroels in the family - did not like Grandma very much either. He was also rarely in Krynki, for he married a girl from Grodno, and a great personality at that.
Grandma felt sorry for her and used to say all the time that something must not have been right, that such a personality became the wife of this “Yisroel the Great.”
Whenever Yisroel came to Krynki, he would give Grandma's house a wide berth. He was friends only with the “Tsherebukhes”, that is, Yisroel Toivye's children.
The only one of her husband's family whom Grandma treated with respect was Yosl Pontes. Yosl was a locksmith, a very gullible man. His brother, an extremely devoted and hardworking student, traded the rabbinate chair in Kaunas for a trading company.
Another brother lived in Grodno. When Grandma went there, she always stayed with the Gendlers‘. She was especially fond of Gendler's wife, who was descended from “Rashbam”[1] - and the family name was indeed “Rashbam's”. She could not praise the relatives in Grodno highly enough; she especially liked going there and appreciated
[Page 24]
spending time with this family. By the way, Gendler's eldest daughter, Peshe, was the wife of the author Ahron Karlin.
Grandma forged the marital bonds for her children; and she used to exempt the sons-in-law from military service herself. The only one who resisted exemption was my Dad. For he had given her a wrong age. Instead of being called up at the age of 21, he had already committed himself to military service at 19.
In fact, his father, after an experience with his son, who had died, had indicated that he was a few years older. In general, his father was of the opinion that his sons should do their military service when they were still very young. For he calculated that if they were not drafted until they were 21, they would return as “old boys.”
My father also had a reason for not telling his grandmother his real age. He really liked to make a show of himself.
He liked to adorn himself with the “uniform”. Even when he had already completed his military service, he joined the municipal fire brigade, the “Pozharner Komande”, and used to dress up with special pleasure in the fire department clothes, which consisted of a uniform jacket with shiny brass buttons, plus a brass-colored hat with two cap visors (which we called “Kozirokn” in our country) and a wide leather belt with a brass buckle on which was carved an eagle, the emblem of the Russian Empire.
When father put on these clothes and put the axe in his belt like a sword, his face beamed with joy.
The marital unions that Rive forged were not all successful. Because of her unshakable self-confidence, she got her children into trouble. She put all her eggs in one basket, and with unyielding stubbornness she insisted on carrying through all her plans, even with regard to the chosen ones for her children.
She married her eldest son, Perets, to a girl from the nearby town of Sokolka. It was supposed to be a very wealthy match, but something got out of hand, and all that remained of the “lap of luxury” was the “lap”.
My uncle Perets did not love his wife. She was a good and well-behaved woman, but she said a lot of stupid things. Unfortunately, she was punished by the fact that she knew exactly what her husband's family thought of her -
[Page 25]
that is, nothing. Grandma thought she was “meshugge”, and this opinion was transmitted to all her children and even to the grandchildren.
Perets was a smart man and the only one with whom Grandma used to consult. When her other children had something on their minds but did not want to bother their mother, they would come to him with their personal problems.
Perets was an ardent Slonimer Hasid, and turning to Hasidic philosophy provided him with a substitute for all the life he had not really lived. By the old Slonimer Rabbi, and later by his son Shmulik, he was considered one of the very respected Hasids. And often he risked his life to protect the Rabbi against the misnagdic gangs of children, who threw lumps of garbage and old rags at the Rabbi and the Hasids when the Rabbi came to Krynki, for “praven tishn”[2].
When the Rabbi used to come, it meant “danger to life and limb” for the Hasids. The widespread scorn and derision of their parents regarding Hasidic Rabbis further encouraged the school children. My grandfather, that is, my father's father, was a dogged “Misnaged” and hated the Hasids.
He counted them among the “idolaters.” And this view prevailed among almost all the Misnagdim of the Shtetl.
Often there were even physical assaults. The Hasids used to resist, and as a result, brawls would break out.
Uncle Perets would then usually stand directly in front of the Rabbi and protect him with his body so that all the lumps would hit him.
These assaults always happened on Shabbat afternoon, when the Rabbi had gone to the festively set table in the circle of the Hasids. Whenever the Hasidic people were about to divide the “Shirayim”[3] among themselves, they were pelted with lumps of garbage and rags.
There were times when a Hasidic guard would block the entrance to the “misnagdic” gang of students, however, at that time this had even worse effects.
The gang usually broke the windows and threw stones at the Hasids. Many people were injured at that time.
And it must be understood that the Slonim Hasids were not of the type of the Polish Hasids. They were rather matter-of-fact, sober people. They lacked the euphoria and flaming passion of the Polish Hasids. Only one of them, Shmuel-Khonen, was a hothead and perhaps had the spark of a Polish Hasid in him - which caused the Slonimer Hasids to consider his behavior even a little exaggerated.
[Page 26]
Uncle Perets was also a “moderate” Hasid, but compared to the others, he was full of fiery passion. If he risked his life for the Rabbi, it was a holiday for him. It gave him the opportunity to increase his notice and prestige, and so he usually waited with impatience for the Rabbi's visit to Krynki.
However, the Rabbi rarely came to Krynki in view of the attacks of the schoolchildren's cliques, although many rich Hasidic people, and indeed large leather factory owners, resided there.
Grandma married her daughter to a rich butcher from Glusk, near Bobruisk. She exempted him from military service and arranged for his settlement in the shtetl. However, he was not a decent man. He did not spend any of his wealth. Moreover, he shamed his entire family. He often got drunk and caused scandals, so my Grandma made efforts to drive him out of town. She finally forced him to take his wife and child and return to his home, Glusk. She actually wanted her daughter to divorce him, but the latter apparently loved her husband very much, and Grandma eventually became disappointed in her and gave up.
She also never went to visit her daughter. Only when she was much older did she allow herself to be persuaded and went to see her. But even when she came back, she rarely talked about her.
Her other children had correspondence with Malke, but Grandma never wrote to her. She silently lamented and wept over her daughter's fate.
Grandma married her second daughter to a Bialystok baker. His father had been a writer, a “soyfer”, and his surname was indeed “Soyfer”, whereby he called himself “Sofer”.[4]
Her son-in-law, Dodye, a curious man and quite a scoffer, liked to hear and tell good jokes and took great pleasure in laughing his head off at people and their foibles. He loved to twist people's names with particular skill.
He was also quite a cynic and had little faith in people. He let himself go all the time, only on Shabbat he would put on different clothes.
With him, everything was messy and nothing was where it belonged. He was a very good baker, but his sloppiness prevented him from becoming wealthy. He could have truly bathed in wealth, but he never kept balance sheets or an account.
[Page 27]
He sold his bread both in the house and at the market, where his wife, Dvoyre, stood in her “butke” (a small wooden stall). Peasants came to his house to buy bread and drink tea. They could also buy liquor from him and cigarettes, which he offered rolled up in a banderole.
He used to put his earnings in a drawer on the table, which was always open for all to see. As soon as he turned away, any sinful person could quickly reach into the drawer and take out money.
He had a son, Yisroel-Moyshe, who was only a year older than me, but actually looked about five years older. Yisroel-Moyshe was a little spoiled.
His parents guarded him like the apple of their eye, for he was the only remaining one of three children. His mother had had him under difficult circumstances. At that time, unfortunately, she had to serve a sentence because of her good nature.
Because of an incident with her father-in-law, there was a court hearing at that time. She gave false testimony for him, but the prosecutor was able to prove that she had sworn untruthfully, and so she was sentenced to three years in prison.
She then gave birth to Yisroel-Moyshe in Grodno prison. His grandfather and grandmother raised the child until his mother was released.
Of all the cousins, I was friends only with Yisroel-Moyshe. We both used to save pocket money that we had previously taken from his father's table drawer. With the money, we would buy cider, toys and various sweets.
Yisroel-Moyshe, after all, was practically bathed in money. He learned early to drink spirits, and since he was quite liberal with his money, different young good-for-nothings constantly gathered around him.
Uncle Dodye did not like Grandma. He couldn't stand her always trying to meddle in his affairs. She, in turn, didn't like him much either.
My Grandma never allowed any of her children to escape her control; even after their marriage she wanted to keep them under her wing.
This is what she did with her daughter Malke, whom she sent away only
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when she could no longer bear the disgrace caused by her son-in-law, Sender.
She did the same with her second daughter, Dvoyre. When the latter married, she did not allow her to leave the shtetl.
She exempted the son-in-law from military service - but he could never free himself from his “kile” (inguinal hernia). All his life, he carried this stigma, so that everyone knew why he had been exempted from military service.
Translator's footnotes:
Grandma Rive had a big heart full of love for all her children. But again and again, something tended to get out of hand, and so it happened that love became one big nagging and scolding. She simply could not watch calmly when things around her did not go according to her sense of orderly processes. And then, just when she was struggling to eradicate these “ailments,” new and even bigger ones promptly came along.
She was someone who wanted to keep all the strings firmly in her hands, because after all, she thought, only she could bring everything into orderly structures. But this firm conviction of hers led permanently to quarrels and malice.
Just the sight of her son-in-law Dodye running his business put her in a panic. Nor could she bear to see her daughter Dvoyre toiling from early morning until late at night in her little wooden shack where she sold bread.
Dvoyre was just like her Dad, naive and good-natured, and could not say no. She accepted every job with devotion. At dawn, all by herself, she dragged a cart with bread to her bread stall, the “budke”.
(Let me tell you now) about Palyuk the Mute, a goy with flaming red hair, who was probably raised by Pavel. He hauled water and chopped the wood needed for the oven in the bakery.
This Palyuk was often seized by fits of laughter that could last for hours without stopping. All of a sudden, the laughter would burst out of him, and he would roll and writhe with laughter, which would turn into exhausted sobs. Together with the crickets, whose song sounded incessantly from the baker's oven, a strange symphony was created.
But whenever Palyuk got a laughing fit, there was no one to bring Dvoyre the bread or small meals. Dodye preferred to stretch out on the stove, which was flat as a board, and slumber. Palyuk's laughter merely announced to him that someone else had to bring Dvoyre the cart with the bread.
However, the only son in the house, Yisroel Moyshe, was very lazy and always found an excuse to avoid activities that might help his father or mother.
[Page 30]
Dodye was an extremely hot-tempered man, and when anger seized him, he threw anything he could get his hands on. He had split more than one head in the meantime with a piece of wood, which he used to throw down from the stove immediately at whoever dared to anger him.
And since there were more than enough pieces of wood on the stove to dry, he always had one at hand.
If Yisroel did not want to obey while Dodye was lying on the stove, the pieces of wood would immediately pelt down. Yisroel Moyshe, however, was already trained to duck quickly, and the result was that the log would hit a valuable object in the house or a person standing to one side.
So it happened one day that my younger brother, Mair (Meyer), was hit by a piece of wood that split his head, but I can tell you[1] that he is now a famous surgeon in Newark!
Poor Aunt Dvoyre suffered additionally from worms in her stomach! We called them “geytsen”. In general, she was always suffering from something and in pain. But she had no time to take care of it, because she was constantly ” harnessed tightly to the plow” and was toiling away. Although everyone needed little to live on, often the proceeds were not enough, and the money that went in, immediately ran out again.
Grandmother was very distressed to watch Dvoyre with her worn-out body hitched to her cart and, sick as she was, dragging it, loaded with bread, to the market.
She couldn't stand the fact that Dodye's money was just trickling out, and his house seemed to be a regular “public place” (where everyone went in and out as they pleased). And when she saw the open table drawer, she got really angry.
Dodye, however, did not allow her to interfere. He was a stubborn bullhead in general and used to resist doggedly and stubbornly.
They just couldn't stand each other - and as for her, she had no other name for him than “Trup”, which means “corpse”. It probably had something to do with his appearance: he had a sparse light blond beard, which sprouted only on his chin. And both the beard and his face always looked the same yellowish pale. He had a lot of strong hair on his head, but it was never combed and always dusted with flour.
He loved to play cards with a good sip of brandy. Towards strangers he was like a good brother, but to his own relatives he tried (to stay with his nickname “corpse”) to bring suffering from “under the earth”.
[Page 31]
But he was very fond of me, because I made life a misery for both my Mom and Grandma. I was a good buddy for him and could enjoy all the good things he kept for sale to the goyim.
I loved the fresh bread when it came out of the oven. And I had special fun with the challah bread. This was a type of bread that was baked foursquare instead of round, as normal breads were. And this bread had a special advantage: on two sides there were soft parts that I could pluck out. When I was done, some of the loaves looked more like gnawed corn on the cob.
But Dodye did not care. He knew that he would get his reward - in the form of the grief that I would bring to Grandma Rive.
He really liked my Grandpa, Khayim Osher. Because, first of all, he, Khayim, didn't even try to tell him what he thought. And secondly, he felt sorry for Dodye that he had such a woman for a wife. Grandpa was entertained by him with tea and small appetizers, and every Shabbat after the cholent meal, Grandpa would visit him for a cup of tea.
Dodye made friends with all the fools of the shtetl. His closest comrade was a klezmer, a musician named Kalamnovitsh. And his constant guest was a strange cranky one from the area, called Shloyme Dubrover.
Well, Shloyme was not a madman, as the insane are. In essence, he was more of a scoffer and a vagrant.
But the “vayse khevrenikes”, the schoolboys, regarded him as “meshugge” because he spoke in proverbs and made his rhymes about everything and everyone, immediately, on the spot! He performed little plays in which he imitated the demeanor of the powerful and rich with gestures and grimaces.[2] For his songs and bon mots he was provided with food. He was always hungry, and a few times he even ate more than was tolerable and got sick. Yes, in fact, he performed all these antics only to get food and change.
The youth came alive when he came to the shtetl; they used to look at him expectantly. He came once a year, always in the summertime. Whenever he did not come, the shtetl longed for him. When he came to the shtetl, and used to go through Sokolker Street dancing and singing, his arrival in Krynki spread like wildfire.
Mainly he sang “Shloyme Dubrover, the Elkone, an upright citizen, earns 10 rubles a week!”, accompanying himself by hitting two planks together.
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Hundreds of schoolchildren then literally ambushed him and made their rounds with him through all the streets of the shtetl. It was simply that the whole town was stirred up when he arrived.
A few times, however, the members of gangs beat him up, and he had to drag himself sick and wounded to Uncle Dodye's stable, where the flour was kept. There he stayed for several days in pain, until suddenly he was gone. Just as one did not know when he would arrive, one never knew when he would disappear again.
Dodye usually looked after him and prepared him a bed for the night in the stable. In general, he felt affection for Shloyme and wanted to hold him tightly.
Dodye's warm relationship with the crazy comedian of the area, helped the musician Kalmanovitsh, who was also a wild bird, to become sincere friends with Shloyme.
The real name of Shloyme Dubrover was Dovid Sidrer. Oh, what crazy ideas this man had! He used to turn facts upside down and make them absurd, and he had an answer for everything. When asked about his claim that he was older than his father, he said, “Well, time doesn't stand still either, but I'm faster and have overtaken him!”[3]
On Shabbat evenings in winter, Dodye's comrades used to gather in his house. They played cards, ate geese and goose giblets (we called them “gribenes”) and drank “bronfn” (brandy).
The course of these evenings was completely different from the normal way in middle-class homes. The custom on winter Shabbat evenings was actually to dip boiled unpeeled potatoes in herring sauce, which we called “lyok,” and which could be bought in spice stores for a penny.
Yisroel Moyshe, however, was influenced by the customs he saw at home with his father. He learned to play cards while taking a good swig. For Dodye, it was fun to give his boy bronfn, making him a full member of his social circle.
Since he was a stubborn pigheaded man, he not only knew that he was annoying his wife and mother-in-law with this way of acting, no, he even tried to incite them even more by getting his son, who was practically still a child, used to all non-kosher things.
Grandmother's combativeness, however, was never broken, she only waited for a favorable opportunity to confront him with even more passion.
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He knew that she had given him the name “Trup” and provoked her. She, in turn, looked at him with a mixture of disrespect and pity. But when she saw Dvoyre pulling her bread wagon, she went into a rage.
She could not just accept all these things and did not give up the fight with Dodye. And on top of that, she had other children to keep a watchful eye on.
Previous failures forced her to arrange a match between her son Yisroel and one of the “Tsherebukh” family. She did not like the “Tsherebukh‘s” at all, but she had no other choice, because either she paired her son with Yisroel Toivye's daughter, or with another girl, which she did not want at all, because with her descent from joiners, she was out of the question.
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