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On Friday evening, my Grandpa did not come home from the Bes-Medresh right away. He used to rush over to the Slonimer Shtibl and stay until the end of the prayer, which took longer there than in the misnagdic houses of prayer. With great pleasure, he celebrated the reception of Shabbat there according to the Hasidic way, “Nusekh-Sford”[1].
My Grandma Rive used to wait with calm and patience until he came home. She would run out to receive him and greet him at the door with “Gut Shabes!”.
Khayim Osher liked music. His own versions of songs, which he interpreted with great feeling, were a mixture of heartbreak, joy and pathos.
He composed melodies himself, and matched them with passages of text from the Tanakh (Hebrew Bible). His “Sholem Aleykhem, malakhey hashareyt, malakhey elyon”[2] was unique in the shtetl.
With sweet melting in his voice, my Grandpa sang from the Shir Hashirim[3]:
“we have a little sister who has no breasts; what shall we do for our sister? “
His singing from “Kabole-Shabes”[4] was simply touching:
“To greet Shabbat let’s go, let's be gone, for She is the wellspring of blessing”.[5]
His “Adon Oylem”[6] was filled with spirituality, and he let it swell to a great pathos.
His “Ribon Kol HaOlamim”[7] was a very extraordinary song. He used to let it begin very sadly but then increase to ecstasy:
“Oh, help me, sweet Father!”
It went like this:
“כאשר צויתני לזכרו , ולהתענג ביתר נשמתי”- Oh woe, sweet Father!”[8]
The old Slonimer Rabbi, the father of the famous “Shmulekl”[9], adopted many of my Grandpa's melodies and spread them among his Hasidic followers.
Every Friday night, all the sons (of my Grandpa) and even the sons-in-law who were Misnagdim, used to come to sing Shabbat songs with my Grandpa.
My Grandma usually didn't sing along. She would just tap her finger on the table to the beat. The other women used to sit a little away from the table and hum along with the melodies. But they never sang along loudly.
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The hospitality in honor of their guests at my grandmother's house consisted of cake cut into pieces, tea, preserves and nut kernels. They sat together until late at night. The conversations were about family matters.
However, Grandma did not allow any defamation or gossip to take place.
On Shabbat morning, her daughters and daughters-in-law would come to her (my Grandma's) house to pray together. Surrounded by those closest to her, she used to sit full width on her bench with her daughters and daughters-in-law right next to her.
For Torah reading[10], women would gather around her, and she used to read from the “Taytsh-Khumesh”[11]. She also liked to look through the “mekhitse” (partition wall) at her sons-in-law, who had their pews on the east side. Her sons prayed in the Slonimer Shtibl.
After cholent, it was her custom to go to her daughter Dvoyre, the baker's wife, for tea. (Otherwise), she rarely went to visit, or to an invitation to eat and drink. Her children and relatives knew that one had to come to her for a hospitable meal.
My grandfather was rarely at home when guests came. After a nap, which he took, he went to the Bes-Medresh, because he only studied a little at home. My Grandma went without him to visit. Often he would join her later.
Most favorite of all the children, Grandma Rive went to visit her oldest son Perets. She considered him to be a very smart person. However, she could not stand her daughter-in-law Khaye.
The poor daughter-in-law tried to buy her mother-in-law's kindness. She wanted her mother-in-law to be kind to her.
But the latter already considered Khaye a hopeless case. Even if her mother-in-law had not behaved that way, her fate would not have been better. Because, apart from my Grandma, her husband did not love her (Khaye) either.
Aunt Khaye was kind-hearted, but she was a depressed, already elderly woman. She rarely went to the neighboring town of Sokolka, where she came from. Sometimes, however, a relative would stay with her, but Khaye would be depressed and embarrassed, and in the end she was glad when her closest ones did not come. Because she usually wanted to get (everything) off her chest, Grandma insinuated that she was not in her right mind, and did not put up with her.
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However, my grandmother did not stay too long with her son. Before the day was over, she was on her way home. She still wanted to accompany the Shabbat out of her house. Because, she used to say, “I helped bring Shabbat in, so now I want to escort it out!”
Before night fell, her daughters, who (still) lived with her, had to be home.
They used to sit at the table and talk quietly. My Grandma would sit near the window and wait for the sun to set.
As long as it was still light, she would read from the “Taytsh-Khumesh”. When it became darker, she remained silent for a while, moving only the upper part of her body now and then. As it grew more gloomy, her shadow used to expand and move, bent, from the wall to the ceiling of the room.
When the night came, Grandma disappeared together with the shadow. The darkness had covered and swallowed her.
What was my grandmother thinking in those hours at the end of Shabbat? Probably her thoughts wandered to her youth, to her home and all who lived there? To her shtetl, to her brothers and sisters and to all those from whom the disdainful life had separated and alienated her?
In her mind, Grandma certainly went back to her days as a young girl, talking and discussing in her Polish-Yiddish dialect with all those who were dear to her. And she merged with her own past years.
She was never the first to light the fire again. I remember my mother asking her to light the lamp because the neighbor's house was already lit.
But Grandma waved her hand away:
“Apikorsem are living there!”[12]
These events filled me with gloom and sorrow. Small as I was, I already felt the great change that was taking place in the house with the approach of the (new) week.
I used to sit on a chest and observe everything that was happening at home.
My grandmother's silence, her movements and the image of her shadow used to weigh on me and wrap me with longing and sadness.
I felt great sorrow that the Sambatyen[13], (the legendary river), would soon begin to “play” again and the Reshoim[14] would once again begin to torment themselves in the “Gehenem”[15].
My Grandma had told me all these stories and I usually visualized with mental pain that the Reshoim were tortured. I had no
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idea what the stories actually meant.
According to Grandma's explanation, human rishes[16], were atoned for. That is, forgetting prayers, but above all, not sanctifying the Shabbat, as a Jew must do. My grandmother did not tell me about other religious duties or sins[17].
Who knows if those evenings at the end of the week, my grandmother's behavior and mood, and the pain of the transience of Shabbat, did not greatly shape my life and my mind?
When my grandmother decided it was time to let the week (beginning) into the house (“you mustn't retain Shabbat too long,” she used to say), she would quietly get up from the chair and instruct the daughters to rise.
Together they touched a window pane with their fingertips, and in the room, there spread silently and restrained:
“God of Abraham, of Yitskhok and Yakev, dear Shabbat is now leaving after all. Lord of the world, may you bless us with happiness and well-being, success and rest during the week. As the holy Shabbat fades away, so shall sorrow and suffering depart from our families and from all Israel.Protect us and your people Israel from evil and from enemies, Amen”.
She did not let anyone else light the (kerosene) lamp. Slowly she used to go to the table, take the glass insert from the lamp, screw the wick higher, strike the match, light the wick with it, and only wished “Good week” when the glass was already fixed in the lamp again.
The luminosity at the beginning of the week was a melancholy and darkened one. It seemed to be the same lamp, the same wick. But Friday night the light was more cheerful and brighter.
As soon as the light was on, a pot of potatoes in their skins was put on to boil.
But this was done only in winter on Shabbat evenings. One of the children would then go with a small jug or bottle to buy “lyok,” (herring sauce) for a penny, into which they would dip the boiled potatoes.
Saturday night, just like Friday night, my Grandpa was at the Slonimer Shtibl and spent time there with the Hasids.
Before sunset, they usually sat together and told each other stories.
Then before they lined up for the Minkhe prayer[18], the Hasids used to stand in a circle, put their hands on (each other's) shoulders, dance around the bime[19] and sing:
“All that the Holy One, blessed be He, has created in His world”[20]
Ecstatically, they then cried out:
“And (I) say, G'd shall reign forever and ever”.[21]
Each tried to outdo the other's enthusiasm, but it was always Shmuel Khonen's voice that rose above all others. He used to shout out the “voed” (and ever) with great impetuosity and pathos.
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I remember that my grandfather did not reach the shoulders of his fellow dancers when he danced, so he leaned on their elbows. He used to close his eyes, throw his head down with his beard in front, and adjust to the dance with extraordinary nimbleness. The Hasids had the habit of suddenly slowing down the dance and pawing their feet as they took steps.
In the semi-darkness, one did not recognize any faces, only black shadowy figures moving in the round dance.
As soon as the Hasids approached the Orn-Koydesh[22] where the dance ended, my Grandpa left the shtibl to go to the Bes-Medresh alone and perform the Havdole[23] ceremony.
When Grandpa came home, the lyok was already on the table, and right after Havdole, the boiled potatoes (still with skin) were brought. The skins of the potatoes were wet, and steam rose from the plate. My Grandpa performed the blessing-.
“Boyre-Pri-Adome”[24].
And again, the heavy, dreary week began.
Translator's footnotes:
The only picture in our house showed two soldiers. On a small table next to them lay an open book. The soldiers' pants, wide and puffed up like sacks, covered half of their boot shafts. Their hats, they were without visors, had slipped sideways and were close to their ears.
One soldier kept his one hand outstretched on the table, and with the other clutched a small sword scabbard. From his shoulders hung a bit of cloth, a sign that he served in the “musical section.”
Years later, my father, rest in peace, used to tell exciting stories about how he became a military musician.
In civilian life he had never played on an instrument and had no ear for music at all. But, because he quickly acquired military doctrine with his good skills, he found recognition from the “Rotne Komandir”, the company commander. He promoted him and brought him together with the “Rotne Shrayber”, the company's secretary.
This secretary, the second (soldier) in the picture, a converted Jew, was a heavy drinker and a bon vivant. The company commander, an elderly, sick person, had befriended him (the secretary) and usually left him in command of the soldiers.
A deep friendship developed between my father and the secretary. He used to tell my father that he longed for Jews and Judaism.
When he was drunk, my father told me, he used to cry and reproach himself for having been baptized.
He had done this in defiance of his grandfather, who was a cruel man and had tormented him, an orphan, to such an extent that he had to run away from him.
He began to wander all over Russia until he found himself in Samara. There “utshitel”, teachers, fostered him and supported him until he was 20 years old.
One of the teachers tried to introduce him to Christianity. However, he did not allow this.
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When he felt that it became a burden for him to continue being with the Christian family, he went back to his Polish shtetl.
As soon as his grandfather, who had become even more angry and dogged in his old age, saw him in non-Jewish clothes and without any beard growth, he prophesied to him that he (his grandson) would still convert, and chased him out of the house. The latter, just to hurt him, went to the Orthodox priest and was baptized.
When he became a soldier, he was already a goy with a gentile name. He quickly became popular in the company. The little knowledge his teacher had taught him in Samara now came in handy, so when the “Rotne Shrayber”, (the company's secretary) had completed his military service, he took his place.
The “Rotne Komandir” (company commander) began to treat him as his own child and relied on him completely for everything. When the meshumed[1] finished his military service, he decided to become a professional soldier. He did not know where he could have gone, and he had already completely finished with his past.
In the 1905 revolution, his company was transferred to Krynki. He came to visit my father, but Dad was already in America. He brought my mother a gift, a purse made of “patsherkes” (beads). It was a rare antique piece.
Whenever he had time, he came to visit us. There was a constant smell of spirits coming from him. My mother could not stand it and was not very happy when he came.
His wife, a tall and skinny goy, smoked and coughed incessantly. He (the meshumed) had a boy my age and a younger girl. He often took me with him to play with the boy.
The girl's name was Tseroshke. He proudly explained to my mother that she was named after his mother's name, Tsirl.
Even though he did not lead the company himself, he walked alongside the commanding officer when the soldiers were led out into the field to practice.
Often I went along with him. With pride and haughtiness, I used to stand next to him and have fun watching the other children look at me with awe and envy.
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The soldiers knew me and played with me. I loved to ride on the shoulders of a soldier and pull him by the ears as if they were reins.
When Dad did his military service with the meshumed, the latter lobbied for my father to be “relieved of his rifle” and transferred to the music company. There he became “Starshi Polkovoy Barabanthisk” (the main timpanist and timpanist elder of the regiment).
Timpani playing became such a part of my father's life that even years later he enjoyed showing off his timpani skills. He could then continuously and for hours drum various notes with two sticks.
I liked the two soldiers in the picture. Mother and Grandma instructed me to call one of them “Papa”, although I did not know what this name meant. The second one they called “Berl.” When they wanted to call me to order, Mom and Grandma used to threaten me that the soldiers from the picture would come to me and punish me if I didn't keep quiet.
However, they never proved that anything followed their threat. I was much too boisterous. I liked to scuffle with boys my age and no punishment, even from soldiers, deterred me.
In those days, we lived with the carpenter Itshe Shakhnes.
He was a hot-tempered Jew. His wife, a bent, worn-out person, all skin and bones, used to cough constantly with a dry croak. She was a kind-hearted woman. They both loved me as much as their own grandchildren, with whom I used to play. They used to say about me and their son's girl, as a joke, that we were a real wedding couple. Itshe Shakhnes and his wife I called Grandpa and Grandma.
Every Friday morning she would bake a little challah bread for me, and Itshe would give me a penny. Even years later, when we were no longer living with them, I would come to them every Friday for a challah bread and a penny.
When Itshe Shakhnes and his wife emigrated to America to join their children, they said goodbye to me with great heartbreak, as if they were abandoning their own child.
I was always dressed neatly and nicely. But the outer finery lasted only at home. Often I came back from outside twisted and with torn clothes. Angrily, my grandmother used to pinch me very hard. But it didn't help a bit, and as soon as I got back outside,
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I forgot my resolution to behave appropriately.
Grandma's grief over my behavior was great. She no longer knew how to cope with it and used to complain to her eldest son, Perets. I then heard her say, “May only Leyzer Hersh come at last.” (My father). But, who Leyzer Hersh was, who would deliver Grandma from me, I did not know then.
Often she would say in anger, “It took three days for him to be born. Surely this is not a child, but a shed”[2].
Later I inquired in more detail how it had been with mother and my difficult birth. To ease her pain, they had “measured the grave“[3] and “torn graves at the ancestors”.[4]
Lights were lit in all the Bote-Medroshim, and with the Torah shrines torn open, people lamented and prayed that the mother might survive the difficult birth safely.
Even the Torah shrine in the “cold” synagogue was opened, which was customary only in times of great misfortune, may the merciful keep us.
I was born, but I did not cry or scream. It took a while before the accoucheurs revived me.
When my grandmother told this story, she used to shake her head with a strange regret.
Translator's footnotes:
My mother couldn't be bothered with me. She was too busy with her work, knitting socks. Grandma Rive had the supervision over me. She used to dress me, wash me, and even take me to the market for shopping.
Besides her, everyone in the family wanted to replace my father a bit - especially Grandma's oldest son Perets.
Who was who, and what they had to do with me, I didn't know. Only my grandfather and grandmother I called “father” and “mother”.
My Grandpa Khayim Osher began to deal with me when it was time to learn. When they took me to the first kheyder (the Jewish elementary school), I already knew the “Alef-Beys”.[2]
Jewish boys were not allowed to remain children for long, and very early they were accustomed to the duties of Judaism and the Torah.
When I was three years old, my mother did not want me to be put into a kheyder so early. Grandpa negotiated a compromise with her - for the time being, until I was older, I should learn only two hours a day.
My first teacher, (Rabbi) Shmuel Tentser, had a kheyder where about a hundred boys were learning at the same time. There was not a boy who was not in his school. To relieve the workload, the teacher had several helpers.
The school itself was a huge room with a sticky floor and three large, wooden tables set up in the shape of a “khes”.[3] Long benches had been placed around both sides of the tables so that the children sat facing each other.
The Rabbi sat at the horizontal table. He called out the subject matter loudly and audibly. The helpers stood around the tables or walked among the children, making sure that everyone was quiet and listening to the Rabbi.
From the kheyder, several flights of stairs led to another room, the Rabbi's apartment. There it was dark and dirty. The walls were completely
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soaked. They virtually steamed from the moisture and fumes from cooking.
The room did not have a single window, and since kerosene was spared, it was constantly shrouded in darkness.
Peye, the Rabbi's wife, had pus constantly running from her blind eye. How she could work at all in this darkness remains truly a great wonder.
The parlor was full of children, all with snotty noses, unkempt and unwashed. Their pants and dresses were soiled, (the boys' fly was open), and their “little tails” peeked out.[4]
Peye's mouth was never closed. She screamed or scolded incessantly. Usually only her voice reached the kheyder. She could only be seen when she rumbled into the kheyder, looking ragged, with her blouse unbuttoned and cursing.
Then she hurriedly ran to her husband and took out on him everything that had accumulated in her bitter mind. Then again she used to tear herself away from the place with impetuosity to run up the four stairs to the apartment. For a while she stopped (at the top), looked around, let out another curse and disappeared.
These scenes, which repeated themselves a few times a day, did not affect Shmuel Tentser. He did not even turn his head toward his wife, but continued the lesson material as if there had been no noise of a human voice, but only the buzzing of a fly.
Peye's shouting and cursing mingled with the children's voices, “Komets Alef o, Komets Beys, bo.”[5]
Grandma, Grandpa and my mother took me to the kheyder. Shmuel Tentser was already coming to greet us. His first welcome was a pinch to my cheek. The pain and the smell of snuff made me cry profusely.
For the children, this was a real holiday. They stopped studying and laughed. I broke away to run, but I was taken to the Rabbi's bench, on which there was a
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cushion (so that the Rabbi would sit higher and keep a better eye on the children). Shmuel Tentser sat me near him. Grandma, Grandpa and my mother stood behind me. Shmuel Tentser ran a long, wooden pointing stick over a piece of paper tacked to a blackboard.
Satisfied that I had done a good job of repeating “Alef, Beys, Giml,” he gave me another pinch, and a coin fell on the blackboard:
“An angel threw it down to you, if you study well, you will get a whole kopek!”
For punishments, in the kheyder there was a “kine”, a corner where a child who had “sinned” had to stand. This “kine” was closed by a door that reached up to the child's head.
The “sinner” had his little hat with the cap twisted backwards. In one hand he was given a broom, in the second a stove hook. The other children used to surround the “kine”, moving their right and left index fingers together, contorting their faces and shouting: “Be, be byushim”.[6] This continued for a few minutes. Then they went back to continue learning.
How long the punishment lasted depended on the magnitude of the “crime.” Once a child had to stand for an hour - and then another.
As for me, the “kine” punishment took over. I made life so difficult for Shmuel Tentser that I was a frequent “stayer” there....
Shmuel Tentser was fed up with me, so he went to my Grandpa, Khayim Osher, to complain. Khayim Osher then spoke to me in his level-headed way. I liked to listen to and followed him. I was very fond of him. Today, when I reflect on my feeling toward him, it seems to me that it was characterized by pity.
I liked his quiet manner. His silence had a strong effect on me. When my Grandma began to criticize him and make her demands, his eyes would be filled with sadness. He rarely gave her an answer. Often he would get up in the middle of a meal, grumble a “well” and walk out.
After such scenes, I felt overwhelmed by grief and never stopped crying. Often I would run after him. He used
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to go to the Bes-Medresh, to sit right there and immerse himself in a prayer book.
When he was busy with some work, I loved to help him. I liked to give him a hand, sweep the floor, and bring the wood for heating in the winter. I also replenished the water in the ritual washing bowl and helped polish the candlesticks and the menorah.
On Friday nights, I usually went with him to the Bes-Hamedresh. I would stand on the bime, very close to him, and get the first sip of the kidesh (Kiddush) wine. At Havdole he would then let me smell the spices.
Early on Shabbat, my uncle Perets used to take me to the Slonimer Shtibl. My grandfather insisted that I follow the Hasidic path. When the Slonimer Rabbi came to Krynki, I was seated next to him at the “praven tishn” (see page 25) and he saw that I was assigned Shirayim.
In the middle of the week, especially in winter, I used to visit my Grandpa at the Bes-Hamedresh. Rarely was anyone there; sometimes a batlen[7] would be sitting next to the stove, or from a corner one could hear the nign[8] of a student. Once “little” Ayzikl, an interesting Jew, came in. He used to brag that he had undergone torture like a “Nikolayevsker soldier” and had remained faithful not only to the Jewish religion but also to the Yiddish language.
He lived a few houses away from the Kavkaz Bes-Medresh. In his old age he could walk only poorly, nevertheless he dragged himself up to the Bes-Medresh. There he would sit until one of his children or grandchildren came to accompany him home.
He always sat by the stove, nasally singing one nign with the same words all the time:
“Home, home, you have to go”.
My Grandpa loved to warm up and stare motionlessly into the void. He could be silent for hours without interruption. It was hard to engage him in conversation, and he didn't like to answer. He liked to indulge his own thoughts and listen to the people around him.
I was a wild and restless boy. The excessive attention that Grandma's children gave me had “spoiled” me. I could not stay seated in one place.
Inside me was a mixture of anger and gentleness, of mischief and patience, of inflicting pain and subsequent suffering over having caused pain, of breaking and destroying and of
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regret. I resisted moral sermons, but could sit for hours listening to fables with moral lessons.
I had a great desire to be grown up and imitate adults, but at the same time I was engaged in foolish, childish games. I could be beaten half to death without giving the thug the pleasure of hearing me cry.
But those whom I loved could win me over with a single word, a movement, an expression, by an interjection that did not even make use of any words, but was simply a certain expression in the corner of their eyes.
My grandfather Khayim Osher did not use words to punish me; I just sat next to him and listened for hours to his silence.
Translator's footnotes:
My Grandpa, Khayim Osher, used to say, “A Jew must not weep, for this distracts from trust in God. - What befalls a person is God's will alone, which must not be questioned or profaned by lamentation!”
Grandpa diminished his own grief by singing sad songs. His youngest son, Meyshke, used to say to this, “Father 'puket' himself.” By this he meant- he stifles sorrow within himself. There was much sorrow around Grandpa. Life at home oppressed him. He felt guilty toward his wife, for he knew she was right and her heavy lot spoke from her.
He was no good at earning a living, and even his poor position as Shames had to be secured for him with vigor. Only the merit because of his father, who had built the Bes-Medresh at that time, helped my Grandma undermine the attempts of the Gaboyem[1] to push him, Grandpa, from his position.
Two main Gaboyem were targeting him and making his life miserable. One of them was “Borekh Khokhem” (clever person), the surname being ironic and meaning the opposite. Not only was he a giant, but he was also getting broader. His big belly and the golden chain he wore gave him authority.
Actually, he was a simple Jew who had worked his way up. As an upstart, he loved to kiss up to others. From those who depended on him, however, he demanded subservience. My Grandpa did not like bootlicking, and did not use to “dance around” the rich gentlemen. Precisely this omission and the fact that he was also an “unlucky person” exacerbated the rejection from the Gaboyem.
The main Gabe, Berl Fishke‘s, a biological nephew of my (other) grandfather, Yankel Bunim, was a tall, thin Jew with a blond beard. He was an industrious Jewish student, but a very vicious person. Wherever he was the “balebos”[2] and held influence, he insisted on being obeyed.
Berl Fishke‘s was a great wood merchant and apparently expected my Grandpa Khayim Osher to serve him as he was accustomed to, as a “menial”.
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He was targeting my Grandpa and making his life difficult. But the Rabbi stood behind Khayim Osher and maintained his position as Shames. Due to my grandfather's credulity and naiveté, there was once a story that actually reduced his income again considerably.
Krinkers had the reputation of being very hospitable. Paupers often arrived in the shtetl, not only from the surrounding area, but also from as far away as Ukraine.
In order to control who moved about the houses, the council of the community divided the shtetl into districts. Each district was assigned a certain color, which also contained the begging box that the beggars received. Twice a week the colors were changed. Together with beggars there also arrived a tall and strong Jew who pretended to be a discharged “Nikolayevsk soldier”. He spoke Yiddish with a strong foreign accent.
This Jew liked Krynki, and he entered the “Kavkazer” Bes-Medresh, which became his hostel. He began to make himself useful to Grandpa: He brought water, helped sweep out and clean, brought wood, supplied the stove, and did other work as well.
My Grandpa supported him and let him watch. He used to go around and ask the balebostes[3] to give this Jew some extra income.
When the Jew saw the Gaboyem opposing my Grandpa, he began to try to outdo him. With soldierly obedience he began to do errands for the rich gentlemen. In bad weather he brought their children hot food to the kheyder, and many children he carried home on his shoulders.
Rive did not like this Jew right from the start, and she used to tell my grandfather to beware of him. The latter, however, resisted her talk, for it did not occur to him at all that this broad, coarse Jew wanted to do him any harm.
It did not last long, the Jew was declared the Sub-Shames. And the latter was now wildly detemined to outstrip my grandfather. He learned the respective blessings, became the prayer leader at weddings, brisn and other festivities. He actually became the Shames!
My Grandpa's income was now almost completely reduced as a result. In the bes-medresh he had become superfluous, he was not even allowed to call anyone to read Torah.[4]
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My grandfather was completely confused. He did not understand what was going on around him. Grandma made a huge fuss, and fortunately the Rabbi disapproved of the circumstances in favor of my Grandpa. He decided that Grandpa had a privilege to the Shames position and no one could take that away from him.
The Jew disappeared - and just as one did not know where he came from, one did not know where he had gone. The events, however, shook Grandpa very much. Apparently, he had had no idea beforehand of such human wickedness that would attack and assault him. It hurt him deeply that a Jew whom he had supported would turn against him in such a way.
His pain was written all over his face. He became even more silent. He did not like to answer and did not like (anyway) to take part in conversations. He went to the Slonimer Shtibl even more often. When he was in the Bes-Hamedresh, he used to retire to the stove or to a corner, and hum a nign.
I had a longing for him. From playing or from the kheyder, I would sneak to him in the Bes-Medresh. It was not Grandpa's way to caress or stroke you, but his eyes expressed everything: pain, sadness, love and glee.
Exactly during the time when the (described) story took place, a great misfortune happened in the family: the eldest son, Perets died! His death disturbed everyone. Before the funeral, the women were in an uproar. My grandfather sat huddled in a corner.
But when he was asked to pray the first Kadish in the cemetery, his voice failed him. He was overwhelmed by his pain and his own words, which he spoke to the deceased even before the Kadish. Perets had died quite suddenly.
He had suffered continually from headaches and had discomfort in one eye, which had been “made sick” so that he would not have to serve. He could hardly see anything in this eye. Because of the permanent headache he often used to lie in bed for whole days.
On Friday evening, right after the blessing, Perets had not felt well at all. As if they had foreseen the tragic end,
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his sons ran to tell the family about his illness. As a result, everyone arrived at Peret's family home - even the “Tsherebukhes”.
The visitors sat in the large front room, drank tea and talked. Only my mother, peace be upon her, stayed with the sick. Suddenly Perets rose fell forward, into her lap. When the visitors came running in response to her screams, he was already dead.
My mother could not get rid of the idea that she had breathed the last breath of the dying man. She was then taken to reputable doctors in Grodno and Warsaw. My grandmother again took over the supervision of (her) four children.
When Perets passed away, my Grandpa left the room where the corpse lay so as not to disturb Shabbat.
After the Shabbat meal, he went to the Slonimer Shtibl. Before the Minkhe prayer, my Grandpa danced with the Khasids in a circle, faster and more boisterously than usual, and sang in a loud voice.
After the havdole, when the corpse was lying already on the floor, my Grandpa arrived. He recited several psalms. When the first Kadish[5] had to be said at the grave, the Jews asked, “Reb Khayim Osher, say the first Kadish!”
Grandpa stepped to the edge of the grave and began broken, filled with deep pain:
“My son, it is not you who will now say the Kadish after my death, but I must do it after your death, woe is me!”
Soon he straightened up and after saying:
“G'd has given, and G'd has taken away,” he began the first Kadish for his eldest son.
Translator's footnotes:
The grief of Perets' death and my mother's illness caused my Grandpa Khayim Osher to shrink and made him even smaller. He could not bear the pity of his relatives and Grandma's sudden kindness.
He only came home for a small hot meal and to sleep. During the day he was either at Bes-Medresh or with his daughter, the baker's wife. He used to crawl on the oven of the bakery, crouch down, lie down and think. He could not hide his pain and sorrow.
Great strokes of fate had struck the family, and my grandmother Rive used to say: “Job's sufferings have poured down on us!”. Everything happened at the same time: Perets had died, his younger son Meyshke was in Grodner prison for a revolutionary activity, and my mother's illness had worsened. Her obsessive idea that she had breathed Perets' last breath simply could not be exorcised.
Exactly two years and one day after Perets' passing, his eldest son passed away. Khatskel, a well-bred young man, had been a very strong person who could actually bend iron.
He, Khatskel, fed his family well and was, as they say, a fellow who was devoted to God and man. That year he already had to face the “Priziv”, the conscription. Grandma had already made all the preparations to exempt her first grandson from military service, as she had done earlier for her sons and sons-in-law.
Khatskel was a quiet and pious young man. He was not interested in the movements that had won over the city youth. He was devoted not only to his parents but to the whole family.
He was popular and always ready to do someone a favor.
Since Khatskel relied heavily on his strength, he paid
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little attention to the cold he had contracted. He neglected it until it forced him down. In the shtetl there were two doctors and ten royfim (healers): Feyve the Royfe, Avrohem Mair Pyaves, Motl the Royfe, Yankel Motl, Shimen Ber the Royfe, Peyshke the Sherer and Simkhe. The latter was already called by the modern name, feldsher.
However, the other royfim, besides Peyshke or Simkhe, were rarely visited. The last two enjoyed the sympathy of the townspeople. The most successful was Peyshke. Apart from the craft of a feldsher, he additionally engaged in hair cutting, shaving, cupping and treatment with leeches.
He usually charged 15 kopecks for a visit to the sick. People were happy to let him come and he became the royfe of choice.
The second, Simkhe, was actually considered the better feldsher. Nevertheless, he was not called so often, because the townspeople did not trust him, which was connected with a strange relationship that Jews had with Jewish doctors.
In the shtetl, a Jewish doctor did not have much luck and did not use to stay there long. In fact, the Jewish community used to accommodate a Jewish doctor, but the Jews made little use of him. They had confidence only in a gentile doctor, a Pole.
Doctor Dzhitkovski, a giant-sized goy with thick hair on his head and a big, thick mustache, lived down Shishlivitser Street, among the goyim.
He came to the center of town either when he had to visit a sick person or just because, for medical rounds.
Jews used to treat him with respect and friendship.
Those who met him, used to take off their hats and greet him, whereupon he always had the same answer; his “gut Morgn” (good morning!) he used to pronounce extended as “g u t M o r g n”.
Dressed in a pelerine (shoulder cape) and with a thick stick in his hand, his figure caused great awe among the Jews. The children liked to run up to him, pull their caps and shout, ”g u t Sh a b e s, g u t Sh a b e s!”
He could speak Yiddish very well, but was actually an anti-Semite. One suspected a little that he was not fond of Jews, but that did not diminish one's confidence in him.
Only after World War I, when Krynki was in Polish territory, he became an open leader of anti-semitism and incited
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the goyim against the Jews. He even boasted that he had, with full intent, delivered many Jewish sick people to the afterlife.
Doctor Dzhitkovski had favored 'Peyshke the Sherer'. This consolidated the latter's (professional) situation in the shtetl. Simkhe, on the other hand, who felt close to the Jewish doctor, unfortunately, had to share his fate as well.
At first, Peyshke was brought to the sick Khatskel. But when he saw that he could not give any advice, he sent for the Polish doctor. The Jewish doctor was then the last choice - and he gave the order to send for the famous Doctor Zamkov in Grodno.
Grandma had collected a few hundred rubles among the rich relatives and went alone to bring Zamkov. By the time he arrived, however, Khatsel had already died in great pain.
In addition to all this, at that time there was a quarrel with Grandma's son-in-law, Dodye the baker. Often it was suspected that Dodye was only thinking about how he could harm and cause pain to Grandma.
Grandma had the idea of adding a small attic apartment (for herself) to Dodye's house. He, Dodye, agreed to it for the price of 400 rubles. The sum was to be paid in installments. But when Grandma obviously could not pay the last 100 rubles, Dodye would not let her into the attic apartment.
To hurt her even more, Dodye rented the apartment to a soldier who had just completed his military service, a dull, coarse young man.
The “soldiering” had gone into his bones and determined his whole demeanor. He moved hastily like a soldier marching, throwing his arms with impetuosity. His hat he wore after the manner of soldiers: on the side.
The lad was a troublemaker.
His father, Dovid Shloyme, a village tailor, had a lot of grief with him. His son used to make him scandals and torment him with malice and cruelty. He mocked his father for taking a young wife.
The wife of David Shloyme the Tailor had suddenly, on a Shabbat evening, died in the Kavkaz Bes-Medresh. Several years after her death, he took a wife from the neighboring shtetl Sokolka. But his son
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was deeply annoyed by the fact that his stepmother was younger and more beautiful than his own wife, and so he began to make life difficult her.
He used to get drunk and break the windows of his father's house. Full of rage, he would then go after the young woman until she finally packed her bags and fled from Krynki.
Once he cut his hands on the broken windows. Thereupon he ran to my uncle Dodye, scandalized there, stirred the flour with his bloody hands and then smeared them on the stove.
As a result, Doydye threw him out.
Granny, however, did not keep quiet. She had litigated against him and finally got justice. However, she did not enjoy living with her son-in-law because he made her life difficult.
Grandpa did not interfere in these conflicts. His son-in-law's behavior caused him great suffering, which, together with the great blows of fate, crushed him.
His pain filled me with deep sadness. I was ready to do many things for him to make it easier for him.
The day before Yom Kippur, I came to him in the Bes-Medresh very early in the morning and helped to take the candles and place them in the boxes filled with sand.
On Sukes (Feast of Tabernacles) I carried “the etrog and the lulav (palm branch)” into the houses. At the end of that (festival) week, I brought him the kopeks that the women had paid for the blessings. He used to rely on me because he had made it clear that if I bit the tip off the etrog, I would pay dearly for it.[1]
I was the only one of all his grandchildren who felt a deep love for him. Therefore, he often spoke to me as if I were an adult. Once, in the middle of the day, when no one was at the Bes-Medresh, I found my Grandpa sitting there huddled by the stove.
His face was marked with sorrow. Seeing him like that made me cry intensely.
“Grandpa, why are you so sad?”“God is punishing me!”
“What is God punishing you for?”
He averted his eyes from me.
Suddenly he stood up with a jerk. I was startled by the sound and the passion with which he had torn himself away from the stove.
I had never seen such impulsiveness in him before.
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He walked forward a few steps, then suddenly stopped and shuffled exhaustedly to the bench by the stove.
Obviously he felt that I had gotten a fright.
He took my hand:
“Well, understand, if it were not a punishment, my pain would not only be more severe, but also senseless! Confidence, my child, makes it easier to endure agony”.
Translator's footnote:
When her younger children began to earn money, Grandma Rive moved to a larger and more comfortable apartment. In addition to Yisroel, the younger son, Meyshke, was also going to the factory. Grandma gave her youngest daughter, Yente, to relatives in the store of a manufactory. Meyshke already began to be involved in the group of “brothers and sisters”.
A Russian elementary school (“Narodnaya Utshilitshe”) opened in the shtetl. The teacher Krupnik was employed by the “center” to agitate there and educate the youth in the spirit of the “class struggle.” Most of the students came from middle-class families. By the time it became clear what was being taught in the school, it was already too late. Most of the young boys had already been infected by socialist propaganda.
After the police had came to arrest teacher Krupnik, he was never seen again.
Without Krupnik, however, the young people felt left alone. They decided to stick together and educate themselves autodidactically, so to speak.
For their meetings, the group chose Grandma's apartment.
This was the most suitable place for the youth. At that time, Grandpa was a gemore[1] teacher, and from the outside, Grandpa's teaching post provided a kind of protection, so that no suspicions arose in the first place.
Meyshke managed to convince Grandma to let the group meet at her house and educate each other. Thus it succeeded, and so in one room young boys sat together learning Russian and listening to propaganda speeches.
In the other room, Grandpa taught the young boys the subject matter of Jewish religious books.
When Grandma realized that the group members were talking against the rich and the government, she did no longer let them in.
Often I came into the room where the “brothers” had
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gathered. There it was completely different from Grandpa's room, where the teaching content was “sung” with a nign.
Where Meyshke was, people sat and were silent; only a young man, standing up, made incomprehensible speeches.
There I heard for the first time speeches about “poor and rich”. Rich people, for me, were only Nokhem Anshel and the “Tsherebukhes”, about whom my grandmother spoke many unpleasant things.[2]
I liked very much to listen to the songs, which the lads sang softly. I remembered the “nigunim”, the melodies, and also the words. The song of Edelshtat, which they sang with much feeling, had a deep effect on me.
Silent and sad, they sang:
“We are hated and driven,
we are hunted and persecuted,
and all because we love
the poor, languishing people.”[3]
I could only attach meaning to individual words: “poor”-that was my Grandpa and Grandma. “working people”-those were my uncles Yisroel and Meyshke.
Once, there was unrest in the house - a message arrived that father was released from military service and was on his way (home).
Mother immediately began to look for a (suitable) apartment. She ordered furniture from Itshe Shakhne's son, a famous carver. His carvings adorned holy Torah shrines and the estradas of many Bote-Medroshim.
The furniture, two beds and a wardrobe, were real works of art. Who knew the value of these carvings even then? I still remember what the figures on the cabinet looked like.
The upper part of the cabinet was on the shoulders of very strong men, their facial muscles were tense, but they gave the impression of carrying the load with agony, but also with heroism.
On the cabinet doors were carved some groups of people. Next to one of the groups were vessels on small tables filled with food: confectionery and various fruits. The bodies of the people were thick, and satisfaction and energy radiated from their faces.
Beside them, thin and hunched people stood submissively and with sad faces.
These figures, with their depiction of social “classes,” exerted a great influence on me that resulted in my later association with the
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labor movement in America, and which I internalized like a pointer to injustice in the world.
When the furniture was brought on a gentile cart to the apartment at Alter Milbn, downwards Kavkaz, Itshe Shakhne's son placed it with great care. He looked at the figures on the cabinet for a long time and lovingly stroked them like living creatures.
When father arrived, I was at the market with Grandma. On the way home, Feygele, the daughter of Yente Avremtshik, came running toward us with outstretched arms to tell us the news.
Feygele, a relative of ours, was a good but unhappy child. Her sick eyes were constantly watering and her eyelashes were always stuck together.
Her father and mother did not live together in family harmony. Her father was from Ponevezh, the area around Kovne (Kaunas), and talked with a sharp “Rish” and a “Sin”.[4] He was a “kamashn-shteper”[5], but apparently he did not earn enough income in Krynki and therefore went back to his hometown. He promised to catch up with his wife and child, but rumors spread in the shtetl that he had a mistress in Ponevezh and aspired to divorce his wife.
His wife Yente was not a big personality. The grief and her crying had made her ugly, and she used to talk and cry constantly only about her gloomy lot.
Feygele must have been 10 years old when her mother, Yente, asked my mother to take her in and teach her how to knit socks. She, Feygele, also helped to take care of me and Mama fed her in return and once bought her a dress.
After a few years, Feygele's father's behavior brought even more grief to the already bitterly depressing life of wife and child. He drove to wife's house with his mistress, whom he passed off as his sister. The carters soon scattered the news that Avremtshik's son-in-law had arrived with an “impudent woman.” Thereupon, the entire shtetl took up position under Yente's window to catch a glimpse of the man and his mistress.
The strange girl, or miss, was so frightened by the crowd that she fled the house.
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Feygele's father chased after her and asked her to come back. The next morning, the two of them had disappeared from the shtetl. Yente became even more confused by this story until she finally lost her mind completely. Feygele, however, had already come to stay with us.
When we (me, Feygele and Grandma) came back to our house, it was already besieged by people standing at the windows to see my father (What was the use of newspapers, radio or telephone. The coachmen already made sure that the townspeople got all the news from them faster than through the newspapers).
Inside, the house was full of people. A person in a soldier's uniform hurriedly got up from the table, reached for me and lifted me to him.
I recognized him right away, it was the same as the one in the picture - “Papa” had come!
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Translator's footnotes:
Grandma Rive desperately wanted to keep her grandchildren under her influence, only she couldn't, because by now they were too far out of sight. So Grandma had to content herself with giving her sons and daughters advice on how to deal with their children. Her sons and daughters-in-law, however, often did not want to follow it.
Now, as for her son-in-law Dodye the baker, Grandma had no success at all. She used to give him instructions on how to raise his only son, Yisroel Moyshe. However, Dodye only laughed at this and did just the opposite; only to make her suffer.
Her daughter, Dodye, was too tired and exhausted to engage in conflict with her husband. Of course, she also could not talk back at all, much less argue.
However, Dodye certainly did not want his only son to spend his time drinking liquor and playing cards at such an early age either. Yisroel Moyshe, however, had begun to hang around with bullies much older than he was and who were after his money, of which he had plenty.
Apart from the fact that the drawer in the bakery was always open, and Yisroel Moyshe could take heaps of coins from it, he had also found out that his father hid money in his mattress. And since Dodye never kept records, it was easy for Yisroel Moyshe to take as much money as he wanted.
Yisroel Moyshe became more and more estranged from me, and this annoyed me and made me angry. I couldn't stand that he was making friends with those louts and hanging out with them in inns.
Yisroel Moyshe was taller and fatter than me, and yet he was afraid of me. I was more aggressive than him, and in my anger I faced even boys who were older and stronger than me. Once I grabbed and hurt him. From that time on, he completely avoided contact with me.
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When Dodye realized that he was in danger of going completely astray, he decided to send him away from Krynki, to his sister in the surrounding shtetl Bodke. He spruced him up and adorned him with a silver pocket watch with a chain. Then he put him on a cart and told him to stay in Bodke until Passover.
However, Yisroel Moyshe did not stay there longer than two weeks. On a Thursday evening he arrived back home. When Dodye saw him, he wrung his hands (in despair). Yisroel Moyshe remained sitting quietly at home for only one day. On Shabbat, immediately after praying, he sought out his gang again. The boys got drunk and went to sled on the (frozen) “Sazelke” (pond).
Yisroel Moyshe fell, and the louts jumped over him and mocked him.
A boy came to Dodye to tell him what had just happened to his only son. Everyone who was at Dodye‘s for tea at that time ran to the “Sazelke”.
Yisroel Moyshe, accompanied by rascals, was carried home. He had lain there motionless, blue-frozen, stiff and with torn clothes. There was no trace of the pocket watch with the chain.
For a whole week he wrestled with death. When he got up, pale and haggard, he talked to no one and sat melancholy and withdrawn in a corner.
Exactly when he was in this mood, I goaded him then and provoked a scuffle. He never forgave me for this. Until I left for America, he was angry with me. He did not answer my letters to him from America.
When Yisroel Moyshe was an adult, he became a communist activist and became deeply involved in municipal affairs. He perished, along with millions of martyrs, in the crematorium at Auschwitz.
The children of the eldest son[1] were more inconspicuous. Perets‘ son Khatskel, was obedient, as were the other two older children, Moyshe Yosl and Yente. Yente took after her grandmother completely; a tall, confident, but very quiet woman.
Perets' son Shimen, who was younger than his sister Yente, was a little twisted. From childhood, he loved to trouble people with strange questions. When he learned a little Kabbalah, it got to his head.
He used to dream about strange and incomprehensible things. He talked
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a lot and usually annoyed people with questions they couldn't answer. The death of his father and eldest brother then finally drove him out of his mind.
Shimen's mother Khaye, who was herself psychologically distressed, took him to Warsaw to a “good Jew.” Her sick son, however, secretly slipped away and wandered through the city. When the police found him after a few days, he was frozen stiff. His hands and feet had to be amputated.[2]
The body of the seriously mentally ill man lay in bed for years until God had mercy on him.
Perets' boy Feyvl had a funny habit of snorting with his nose, so I called him “Shnants”.[3] This nickname remained with him all his life. He was the same age as me and was the only naughty one of Perets' children.
After the First World War he became a great leather manufacturer in Krynki, however, he too lost his life along with the martyrs in the crematorium.
Perets' remaining two children, the girl Khane and a younger boy, are hardly remembered by me. I was informed that Khane was a good but very poor woman who always struggled to make a living. Perets' youngest son is now residing in Uruguay.
Granny's oldest daughter, Malke, had an only daughter, Sheyne Blume. Malke lived in Glusk, in the Minsk gubernye, and Sheyne Blume and I wrote to each other regularly. When I was in Russia, I did not visit the family. Sheyne Blume and her husband had gone to Moscow at that time to visit me, but I was out of town at that very time. When I got back to Moscow, I just couldn't bring myself to go see them.
That's something I still can't forgive myself for today.
The children of (Grandma's) son Yisroel kept their distance and rarely came to visit Grandpa and Grandma. Yisroel himself had completely switched to the side of the “Tsherebukhes”.
I was Grandma's most popular grandchild. I was constantly under her influence, and she considered me not as her grandson, but as her own child.
However, I offered her no reason to take pleasure in me. I used to hurt her and insult her.
She showered me with privileges, but my insolence and pranks filled her
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with anger and rage. I resisted her and took pleasure in causing her grief.
After a too wild prank, I fell out of favor with my Grandma Rive. She treated me only very coldly and even turned her head away when I spoke to her. I often did something that hurt the whole family and made them despair.
I used to envy the adults and wanted to behave like them. Above all, I wanted to act like the revolutionary lads. And as soon as Mom's brother Meyshke and Dad's brother Mair (Meyer) got involved in the movement, I ran after them and was often with them at their “skhodkes”.
The lads began to use me for themselves. I often went out and did various courier runs, delivered proclamations, stood guard and let them know when the police arrived.
One sign that I was growing up was a suit (for me) with a breast pocket. Another sign- smoking cigarettes!
From Dodye's drawer I stole money for cigarettes. But in addition, Dodye also sold cigarettes without a band, which were in his open drawer.
Many times I filled my pockets with cigarettes and then used to take some of them to trade with Dodye. He never realized that they were really his own.
But I especially liked those cigarettes that were in a box with a picture of a young woman on the lid. She was sitting in the bathtub, covering her upper body with her hands. When I got my new suit, I used the breast pocket I had longed for, to put a pack of “Babushka” cigarettes in it.
That Friday night, when I first dressed up in my new suit, Grandma had asked me to spend the night with her. I was to pick her up at her son Perets', to whom she was paying a visit to the sick.
On the way to Perets' house, I calmly walked past the Rabbi's house with a lit cigarette. Students from the Talmud school who had been sitting on the porch saw me, came running out, grabbed me and gave me a good thrashing.
I therefore arrived at Perets' house with a reddened face. I explained to my grandmother that I had become so red from running so fast.
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The Rabbi immediately sent someone to my Grandpa Yankel Bunim with the news of what his grandson had done.
When I had already taken off my clothes, my father came storming into Grandma's house, agitated and angry. From sheer excitement he had lost his speech. He muttered only two words incessantly, “woe, woe, what grief!”
My father was so upset that he actually could not tell Grandma what had happened. My Grandpa Khayim Osher sat to the side, confused, looking at my distraught father.
Impulsively, Dad grabbed my clothes and took out the packet of “Babushka” from the breast pocket. Grandma's eyes grew huge. She looked at me sharply for a while, then got up from her bench and slapped me with all her might.
Then she ordered me to leave her house.
Grandma never forgave me for desecrating Shabbat and shaming the family.
In our house, father took my clothes. For a few days I was tied up in bed and was not allowed to go outside for weeks.
Translator's footnotes:
For none of Rive's children did life turn out to be really easy and successful. Even my mother, who chose her future husband herself, had a hard lot, because on her lay the burden of raising her children and supporting them.
A few months after the wedding, my father left for military service. She was pregnant at the time and had to move in with her mother. Later, when she already had three children, the Russo-Japanese War drove my father away to America. Mother had to move back in with her parents and once again provide for the living alone.
My mother's bitter and difficult life increased Grandma's sorrow and worries. None of Rive's children, however, brought such excitement to her life as her youngest son Meyshke. She was constantly on the road because of him. For several years Grodno was her second home. What happened to him made her drop everything and spend her time only with him.
Figuratively speaking, she moved in with him in Grodno prison. She was driven by an overpowering urge to free Meyshke from the detention.
Who knows, it may very well be that the excitement around Meyshke even rejuvenated Rive. Her life would certainly have been hard for her to bear if everything had gone quietly and smoothly.
Rive had already become accustomed to the worries of her married children. She was not able to change their lives. With all of them, a certain order had already set in. But as far as Meyshke was concerned, she could let her impulsiveness run its full course, loosen stiffness, and liven up again.
Her involvement with Meyshke had the effect of keeping her busy. However, her enormous activities on his behalf were linked to the message to him that he had to fulfill obligations to her; for without her, he would be rejected and lost, and his life would end behind prison walls. He therefore did not belong to the “movement,” but only to her.
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Meyshke's role in the 1905 revolution went far beyond the borders of Krynki. The anarchist group to which he belonged had designated him and Nyomke, the son of Yonah the Stolyer/Carpenter (a brother of Sore'ke, with whom Yisroel had a love affair) to carry out an assassination attempt on the mayor of Odessa.
Nyomke had remained in Bialystok, but Meyshke went to Krynki to say goodbye to his family.
He arrived in merchant's clothes, with a Karakulene fur hat[1], a fur coat with a collar of Karakulene fur, a gold pocket watch with chain, and pockets full of money.
When Grandma Rive saw him dressed up like this, she knew immediately that something was not quite right. Rive soon began to make hysterical scenes. The whole family gathered, Perets talked at Meyshke, Grandma fainted, and my Grandpa helplessly tucked himself away in a corner, muttering sad nigunim.
Meyshke himself was drifting around lost and desperate. At that time, Avrohem Yitskhok the Vilner, leader of the anarchists of Krynki, lived in Grandma's neighborhood. All conspiratorial plans were prepared in his house.
Rive stormed into Avrohem Yitskhok's house crying and pleading. For several days in a row she did not give him any peace. The end was that Meyshke remained in Krynki.
Meyshke was a serious young man. He liked to get to the bottom of facts. He read a lot and was, as they say, a person with an “open mind”.
On Meyshke, the propaganda of Krupnik, who taught at the Russian elementary school, had had a great effect - as on a large part of the youth in general. Right at the beginning, the young people belonged to the “general socialist movement”. Later, the “Bund” received great support in the shtetl, and most of the Jewish youth became “Bundists.” There were also social democratic groups and the “PPS” organization, the “Polish Socialist Party.”
The first to establish an anarchist group in Krynki was Yankel “Professor” (the well-known author Yakev Krepliak, peace be upon him).[2]
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Meyshke liked the speeches about targeted actions. He became an anarchist. He and Yankel “Professor” became devoted and close comrades.
There were quite a few anarchist groups that had absolutely no connections with each other and carried out actions on their own responsibility.
Meyshke was not a hot-tempered young man. He was thoughtful and did not do rash things. Apparently, Meyshke was not a fanatical revolutionary either. He was somewhat sentimental and strongly attached to his family, especially to his mother. He felt deep sympathy for his father, and at that time when the Gaboim came upon him, Meyshke came to protect him with great devotion.
Immediately after the outbreak of the 1905 revolution, he spent several months in the Grodner prison. When he returned, he was (even) more serious and thoughtful - but had now become completely an anarchist.
His collaboration with the revolutionaries aggravated the “war” between us and the rich relatives; Nokhem Anshel, especially, was very angry. He used to severely criticize my Grandpa Khayim Osher for his son's activities. Several times he quoted Grandma to him, but she did not want to cross his threshold.
Rive tried in her own way to talk Meyshke out of allying with the “Buntovshtshikes”, the rebels. She used to argue: “Why are you interfering? People will manage without you. Settle down, get married, and conduct yourself as a Jewish child should. If something comes out of their activities, it's very good, but if not, well, what do you want to sacrifice yourself for (your ideal)?”
But Meyshke answered her, “If everyone listens to their mothers, then nothing will ever change!”
Grandma moved heaven and earth to dissuade him from the “Buntovshtshikes”, but it was of no use. Meyshke began to be at home less often, and when he did come, he met secretly with Avrohem the Vilner.
Meyshke's silence and disappearance filled Rive with shock and worry. It annoyed her that he did not listen to her. All at once she realized that he had broken free of her influence and was estranged from her.
Translator's footnotes:
Unfortunately, Grandma Rive had not known what misfortune had dawned. Meyshke's dealings with the revolutionaries did not upset anyone in the family as much as her.
All at once she relinquished supervision of her other children and no longer attached any value to other matters. Meyshke was now the center of her life. He was constantly in danger and stayed more in prison than in freedom.
At that very moment, there was also grief with the younger daughter. Yente was a decidedly quiet girl and conducted herself like a bourgeois child. However, the revolutionary mood that had fascinated the Krynki youth at that time also influenced her.
At that time, those who kept aloof were considered unsophisticated and backward people, and in such a mood it was simply not pleasant for a young person not to belong to any of these groups or parties. The entire city youth was involved in the revolutionary movement.
It is a historical fact that the first workers' council was formed in Krynki. Three days before the outbreak of the revolution in Russia[2], the boys of the “Brothers and Sisters” had occupied the few government buildings and Jewish communal institutions, arrested quite a few people of the police, declared a “workers' republic” and administered the shtetl until soldiers and Cossacks marched up.
The townspeople liked to spend time in the woods during the summer, and therefore this was the appropriate place for secret meetings.
At such gatherings, people listened to speakers who had come from a big city.
Together, they discussed,
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read and sang fight songs by Edelshat (Edelstadt), Bovshover, Reysen, Vintshevski and Rozenfeld. Once such a secret “skhodke” was stormed by the police. Yente had to serve two months in the Grodner prison. When she was released, she had completely changed.
She followed her mother again, as a middle-class girl should.
Grandma, however, had become afraid and was now striving to marry Yente off as quickly as possible. She no longer allowed her daughter to have any contact with young people from Krynki.
On the occasion of Yente's matchmaking, they began talking to a fellow from Narew(ka), a shtetl south of Bialystok. The fellow, a good and intelligent person, was older than Yente. Like all young people of the merchant class, he felt attached to Zionism.
In the beginning, my grandmother did not like him at all. She made fun of his appearance, his nose and his small eyes. After a short time, she gave up looking for a spouse for Yente for the time being.
Finally, however, she invited the young man again. This time, though, she again regretted her decision, because it crossed her mind that he was not allowed to be chosen as a spouse, since he had the same name as Grandpa Khayim Osher - namely Osher.
But Grandpa voted against this rule. That one time Rive listened to him and finally agreed with this shidekh.
After the wedding, Grandma Rive even accepted that Yente moved away from her to settle in her husband's shtetl.
Now she was completely occupied with Meyshke. He was the only “little bird” that she still took under her wing.
She was now in “competition” with Meyshke's comrades. She wanted to defeat them in the struggle for influence over Meyshke. For all at once she felt that a strong enemy had risen against her, who wished to diminish her influence over her child. Meyshke began to perform actions at her place that she normally would never have tolerated. Thus, she agreed to allow the boys and girls to meet in her house.
Among the anarchists at that time Reyzl Tevl Liptshiks took a leading position. She was a well-bred, educated girl,
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with a good knowledge of Russian, Yiddish and Hebrew, and she was also quite well-read. For the movement, she occupied herself with enlightening, teaching and educating the youth.
Reyzl was nimble and lively, but also headstrong. She remained true and devoted to her ideal until her last breath. In London, she was killed by a bomb she had thrown herself.
Meyshke persuaded my grandmother to let Reyzl teach classes in her home. At the very beginning she (Reyzl) came to our house twice a week. But it didn't take long at all, and the little young woman with the blond curly hair moved completely into our house (we were living with Grandma at the time, father was already in America).
Reyzl's move effectively turned Grandma's house into an anarchist center. I still remember how she (Reyzl) gave her propaganda speeches to the group. Grandma used to sit quietly in a corner and nod her head. Reyzl agitated constantly, even from bed, making clear to Grandma and me the importance and indispensability of the struggle for a happy future.
Grandma Rive did not use to argue with her. My mother, on the other hand, I remember, was already arguing with her.
She (Reyzl) taught me to read and write Yiddish and gave me my first Russian lessons.
It happened that she and Meyshke could not be found for a few days or weeks.
Then Grandma could not sit still. She used to walk around the house sad and tense and could not bear with me and my two brothers.
When Meyshke and Reyzl were not there, none of the boys and girls came to our house. Grandma used to go out to see one of the group to find out where Meyshke had gone.
But every time she came back sad. Once, when Meyshke and Reyzl were not there, soldiers and guards stormed into our house. They searched and rummaged in every corner. They actually turned the whole house upside down. But they left empty-handed.
Reyzl used to put her books and literature
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in the “kotakh” (a kind of cellar room near the oven). The place was covered with potatoes and wood, which was usually kept in this place. After the “revision” (the house search) Reyzl did not show her face in our house. She had left Krynki. When Meyshke came back, the house was not like before.
Translator's footnotes:
Soldiers and Cossacks kept the shtetl in fear and terror. A large number of the youth were taken to prisons and many left Krynki, but those who remained did not back away from danger and responded with attacks on the rulers and the “bourgeoisie” (which the youth pronounced with hatred). Attacks were carried out on individual powerful lords[1] and on cruel policemen.
At this very time, a large number of “expropiations”, confiscations, started as well. In the neighboring town of Sidre, quite a few Krinker “bokherim” (boys) raided the post office. Some officials went to the attic and shot down from there. One young man, Dovid, the son of a bricklayer, was killed.
(Individual) young boys from Krynki emigrated to other towns, and news of their exploits spread in the Shetl. At that time in Krynki the factory owner Shmuel “Amerikaner” was shot. He, a Jew, was a great braggart and blowhard. He used to brag that he had once been to America and therefore had been given the nickname “Amerikaner”.
Shmuel “Amerikaner” took special pleasure in coming to the market where the youth met, showing them his revolver and emphasizing that he was not afraid of anyone. When warned that he had better stop these antics, he only laughed at them and even intensified his provocations towards the young fellows.
On the last day of Passover, when Shmuel came from praying and was walking together with a group of Balebatim[2] who also lived on Gabarska Street, he was shot. The attackers had hidden under a bridge that Shmuel had to cross.
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Out of the darkness, a voice had warned the companions to run away. When Shmuel turned around, a hail of bullets pierced him like a sieve.
At that time there had also been planned the assassination of the mayor of Odessa, which Meyshke and Nyomke, the son of Yonah the Stolyer (the carpenter), were to carry out.
After Meyshke's dramatic farewell to his mother and the scenes of wailing and lamenting at Grandma's house, Avrohem the Vilner, the leader of the Krinker anarchists, had taken action and relieved Meyshke of his mission.
However, this was done only in pretense. In fact, Meyshke did not go to Odessa, but he had to do another job. Things were bubbling up among the Krinker lads! So how old were they at that time? They were 14- to 15-year-olds, and if one of them was 18, he was already considered an old bokher.
They were Jewish children who fought with devotion and willingness for the ideal of “Akhres-Hayomim”[3], to dedicate it to their fathers and grandfathers. They set out to liberate and fraternize the world, sacrificing their lives along the way for their ideal and their faith.
Not two weeks had passed after Meyshke's return home when he disappeared again. Grandma went to Avrohem Yitskhok the Vilner to find out where Meyshke was. Avrohem Yitskhok, however, did not come out with the truth.
After a few days, the news came that Meyshke had been injured by a bomb in the shtetl Horodok. Meyshke had been ordered to bring a bomb from Horodok to Krynki, which was to be thrown into a gathering of factory owners in the “great” Bes-Medresh.
Meyshke was very skilled in building “wick bombs” (bombs with fuses). He had received instructions on how to do this from Yankel “Professor” (Yakev Krepliak, peace be upon him).
A new bomb was tried out in a field near Horodok. Meyshke had lit the fuse but apparently missed running away in time.
The bomb exploded next to him and injured
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his face and his right hand, from which the middle finger was torn off. His comrades were afraid to bring him in to Horodok. When his wounds were bandaged, they took him on a farmer's cart to the neighboring town of Shishlevitsh (Svisloch in Russian), to Doctor Bitner. The doctor promised not to betray Meyshke. But as soon as the group of comrades left, he reported to the police, and they took Meyshke to Grodno prison.
As soon as this news reached Krynki, Rive set off for Grodno and, in effect, lodged with the Gendlers, who were very hospitable people.
Avrohem Elye Gendler, and especially his wife Khaye (the author Karlin’s mother-in-law), whom Grandma could not praise enough for her beauty and kindness, made Rive's stay pleasant and helped with whatever she could.
Russia was in a state of war at that time. Trials against Revolutionaries from the “tkhum-hamoyshev”[4], were held in two specific regions. In Warsaw there was a “field court” where the death sentence would always be pronounced. In the second region, in Vilnius, there was already a court with a jury (the “Okruzhnoi sud”, District Court). Those who were sentenced there could consider themselves lucky.
Now when Grandma heard that Meyshke was to be sentenced in Warsaw, she fell into fear and panic. She knew that Meyshke would be lost if she did not intervene.
Where did this old-fashioned Jewish woman, expelled from her Polish-Jewish homeland to a hilly Lithuanian shtetl, get all her strength?
She did not know a word of Russian. Her knowledge of foreign languages was limited to a few Polish words she remembered from her childhood. However, she mustered all her strength and not only managed to contact the governor of Grodno, but even succeeded in getting respected advocates to defend Meyshke free of charge.
The governor had the power to annul the decision to try Meyshke in Warsaw. But who could make contact with him for Rive? No one.
She had to do it on her own.
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Rive began to lay siege to the governor's apartment from the outside for an extended period of time. Every day she sought out his office. It didn't help that they chased her away. She came back!
Fortunately, the secretary of the office felt sympathy for her. He liked the tall, self-confident Jewess with her dignified bearing. She did not make a noise or shout, but only asked to be let in to see the governor.
And so he interceded for the governor to hear her out.
Proud, confident and flawless, Rive walked in to the governor. She bowed, approached him and kissed his hand.
“What do you want, Mamuchka?”
Using the few Polish words she knew, she described her son's situation. She pretended that he had nothing at all to do with the “Buntovshtshikes.” He had only visited relatives in Horodok. And on a walk he had accidentally come to the field where the bomb had exploded. Therefore, she asked that her son not be sentenced in Warsaw.
“Don't worry, Mamuchka, everything will be all right!” the governor told her.
“Angels stood by me then,” Grandma used to say.
When Meyshke's trial was transferred to Vilnius, she went to Petersburg to get advocates.
Why she could be there at that time without “Pravozhitelstvo” (the right for Jews to reside in cities outside the Tkhus-Hamoyshev), I cannot explain.
In Petersburg she made her way up to (the lawyer) Grusenberg and to a Russian advocate who was famous at that time as a defender of revolutionaries. Both advocates agreed to provide legal representation free of charge.
But before Meyshke was sent to Vilnius, Rive learned from him that he did not want to defend himself at all, but on the contrary, wanted to admit everything.
Grandma could communicate with Meyshke through a young woman who knew the prisoners' finger language. Right next to the Grodner prison stood a building from which one could look into the prison yard. Relatives of detainees could watch their close ones walking in the prison yard every day.
Since the prisoners were well aware of this,
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they usually looked up, to the roof. And so, with the help of the young woman, my grandmother learned that Meyshke did not want to defend himself.
At that time, arrested revolutionaries liked to use the court as a platform to publicly proclaim their ideas and views. Therefore, instead of defending himself, Meyshke planned to declare that the bomb was made to “kill the servants of the autocracy.”
After Rive realized that she could not talk Meyshke out of this, she came up with an extraordinary plan. When they transferred Meyshke to Vilnius, she called her son Yisroel to her by telegraph.
Every morning, when the detainees were led from the prison to the court, surrounded by policemen with bare swords, my grandmother and Yisroel would follow them all the way along the sidewalk.
And during the walk, Grandma discussed with Yisroel so loudly that Meyshke should hear it. However, she addressed him not as Yisroel, but as Meyshke!
“Meyshke, remember, you are not to say anything, but to deny everything. If you do not do this, I will commit suicide. Remember that, because you will never be able to forgive yourself if something happens to me!”
At the trial, Meyshke denied everything, and the jury acquitted him. However, Meyshke did not remain at liberty for long. After six weeks, the prosecutor reopened the trial. A gendarme arrived from Grodno to interrogate Meyshke. And the new sentence was now 4 years in prison.
My grandmother Rive was simply not destined to find peace. She settled back in Grodno, knocking on doors again, looking for ways to get Meyshke free.
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Translator's footnotes:
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