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[Page 252]
The wildest deeds I hatched together with the naughty rascals, but also at home.
It was dangerous to leave me alone in our house, because I used to sweep everything from the bottom to the top and cause great damage. I threw pillows around, jumped from a table to the bed and “just like that” broke a little bench or a chair.
It was simply impossible to keep myself clean and tidy.
My mother just made sure that I should be dressed like the “balebatish” children; she sewed for me pants and shirts made of plush or velvet. Often a relative or neighbor who went to Bialystok or Warsaw would bring me a suit.
But it didn’t look new for long. On the second day it was already unrecognizable.
Friday evening I was usually dressed up in a new suit. On Shabbat, after cholent stew, I went fruit picking with the “Kavkazer Kommando” and climbed fences and trees. By the time I got home, I was already dirty and my clothes were torn.
Mama's punishment was to lock me up in the house; she then took all my clothes and hid them, leaving me only one shirt. But she soon regretted it, because keeping me at home was even worse; she just had no idea what to do with me.
My wildness often put my life in danger. Boys used to pull out the horses' tail hairs and make strings out of them. One end of a horse's hair was held between the teeth, pulled long and made to sound with the thumbnail (of the other hand).
When the rascals saw a tethered horse, they would sneak up, lift its tail and quickly pluck out a hair.
Once I too had it in for a horse. However, it gave me such a push with its hind leg that I was flung far away and, for several hours, remained lying with great pain in my stomach, unable to move.
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In fact, (at that time) “a skhus had been assisting me”[1], as Grandma Rive used to say. The blow could have hit me in my face and could even have killed me. Once I performed a rather strange wild deed.
Papa had sent me to the attic to bring down an old garment. I pulled it over my head and wanted to see if I could find the ladder, blind as I was.
As a result of my fall down, I didn't have any broken bones, but I was brown, blue and swollen for weeks.
After the fire, when we lived on Mill Street, I joined a boy; his name was Yosl from the “Parofke”[2], his father ran a steam mill where bark was pounded and flour was ground. He was older, taller and wilder than me, so he was called “big Yosl”, and I “little Yosl”.
The two of us did the wildest and cruelest things. The boys from Mill Street trembled before us. A boy from our command had to obey both of us.
If one was unruly, he was banned by us, and none of the other boys dared to play with him or even talk to him.
Not far from us lived a leather manufacturer. His boy, a bashful and refined one, had no luck in dealing with the “big” Yosl. The latter refused to let him join our gang and was always chasing him.
Unhappy, ashamed and depressed, the boy used to stand and longingly watch us play from afar. Once he plucked up courage and approached the blocks on which the rascals usually sat in the summer evenings telling each other stories.
Yosl from the “Parofke” rose from his log, blocked his way and began to drive him away. “Get lost, you!”
“Let me play with you”, begged the other tearfully.
“Get lost, why should we let you play with us? You're nothing!”
“Like hell I'm not a nothing at all”, the other blurted out, “I don't have a shmekele![3]”
“Really?” wondered Yosl, “let's see! Guys, come on everybody, Zundl has no shmekl! Well, show us!”
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The boys surrounded the fellow, he lowered his pants and showed- that he had a golden little tube.
The goyish funerals made a tremendous impression on us. We liked the colorful parades of the boys with the white coats; the flags (the Jews called them “rags”) that were carried and the singing of the Christian clergyman.
Once Yosl said to me, “Let's have a goy funeral, too!”
We grabbed a cat, turned her feet up, I held her, and Yosl strangled her by the neck. For a while she was still squawking, wriggling and trying to bite Yosl's hand with her teeth, then she died with her mouth open.
We put the dead cat in a yard next to a stable and covered it with a rag. The next day, the whole “commando” with me and Yosl in the lead, imitated the “tearful speeches” of the clergyman and buried the cat by the stable.
A quarrel was brewing between the Kavkaz rascals and those from Mill Street. Yanke Katyut, the “commander” of the Kavkaz rascals, didn't like it at all that the boys from Mill Street were imitating the Kavkazers.
He was especially angry with me for leaving the Kavkazers and associating with the boys of Mill Street.
Yosl from the “Parofke” and Yanke Katyut despised each other very much. If a Kavkaz boy came to Mill Street, they did not let him pass, but chased after him.
On the other hand, the boys from Mill Street trembled when they had to go through Kavkaz. The price to be let through one of the streets was a “toy”.
Once a crying boy came and told that the Kavkaz gang had beaten him severely.
“We will wage war with them!” professed Yosl to the boys of Mill Street, and he assured them in a commander's way, “If the Kavkaz boys hit one of us again, we'll have a fight!”
We let Yanke know through a boy from another street that if he bothered a boy from Mill Street again, there would be war.
Yanke replied that he was not afraid of the Mill Street boys. If they wanted beatings, there would be beatings!
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How did the small-town boys know about all those customs of warfare?
The “staffs” of both streets met on the Vigon. The leaders with their “entourage” stood apart from each other. “We will break your bones if you molest a Kavkaz lad!” shouted Yanke.
“A Kavkazer must not go through the Mill Street again!” we assured Yanke.
“My people are strong”, Yanke said.
“Our people are even stronger!” replied Yosl and me.
“We'll see about that! We'll see!” “The day after tomorrow we will come to you!” announced Yanke.
When the boys of Mill Street saw that the matter was really serious, they were frightened. “What should we do?” we asked each other. How stupid that we could not rely on the boys of the Mill Street!
Yosl and I went to the goyish boys whose fathers worked in the “Parofke” and tried to persuade them to help us in the war against the “Kavkazers”.
We were afraid to hit each other on the Mill Street, so we let Yanke know that he would meet us not far from the “Parofke”.
We gathered on the road that led to Virnyen's (Virion’s) forest and then kept close to the “Parofke”. In case of an emergency, we could flee there and find shelter.
The goyish lads and the few brave boys of the Mill Street armed themselves with stones and slings made of leather, with sticks, knives and whips; and we positioned ourselves by a hill to wait for the “Kavkazers”.
Yanke actually knew all the arts in the field of warfare. He divided his army into two groups. One he sent through Kavkaz to the Vigon. He himself went through the Mill Street with his “main army” with loud fanfare.
We saw from a distance how Yanke and his group marched like real soldiers. They walked straight, firmly and confidently.
When the “Kavkazers” were already very close to us, Yanke stepped a little away
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from his group and began to drum on a metal sheet with two sticks. This was the signal: the Kavkazers burst out of their ranks and ran with “Hurrah! Hurrah!”[4] - shouting towards us. Shortly after, the group from the Kavkaz side also arrived and surrounded us.
The goyish boys became frightened and fled. Only Yosl and I stayed, together with a few more bold boys from Mill Street, who had simply stayed with us out of fear of Yosl and me.
When the mothers from Mill Street saw the parade of Kavkaz brats, they realized that something was wrong. Noisily the mothers came running, scattered on the Vigon and drove away the Kavkaz rascals.
The worries I caused my mother simply began to take over. Not only did I hang out with wild brats who were thugs and window breakers, but also with those who persuaded me to steal money from my mother.
I became close friends with Sholem, Simkhe the feldsher's son. He persuaded me not only to steal money and buy nibbles with it, but also to skip the kheyder.
Sholem was an interesting boy. His father, Simkhe the feldsher, had already come to all the surrounding towns; to Shereshov, Skidel, Lune and Bodke. But he could not stay anywhere for long and came back to Krynki.
Since Sholem had been to so many small towns, he thought he was smarter and more understanding than other boys. I was very envious of Sholem because he had had a piece of bone operated out of his right leg. He used to pull up his pants, point to the wound and brag about his injury[5].
I too wanted to suffer in pain. So I bandaged my cheek and complained of toothache.
Mom used to keep her saved coins in the beaded purse that the converted soldier had given her. I found out that she hid this money in the straw mattress.
Every day I stole a coin from it.
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Sholem was already waiting for me. From the money we bought “kvas” (must) and “tshastes” (pastries). We used to walk down Sokolker Street to the field and have our feast there. Towards evening, when the children usually came out of school, we would go home.
When the Rabbi saw that I was missing from the kheyder, he sent a boy to inquire about me. At the same time, Mama noticed that she was missing money, and when she went to repay debts, the theft was discovered.
When I came home that evening, I could hardly bear Mama's warmth and love. Calmly she inquired what I had learned during the day. She gave me a meal to eat, which I loved very much; noodle pancakes with milk!
“Yosele, you must have studied hard today, just go out to the yard and play a little!” I did not like her excessive kindness. I went out, but I couldn't play because her calmness and over-caring worried me.
To sleep, Mama made up my sleeping bench for me. She had not done this since I went to school.
My first thought was to run away. For a while I pondered whether it would be better to run away or to stay.
As soon as I lay in the sleeping bench, Mom pulled up the covers from the foot end and began to beat me with a rod. She hit me with all her strength, screaming and crying.
“Are you going to steal again, hey? Are you going to skip school again, hey? Tell me, you thief, you scoundrel, will you go on doing it? Tell me!”
At that time, she vented all her anger and (wounded), bitter heart on me. At first I shouted, but when I kept silent, it enraged her even more. Exhausted, she sat down tiredly and broke out into a great wailing.
I did not go to the kheyder for a whole month. My body had been so whipped that I could not sit. During the time I spent at home, I rarely went outside.
I became more serious, thoughtful and silent
Translator's footnotes:
Krinker children wanted to imitate the adult boys, who were engaged in new “games”. Every boy wanted to provoke the Cossacks just like the young men, run across the market and shout: “Doloy mamoderzhave- Down with autocracy!!”
Boys envied the lads who were led through the market with their hands tied behind them, surrounded by Cossacks or police constables.
A state of war prevailed in the shtetl. More than two people were not allowed to meet and talk to each other. Young men and girls used to go individually to the forest to hold a “skhodke”.
Women sang a lullaby that the tsar's wife supposedly sang while cradling her son:
“Sleep, Alekseyki, my heir,
sleep, my noble person,
sleep, my only son,
sleep and do not cry.
When you grow older
you will be a great one,
you will have sums of money,
you will be the emperor of cities and villages,
one in the whole world!
The socialists will burst,
who think that they will be something.
They will shoot the anarchists,
so that not a single one of them will be left.
Now sleep, Alekseyki, my heir,
sleep and do not cry!”
In silence and in secret “skhodkes” the boys and girls sang:
“Brothers, we have concluded
by life and death a bond,
we stand in battle as comrades,
with red flags in our hands!
Should a bullet hit you, my loyal friend,
from the enemy, the hound,
I'll take you out of the flames
and heal with kisses your wounds!
You have been carried over all the roads,
which are drenched now with your blood.
You were carried into the hospital,
but after some minutes you died.”
Since my uncles, Meyshke and Mair were anarchists, I used to sneak away to anarchist “skhodkes”.
I became a useful boy for the big ones. I helped to carry proclamations and also hid them in our “kotakh”[1].
Often they instructed me to stand outside and let them know when police came.
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Because of the speeches I had heard about the “bourgeoisie,” I began to harbor enmity against every factory owner. I was envious of my uncles and, like them, wanted to do something that harmed the rich and powerful.
I absolutely disliked the factory owner Paltyel. His appearance alone was enough for me to recognize in him the true bourgeois: a small man with an ample belly, with a black, neat beard, polished boots and beautiful clothes. His every movement testified to his saturation and fullness; and he walked and acted thoughtfully and decisively.
As soon as I saw him, I felt like throwing a stone at his head. Until now, I have no explanation as to why I never did. Paltyel's leather factory was on the other side of Mill Street.
Part of the factory jutted into a narrow alley and was adjacent to the Slonimer Shtibl, which was separated from the factory by a high fence.
I learned at the “Tshekhonovtser”. In the winter evenings the children walked home from the kheyder with lanterns. The shortest way home was through the market, there it was always bustling and lit. However, I preferred to go through a small side alley where the factory was.
This way was dark, and I had to go through quite a few more streets; crossing “Bath” Street and a side walkway that led to “Yente's” Bes-Medresh.
Before I turned into the alley, I put stones in my pockets. Just as I entered the alley, I started running and throwing stones into the windows of the factory. I repeated this once a week.
Once, just as I was running through the alley, a huge figure came at me from a hiding place. I immediately ran back; but they started chasing me from the other side as well. I threw my lantern at the person, jumped onto the fence and from there down into the yard of the Slonimer Shtibl.
From the other side I could still hear shouting: “Stoy! Stoy! Karlaul, karlaul, razboynik! - Stop! Stop! Guard, Guard, Robber!”
I began to involve other boys for the struggle against the bourgeoisie. On Shabbat, after prayers, I gathered a few dozen of them in the Kavkazer Bes-Medresh and made speeches to them from the podium.
My words were in fact copies of the speeches I had heard from the “big ones.”
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I often organized “skhodkes” in the woods for the boys. I wanted to get involved in any urban hustle and bustle. When goyim knocked down “pegs”, I would stand next, singing along with the “Dubinushka”[2].
During a fire, I ran to help put it out. I pulled the water barrels out of the fire shed and filled the water into buckets. When people tried to revive the “volunteer fire department,” I wrote a letter to Zeydke the locksmith explaining how useful boys could be in a fire.
Zeydke told (everyone) about my letter, and for a long time the young people made fun of me.
Zeydke the locksmith was one of the strong Jews in the shtetl; he was vicious, and therefore everyone was afraid of him. He used to supply and repair weapons for the revolutionary group; that is why he was held in high esteem by the “yatn”. Zeydke had cold eyes, and his look alone instilled fear. He had several daughters and a son. He was not fond of his wife and daughters; all his love belonged to his only son.
We lived in his neighborhood, and I used to play with his boy.
However, I could not stand him. I didn't like that he was spoiled and that his father protected him with great care.
When my father came back from America, we moved to another apartment. However, the boy also came there to play with me. Since I didn't like him, I chased him away, whereupon he complained about me to his father.
Once a goy acquaintance, who usually brought flour to my uncle Dodye the baker, took me with his cart. He had to drive past the locksmith's house.
Zeydke saw me from the window of his establishment, came out, grabbed the horse by the bridle, pulled me down from the cart, and gave me such a fist blow that I bled profusely. The goy fled in fright.
Covered in blood, I ran home. Dad took me by the hand and we went to Zeydke.
When the latter saw us,
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he came out to us with a revolver and announced to my father that he would shoot if we did not leave.
When Dad left for America for the second time, I now completely escaped all supervision and control. I began to make friends with older boys and often went with them to Sokolka and Bialystok. Many times days would go by without Mom knowing where I was.
At home I became calmer; I was a sensitive and romantic boy who took everything seriously and mindfully. I began to become thoughtful, and there were many things that were not clear to me and worried me.
We lived not far from the Jewish slaughterhouse; and I had watched a few times how the cattle was tied and thrown down and how immediately after the shechitaing the skin was peeled off and the warm meat was cut into pieces. After that I simply could not eat meat.
Once a murdered goy was found not far from the shtetl. At that time it was a holiday, and almost the whole town set out to look at the murder victim.
The dead man was lying in a pit, not far from the mountain where clay and sand were mined. He was lying on his side, with his arms spread out and his head crushed, and dried blood showed around a hole in his forehead.
Before night fell, a “sledovatl” (investigator) and a doctor arrived. The murdered man was transported with ropes to the top. Peasants brought tables and several wash tubs with boiling hot water outside. While some peasants shone lanterns, the dead man was dissected and examined in front of everyone in the field.
For a very long time I could no longer eat meat. Just seeing it made me nauseous and sick. The idea used to occur to me that the meat was from people.
Very early on, I began to understand the meaning of romance. It had no physical meaning for me, but I knew both from my books and from the conversations I picked up from older boys
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that romance had something to do with desire and thoughts of girls you wanted to be close to. I had no explanation for what that closeness meant.
From the novels I only learned that romance was connected with longing and tenderness. But I did not know the meaning of both expressions. I could only guess what the grown-ups were doing. Next to us lived a family with many children. One of the girls used to sing love songs incessantly.
Her singing was soft, because in this way she wanted to express her “longing” even more strongly. I sat for hours at the window and listened to her. However, she only sang when she was at work; for example, darning or sewing.
While her hands were working, she usually held her head high and sang with half-closed eyes and a sigh:
“Oh woe Mama, my head hurts,
send for a doctor, or two;
a doctor can cure man's sickness,
but not me, Mama, and not the longing for the one I'm thinking of.”“Now get up, daughter. The sun is already rising;
if you don't follow your mother, it won't end well”;“Alas, Mama, you are right.
You are a mother who sees no evil in me.There‘s a wind blowing across the open field;
over the open field.
Oh woe, Mama, I have gambled away my world;
I've gambled away my world;
I didn't ponder.
I thought it was day, in the end it's night.!”[3]
At that time I had a kind of childish romance with a girl of the same age. Her name was Perl and she was Alter Mukhalop's daughter.
Our love consisted of sitting on blocks together and singing songs.
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Later, I was targeted by Tanye, the daughter of Nokhem Anshel's younger daughter, Roshke. She went to the high school in Grodno. During the summer vacations she came home. At that time we lived in the neighborhood of her father, Shamshonovitsh, who owned a large leather factory.
However, Shamshonovitsh was no important personality. His father-in-law, Nokhem Anshel, did not have much pleasure with him. At one point, Shamshonovitsh had to hide outside Krynki because he had issued forged bills of exchange in the name of Grandpa Khayim Osher's brother, Yisroel Toivye.
Yisroel Toivye wanted to have him locked up. Shamshonovitsh, however, fled only after Nokhem Anshel declared with his sharp “r”: “Let him go to hell; and no matter how great a fuss he makes, I will not help the crook with a penny!”
Shamshonvitsh's[4] wife Rokhke[4], however, tearfully urged Yisroel Toivye to help, and the latter made up for the damage with the counterfeit bills.
Tanye was much older than me. She already knew how to kiss and hug. She used to sing continuously the part of a Russian song: “akh zatshem eto notsh”.[5] She used to snuggle up to me and stroke my head. When she left, I longed for her. But I did not see her again.
Translator's footnotes:
Two years had passed since Dad had left for a country thousands of miles away to establish an existence there. The sea prevented us from seeing each other physically, but the ships that passed it brought hot and longing letters. Every day I ran to Itke Bertsokovitsh and waited until she brought us the letters from the post office.
The postillion usually drove a “britshke”, a two-wheeled carriage, through Sokolker Street and passed right by our house. We knew exactly at what hour his “droshky” would appear heading for the post office. Mom would then stand on the porch and watch as the postillion sat wedged in with his sword at his side, guarding the letter her husband had sent her from overseas.
Dad used to satisfy our longing by putting a photo of himself in almost every letter; portraits in various poses; sometimes standing, sometimes sitting; hands in the pockets of his pants, with the lap of his jacket folded over and a gold watch chain shining from his vest pocket.
The money which arrived almost every week from Dad, was always accompanied by a request to Mom to pack everything and come to him in the distant and foreign country.
My Grandma Rive, with whom we lived, read every letter from Dad and dictated the answers. She insisted that Mom would not leave her.
In the letters to Dad, Mom had to make it clear, at the behest of Grandma Rive, that she had no intention of ever leaving for the faraway land, that was separated from us by such a mysterious and evil sea.
Rive used to argue to Mom, “Who do you want to go to there? You have no one there; no brother, no sister, not a single relative. You will feel as miserable and displaced as I do. If Leyzer Hersch wants his wife and children with him, let him come to them!”
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That afternoon we, Grandma, me and Mama's sister Yente, Grandpa Yankel Bunim and my Aunt Sore, were standing on the Sokolker road waiting for the coachmen.
About a kilometer from the shtetl, Dad got off the cart. The wagoner sat on the coachman's seat, leaning on his whip, his head tilted to one side, watching as the women pushed each other so that they could get to Leyzer Hersh more quickly; to hug, kiss and cry.
At our house, dozens of people were already standing and waiting to receive the greetings of their near ones from the far country.
An old woman, who could not keep her head still because of her old age, just wanted to know if my father had brought her a greeting from her son. “What do you mean you haven't seen him? That can't be!” After all, her son had written to her that he lived next door to the Bes-Medresh!
But Dad didn't walk around for long dressed up as he was, with his gold watch on his chain, his foreign clothes and shoes that looked like the snouts of pigs. At some point we also stopped wondering about the strange words he used when he spoke. Everyone already knew that “no” means “no”, and does not mean ordering the horse to trot off.
In addition to glasses, small pieces of tin-plates and strange cans, Dad also brought a few hundred rubles, which he had exchanged for American money in Bialystok.
We separated physically from Grandma and moved to Kavkaz, to Motl Spadviler. In the house next door, at Motl Tsholnes, Dad rented a cellar where he set up a small factory. He tanned the “shield” leather (what was cut from the sides and necks of animals) for making gaiters and boots.
A strange factory it was! With no windows or air, lit by gas lamps. It smelled damp and musty all the time, and from the walls the steam crept into your bones and settled on your lungs.
No worker wanted to come here, into this “sepulchral pit”, although Dad, with a lot of patience, urgently asked for a co-worker. As a last choice, a skilled worker finally agreed to come to work for a few rubles.
A few months after Dad's arrival, his older brother also returned from America. This one, Abe Yudel, was completely different from Dad.
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He was very capable of managing business, but showed no willingness to do physical labor. In contrast, Papa was a hard worker who would have been lost and helpless without a factory. Since Abe Yudel had not yet decided on a business venture, Yankel Bunim came up with the idea that both of them could start a “shutfes”, a business in partnership.
Abe Yudel said that he had no money (as a contribution). Grandpa, however, convinced my father that a shutfes would be worthwhile; Abe Yudel was a businessman, and with his expertise he would bring good luck and blessings, “you'll see the work will go well and the factory will grow!”
Mom didn't like the whole thing at all; she tried to dissuade Dad. However, it did not help; the shutfes was established. In order to enable him to “shield” tannery, Abe Yudel was taught the “tailor” craft.
This was a highly skilled job. Such a craftsman had to cut the fur through models made of sheet metal so that no waste remained. A bad “tailor” could even ruin a rich factory owner.
Abe Yudel did not just cause one harm.
Dad was a “folder”; this work consisted of making the fur thinner and finer with large knives.
My father was already at work at four o'clock in the morning; when Abe Yudel appeared, which was never earlier than 10 o'clock, Dad virtually began “the second day of work.”
Abe Yudel was never in a hurry; quietly and calmly, he took off his jacket and set about “cutting”. He was a bad “tailor”, but an influential authority.
Abe Yudel usually worked for an hour or two. He was the businessman; bought the leather parts and outside conducted the negotiations with merchants who came from Warsaw as middlemen (“commissioner”, as they were called) to buy finished leather for gaiters and boots.
The partnership did not last long. Mom did everything possible to annul it, with Grandma Rive supporting her. Grandpa Yankel Bunim, however, tried to placate her.
Finally, it was Abe Yudel who was fed up with the whole thing. He still hadn't brought in any money, and business was going from bad to worse. So what do you think had been bothering him?
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Without telling anyone, Abe Yudel stopped coming to the factory. Dad was worried; maybe Abe Yudel was sick? Perhaps, God forbid, some misfortune had happened at his home?
Dad couldn't bring himself to stop working, at least for half an hour, so he sent me to find out what had happened to Abe Yudel.
In his quiet, calm way, Abe Yudel instructed me to tell Dad that he was not coming back. A few days later it came out that Abe Yudel had set up his own little factory in the attic all the time he was a shutfes partner. The merchants he was supposed to bring to the shutfes for the purpose of doing business, he had brought to himself.
When he saw that his factory was doing well, he dissolved the partnership.
Mama ran to Grandpa Yankel Bunim, “he has brought us misfortune,” she lamented. “He has taken all the merchants away from us!”
Grandpa assured her that he himself had not known about it. Abe Yudel consolidated his small factory and estimated a large loan on his leather and leather grease.[1]
Silently, he sold everything. Without telling anyone, he drove away. It was said that he had gone to Bialystok on business. Only after he had crossed the border was the secret revealed: Abe Yudel had gone back to America.
My father, too, was now struggling to get back to America. However, Grandma Rive and, of course, Mama, insisted that they would not allow it.
To cause dad to stay in Krynki, Grandma Rive set him up with a new partner; a relative of Grandpa Khayim Osher. The latter's nephew, Ayzik Krushenaner, had a son-in-law who came from Shishlevitsh.
This young man, Khayim Hershl, obviously could not find work. He was not a tanner, but tried to get a foothold in trade, which did not work.
Khayim Hershl's father-in-law, Ayzik, was one of the first leather manufacturers in Krynki. He, a great “balebos”, lived in the village of “Krushenan” (Kruszyniany) all his life and ran large forest and grain businesses. Being very fond of his daughter, Rokhel, whom he had married to Khayim Hershl, he did everything to get the son-in-law a job.
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Grandma Rive connected my father with Khayim Hershl; and so a new shutfes was established.
Khayim Hershl contributed several hundred rubles to it and also provided a small factory; this, a dowry from his father-in-law, was attached to his house.
Dad first had to teach Khayim Hershl the craft of “folding”.
The factory was far away from the city center. We therefore moved and now lived in the same house with Khayim Hershl. It was pleasant in the tannery, it had many windows, was airy and spacious. Khayim Hershl did not become a great craftsman; but he was hardworking.
In the beginning, the partnership business was a successful thing. Many traders came to buy, and the work there got a good reputation. The workers earned well and were always in high spirits. All day long the factory was filled with singing and laughter.
The gang of skilled workers was playing their “little jokes”.
They would choose a victim and attach a piece of lit paper to his apron from behind with a broomstick. The victim was usually surrounded by flames, and when he ran away in fright to extinguish them, the workers burst out laughing.
Suddenly, my father fell ill with jaundice. Whatever was done, nothing helped him. He was given varying advice to get rid of the disease; one of them was that he should look into a brass bowl, (“mednitse”). The advisors assured him that the yellowing of the face would immediately disappear as soon as the yellow color of the face was reflected in the yellow brass bowl.
Finally, Dad had to go to Warsaw to see a doctor. The business was now completely run by Khayim Hershl.
I really hated Khayim Hershl. I couldn't stand his yellowish appearance, nor his disheveled blond hair sticking out in spiky strands, nor his small eyes that always shone cunningly.
For two months Papa stayed in Warsaw to cure his illness. When he came home, Khayim Hershl suddenly demanded that the balances in the books be checked, to find out how the business was going.
Since we had a common front door, I kept coming to Khayim Hershl's apartment.
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Both business partners sat there over the books. Dad was exhausted and overworked. From time to time he would come over to us, say something to Mom, and then go back inside to Khayim Hershl.
At home, Mama could no longer find peace. She went back and forth, wringing her hands, crying and lamenting; “woe, woe, the books show that we have to pay Khayim Hershl a lot of money. Oh, he will take everything from us, even the bedding!”
This went on for several days and nights. The mess was getting bigger and bigger. Since Papa could not find an explanation for all this, he asked the “tailor” David, “Reb Papa”, to help him. David “Reb Papa” was not only the “tailor” in the factory; he had received his nickname because he had left the Krinker Talmud School and had become a “Bundist” agitator.
The workers had respect for him and his word was always respected. Both Papa and Khayim Hershl had great confidence in him. Dovid eventually discovered that during the time that Papa was not there, Khayim Hershl had falsified the balance sheets; he had increased the expenses and decreased the income. When Dovid found this out, my father fainted from his bench.
Immediately after this incident, the partners abandoned the factory. Obviously, however, Papa and Khayim Hershl still had to balance the books, so they did contract work in other factories in partnership.
With Yisroel Hertske, Nokhem Anshel's brother-in-law, we lived in harmony and frequently visited each other. Yisroel offered Dad an opportunity to work for him. Once, when I came out of school, I went to Yisroel Hertske's tannery to check on Papa. When I saw Khayim Hershl there, standing calmly as if the matter of the falsified numbers had not happened at all, I was seized with evil hatred against him.
I was a daring boy and tried to provoke him. I went to Dad and asked him, “How come you are still leading a partnership with a swindler?”
When Khayim Hershl heard this, he became enraged; he turned to me, “Hey, you little bitch! Snot nose! You impudent fellow! You! I'm going to spank you!”
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Khayim Hershl began to chase me. Like a cat, I jumped on a pile of leather skins, grabbed a piece of leather and started swinging it around. Khayim, however, was not deterred and immediately attacked me.
Holding the leather folded up with both hands, I began to thrash him. The blows fell on his face, on his hands, on his shoulders, on his belly. Whole scraps of skin were hanging off his face.
After that, Khayim Hershl was sick for several weeks. However, neither his wife nor he himself dared to bother me.
Not long after this event, we moved away from Khayim Hershl's apartment.
After giving up the partnership with Khayim Hershl, Dad could not bring himself to do anything.
The situation at home became difficult. The household had grown even more with the addition of two more children.
Dad said, “once and for all, I'm going to America, and no one is going to stop me!”
This time he was really persistent.
Even Grandma Rive could no longer stop him. Sunday morning, we accompanied Papa just as we had welcomed him before, to the Sokolker Road; to the path that would take him back to the vast, foreign land, separated from us by a mysterious and evil sea.
For the third time I was left without a father; but now there were four other children besides me. Friday night, after praying, Mom said to me, “Yosl, you are the oldest now, say the blessing prayers, make kiddush!”
Translator's footnote:
Whenever we were left at home without our father, we lived together with Grandma Rive. But this time, when Dad went away, we took an apartment just for us.
Mom didn't really want to live separately, but Grandma had already moved into the garret she had built on top of her son-in-law Dodye's house.
Apart from that, the household had also become bigger. Mom, however, made sure that our apartment was close to Grandma's.
Living separately did not mean that Grandma Rive gave up her supervision of us. Before we were even really awake, the house was already occupied by Rive's tall figure. She did not speak loudly, but her voice penetrated every corner of the apartment. She helped Mama with the younger children; she especially loved the little girl of the family.
My little sister was a “cry baby,” as women used to say. Mom had four boys, and they all longed for a girl. However, my sister, Perl, was born weak. The boys, on the other hand, were active and restless; not to mention me.
Even my younger brother Mair was a very active boy, although he was the quietest and most attentive of all the children.
The little sister was spoiled and pampered. She was downright smothered with tenderness. Especially Grandma Rive was involved in this, for “she did not let the smallest speck of dust fall on her.” The girl was so spoiled that she used to faint if one did not give in to her wishes.
I loved my little sister very much and looked after her a few times. Once Mom went out shopping and I stayed alone in the house with my sister.
She asked for something and I didn't give it to her fast enough. When she realized that she didn't get what she wanted right away, she fainted.
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At that very moment, Grandma Rive arrived. When Rive saw the “apple of her eye”, her favorite grandchild lying so unconscious, she immediately tried to wake her up and shake her; but me she just wanted to kill. I saw that things were bad for me and I could not slip away from her, so I took the last chance and jumped out of the window.
Rive increased her vigilance over us. She was afraid that her daughter would leave her and go to her husband in the far country. She did everything she could to talk her daughter out of the idea of going to America.
Mama listened to her and gave father various excuses why she could not come to him.
Rive wanted father to return to the shtetl.
Quietly and without Mom's knowledge, I informed Dad about it in a letter.
I didn't even have to exaggerate, because Dad knew only too well how Grandma ruled over her children.
I was very angry with Grandma for keeping Mom away and talking her out of going. I began to resist and contradict her; she could not tolerate such insolence. The result was that her former affection for me dissolved into nothing
She just couldn't stand me anymore and told my mother to give up hope in me; “Let him go,” she used to say, “you won't make a decent man out of him anyway!” Mom, however, very much wanted to make a “respectable” man out of me; she wanted me to behave more “balebatically” and also to achieve a higher education.
When a “gorodskoy utshileshtshe”[1] opened in the shtetl as a substitute for a gymnasium, Mama hired Baylke, the ladies tailor’s daughter, who was a graduate of the Grodner Gymnasium, to prepare me for the communal “utshilishtshe”.
Baylke took one ruble for a lesson. But this did not stop Mama from making sure that I received two lessons a week.
The money was, however, thrown out; although I really wanted to make it to the “gorodskoy utshileshtshe”, not to learn there, but because I had a desire for the blue uniform with the shiny crest on the little hat. I really lusted after dressing up in this flashy attire.
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Maybe I would have made it through the (entrance) exam, but Grandma Rive interfered. She began to make it clear to my mother that my studying would lead to absolutely nothing.
Apparently, my teacher Baylke saw it that way too, because she let Mom know that she would have to tighten her belt if she still insisted that I get into the “gorodskoy utshileshtshe”.
In general, I didn't want to study anymore; I had my mind set on going to America. However much Mom resisted, she finally realized that it would be better for both of us to send me to Dad.
There were important reasons why Mom had to let me go. Not only did I no longer feel like preparing for the “gorodskoy utshilishtshe”, but I also generally did not want to go to the kheyder.
But letting such a wild boy like me hang around was dangerous. In fact, I was already making friends with grown-up boys, but at home I was causing worry and suffering.
I lost my fear of punishment and began to defy Grandma Rive and Grandpa Yankel Bunim.
Mom was afraid that my behavior would make me a person without morals. Moreover, I had it in for my third brother Velvel. I tormented him mercilessly. For every little thing I gave him a severe beating; I literally caused him hell.
Velvel was an interesting boy. He was also restless and hot-tempered, completely different from my second brother Mair, who was quiet and obedient and liked to learn. The teachers “fought” over him; they wanted to keep him in the schools without paying school fees, simply as an example for other children. He had an extraordinary mind; and everyone liked him for his modesty and quietness.
Velvel didn't have much desire to learn. He was always playing games, but he wasn't as wild as I was. He liked only one game; “Salesmen and Customers”. Other children's games did not interest him. He didn't chase along in “Tshort”[2] or sled in the winter; he just wanted to have a “store”.
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He kneaded himself different kinds of “goods” from clay, put them on a small box and traded with them. His pockets were constantly stuffed with porcelain, his symbol of money.
However small Velvel was, he understood that a salesman had to be neatly and cleanly dressed; and so he used to pull about ten ties on top of each other, plus two or three dress shirts and as many collars. I just couldn't stand it!
I could not bear this rigor and fastidious cleanliness. Velvel was constantly washing himself and brushing off his clothes. As soon as I saw that, I went wild. In him, I saw the rich and powerful budding, in a word; the “bourgeois!” (Now Velvel is a big retailer in Newark, New Jersey).
Mom was very worried because I kept beating Velvel. She therefore began to send Dad pleading requests to take me to him as soon as possible; if not, I would beat the boy to death.
My camaraderie with the adult boys also became a danger. Mom was afraid that I would ally myself with what she jokingly called the “ akharistn un tsitsilistn”[3].
(After all), this was already happening in our family; boys who were still very young were involved in the circles of “brothers and sisters.” In general, Krinker boys began their revolutionary activity in very early youth.
But the most important reason was that Mom knew it would be easier for her to break away from her mother if I were already in America. In the correspondence, Dad, who usually did not have a firm opinion, insisted that Mom come to him. He was very firm in letting us know that he would not return to Krynki.
A big part in this firm decision was played by Grandpa Yankel Bunim. He advised my father not to be influenced by sentimentalities and by Grandma Rive's objections. My very wise Grandpa Yankel Bunim knew that Dad would succeed if he remained firm.
Apparently it was also my father's reasoning that it would be easier to get my Mom over to him if I was with him first.
Right after Passover, in a registered letter, half a ship's ticket arrived for me!
Translator's footnotes:
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The few months before leaving for America, I was burning with impatience. It constantly seemed to me that time was not passing fast enough and I wished that the day would not last long. Early in the morning I was already waiting for the night.
In the last months I became calmer and more relaxed. The approach of the great change in my life filled me with deep seriousness.
I stopped playing pranks and committing wild, counterproductive acts that only frightened other people and didn't earn me much affection from them.
So I loved to cause confusion and scare the girls in Pinke the Shames' son's house.
Pinke the Shames' daughters, Itke and Mashe, had a small tailoring workshop. My aunt Sore was apprenticed there.
When I saw the girls engrossed in their work, I would rush in screaming, wild, disheveled and seemingly quite out of breath, “It's on fire!”
The girls would immediately tear themselves away from their work and run to the door, terrified; “Where is the fire? Where?!”
“There's a fire at Yampele's!”, I blurted out.
With a “Go to the devil!” they used to chase after me; but I escaped laughing
It was strange that I repeated this prank a few times, but each time the girls were frightened again.
I used to play strange jokes on strangers who came to the shtetl. When the carters dropped their passengers off at the market, they would stand there with their cloth sacks over their shoulders “as if being dropped in nowhere by a trickster”.
Lost, they looked around. When, as usual, they had already circled the area and had come to terms with the geographical location, they inquired about the people they were going to visit.
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When I stood by, I offered to show people the way to their relatives or friends. With their cloth sack, they trailed behind me to the end of the shtetl; for what I showed was- the municipal bathhouse.
Shortly before my departure, I broke away from my childhood comrades and no longer met with them. I only kept in touch with Sholem, the son of Simkhe, the Barber Surgeon. I became friendly with adult boys who were perhaps six or eight years older than me.
I was particularly close friends with one fellow who was about eighteen years old.
He, a Sokolker, had opened a barbershop in Krynki in the hotel of Grandpa Yankel Bunim's nephew, Itshe “Lya”. In his barbershop the intellectuals and aristocrats of the shtetl had their hair cut and were shaved.
This young man kept himself very clean; every thing was neatly arranged with him. The salon was tidy and airy. Often during the day he sprayed a perfume in the salon.
He was a tailor- but with a physical handicap; his right foot was crippled, and when he walked he tried to compensate for his disability with his healthy left foot. This acted as if the healthy foot wanted to overtake the sick one and flee from it.
We got to know each other in Itshe “Lya's” house, where I was already almost part of the family. Itshe the Kaliker (Cripple) considered himself a “Bundist”, which did not stop him from scurrying around the police chief commissioner, who was his customer, with great pleasure.
I liked the way Itshe did his work. I made myself useful and often soaped up the customers. He showed me how to shave and cut. Itshe took his work very seriously. When he shaved someone, he stepped back a little so as not to breathe in the customer's face.
To learn how to shave people, I chose “mental patients”. However, I was not successful with it. My first victim was Motke; at my very first movement the razor got stuck in his cheek! Motke jumped up with such ferocity,
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that he pulled the chair behind him. Who knows what would have happened if I had not fled! Itshke the Kaliker entrusted everything to me. He considered me a friend of the same age, so I felt a strong bond with him.
Itshke was very much in love with a girl and consulted with me about what he should do to approach her. The girl was a tall dark-haired beauty and came from the neighboring town of Shishlovitsh. Her brother, Fishl Gets, worked in a tannery and had brought his whole family to Krynki.
Itshke had met the girl through her brother Fishl, who was also a “Bundist”. He had immediately confided in me that he liked the girl.
I advised him to write a letter. He bought a book with sample letters, and I brought the girl “fiery love letters” freshly copied from the book. Even then I could compose poems and wrote rhymes full of love. Itshke had me bring them to the girl right away.
Itshke's love inspired me a little, and so I also had a romance. However, I did not know what it all meant.
I only understood that a romantic relationship had to be between a boy and a girl.
My romance came about in a strange way. Two orphans, a brother with his sister, had come from Bialystok to stay with relatives; these were respected “Kapitses” from the “Zhabe” Alley[1]. The boy had still been a thief in Bialystok and boasted that he was the most well-bred of the “Maravikhers”.
The girl Frumke was exceptionally beautiful and a few years older than me. I don't remember how I introduced myself to her. But I still remember what an impression it made on me that Frumke “formally addressed” me! She was the very first one to call me “Sie”; and this brought about a tremendous change in me. I suddenly felt big, grown-up and very important.
I actually made friends with the big ones, but I knew very well,
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that I was still a brat. An adult had quite special characteristics:
one of them was the hair under the arm, which showed on the older boys when they rolled up their sleeves from their shirts. The second one was that you were called “Sie”.
Frumke rose in my esteem, as I was already a “Sie” for her.
Frumke could not read and write. I became her teacher; we used to go to the field, I sang songs for her and told her bizarre stories.
It gave me special pleasure to see her cry when I sang the song, “I have a little boy” by Morris Rozenfeld.
She herself also knew many songs that the Bialystok good-for-nothings sang. She gladly sang some of them to me. One of her favorite songs was a gypsy love song. She brought it to Krynki, and through her it became popular.
She sang it with a particularly sad undertone. The melody and the words told of a gypsy‘s love and longing. Her face always became very serious before she sang wistfully:
“The sky, a pale one without a star,
the sun had just gone down;
There flew a melody so softly
as if it rose from the lawn.I go by the sound through the wood,
which is covered with thick twigs,
there stands a white linen tent,
a small gypsy tent.But no one is inside the tent,
they have all gone to anywhere,
only a gypsy woman sits lonely,
and sings a sad song to me.Her hair is tossed on her shoulder,
her head is leaning against a bush,
her face is burned by the sun,
and with longing quivers her chest.”
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My aunt Sore, who was already a revolutionary and a Bundist at that time, could not stand the fact that I was dating a girl from the “Zhabe” Alley, a relative of the “Kapitses”.
She set out to expose the girl for hanging out with a “little boy who was still wet behind the ears, a little rascal”.
During the summer before the trip to America, I became friends with Avrohem (Abraham) Shmuel Zuts, the main leader of the “Bund”. Abraham Shmuel, the son of Moyshe Aharon the Katsev (Butcher), was an interesting character.
In his very early youth, his eyesight weakened. During the revolution he was beaten so severely in the Grodner prison that he almost went blind.
He could hardly see. In his house was the shtetl's library, and in the movement he was known as “Eternal Light”.
He was a close friend of Borekh Vladek[2], and when Vladek visited Europe in 1936; he together with his brother, the poet Daniel Tsharny, went specially to Krynki to visit him.
Abraham Shmuel brought me books, and I often came to his home, down on the Shishlovitser Street, near the cemetery. He used to teach me politics, explaining the meaning of socialism and the goal of the poor and oppressed to build a world where justice and joy reign. Abraham Shmuel had a great influence on me. Through him, I learned for the first time in a very concrete way what socialism meant.
In my childhood imagination it seemed to me like a doctrine of justice; I particularly internalized one of his phrases, it accompanied me constantly and later shaped my activities as an adult:
“With the pious you must first die to arrive in paradise, but we want to create a paradise already for the living!”
My frequent walks with Abraham Shmuel gave me importance and prestige among the boys who were my previous friends.
One evening I was walking with Abraham Shmuel in the market. By chance we passed close to Goland's wine store.
There the “officials and authorities” of the city used to spend their evenings.
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I had linked arms with Abraham Shmuel.
All of a sudden I saw the police chief come out of Goland's store and hastily approach us. First he grabbed me and pushed me away from Abraham Shmuel. Furious, he began to pat down his pockets; when he was done with him, he searched me.
This scene and the search, filled me with a strange wild joy; I began to feel exalted and was suddenly adult, respected and important in my eyes.
Translator's footnotes:
It didn't bother Mom that I began to behave like an adult. On the contrary, she liked that I had become quiet and “well-mannered”. However, she worried because I had begun to befriend Khaykel Muts, my Uncle Mair's comrade. Mama did not think he was a decent person.
Grandma Rive was enraged every time she was told that I had been seen walking with Khaykel to the “Profitke”. Whether Grandma had incited my Mama, or whether Mama alone had decided to tear apart my friendship with Khaykel, I do not know. One evening, when I was waiting for him on Sokolker Street next to the bridge by the gentile houses, Khaykel came up to me without a word and started to wallop me.
I was less unsettled by the blows than by the pain that Khaykel, whom I loved and revered, and for whom I felt respect, since he had been my older comrade and, moreover, a friend of my Uncle Mair, beat me for no reason. Actually, I wanted to give it back to him; however, I ran away instead.
That night, I lay there in agitation and felt very hurt. I shrank and became tiny like the little finger. My view of already considering myself a “big boy” burst. No, I was still a little boy, because if Khaykel had considered me an adult, he would have talked to me, explained everything to me and demanded an answer from me.
What had happened filled me with great sadness. I changed completely and began to pester Mama to send me to America even faster.
Mama would not let me go alone. Besides, I had only half a ship's ticket so far. But it just happened that my Aunt Etel was preparing for a crossing to America and promised my mother to take me with her.
Aunt Etel, a fierce egomaniac, used to exploit all relatives (for her advantage and) for her pleasure. She knew no leniency for her parents and relatives, not even for her husband and children.
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To keep everyone chained to her, she used to pretend to be sick. She could stay in bed for weeks and be waited on. She was lazy; never once did she wash the dishes. She always used to boss around those who let themselves become slaves as a result of their pity for her and her feigned illnesses.
Her husband, Abe Yudel, was devoted and very loyal to her. She took advantage of this by extinguishing every spark of his own will and independence.
Both families knew Etel very well. Her parents, who came from the circle of the very “balebatic” families of the town, ran the store “Brom”, which was located at the annex, or passageway between both sides of the market. Her father Yosl was a Jewish scholar; both he and his wife were very energetic people.
They had three or four daughters and one son. All the daughters celebrated weddings, as they were reserved for distinguished young people. One son-in-law, Levin, spoke several languages. He was the only one in the shtetl who sold stationery and books; but also lent books for reading.
A second son-in-law, Hebrew teacher Einshtein, was the main leader of the Zionist movement in Krynki and a respected member of the community's town council.
All of Aunt Etel's sisters were hardworking and energetic women. It may be that Etel would not have sunk into such laziness and torpor if she had had a man with more assertiveness than my uncle exhibited.
A joke circulated in the family about Uncle Abe Yudel's submissiveness to his wife.
He used to clean up, cook and shop for her. Since she was always in bed, he wanted to prove his devotion to her.
She once feigned an attempt to get out of bed to prepare food for herself. My uncle, however, did not want her to exert herself and said to her, “lie still, Etelke, I will get it for you!”
He meant, of course, “make dinner.” But in the family this became a joke with an ambiguous innuendo.
Etel's promise to take me with her was worthless. Her heart would not allow her to do anyone a favor.
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Suddenly she let it be known that she was leaving. The preparations for my trip were not yet complete and she refused to wait any longer until I was also ready. However, she promised to wait for me in Antwerp.
My naïve Mom! I told her right then that Etel would not wait for me in Antwerp; if she did not wait for me in Krynki, I argued to Mama, she would certainly not wait for me in a foreign country.
Mama, however, was confident.
The preparations for departure were now hasty. Mom went with me to Bialystok to meet an agent who would guide me across the border. She also wanted to have her eyes examined by the famous ophthalmologist Pines.
I was to go to Krynki afterwards to say goodbye to my own family, close ones, comrades, friends, wider family and the streets of the wonderful shtetl where I lived, was brought up and frolicked.
Yente, my mother's sister, lived in a shtetl not far from Bialystok, and Mama told me to say goodbye to her sister. She herself went back to Krynki. She could no longer stay in Bialystok because she had left her younger children at home.
After about a day and a night on the cart, I saw my Aunt Yente again. I was raised with her and she is like a sister to me.
The shtetl where Yente's husband had taken her after the wedding is gray and muddy.
The small store connected to the apartment stands there in tears, protruding into the mud that lies swollen on the market.
Next to the shop stand the wheels of a wagon sunk into the mud, on which unplaned boards are lying. A Jew in a corduroy caftan stands leaning against the boards, chewing a straw and staring dully into space.
Simplicity and rottenness waft from Aunt Yente's shop. From all corners, from the sacks of flour and sugar and from the half-empty shelves, exhaustion, the smell of kerosene and desolate melancholy strike one. Only when the little bell that hangs by the entrance door of the store begins to ring does the rusty torpor stir a little.
The dull sound of the bell sent my aunt out to greet me.
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She carried her pregnant belly and sleepy steps towards me. It seemed to touch her very little that I had come and that I was going far away across the sea. Neither of us seemed to have understood that I was visiting her to take with me the sight of Yente's figure, which I would never see again.
I don't remember how long I was in the Narev shtetl. What I do remember, however, is the joy I felt when I sat down on the cart that was to take me back to Bialystok.
There was a telegram waiting in Bialystok; Mama let me know that I was not to go to Krynki, but she would come to Bialystok. Mama brought the news that Etel's parents had received a message from her, according to which she was already on the ship. Etel had made fools of us again.
The fact that Etel was on her way to America completely changed the arrangements for my trip. Mom suggested that I should go back to Krynki and wait until they could send me with someone who was also going to America.
I did not want to go to Krynki; I was afraid that Mama would delay the trip. I threatened her that I would run away and never be heard from again if I did not travel immediately. Mama knew that I would indeed do this.
I stayed in Bialystok; I did not say goodbye to anyone in Krynki; I missed the opportunity to take a last look at my family; my grandpas and grandmas, to whom I had caused so much pain, sorrow and suffering; my brothers and sisters, my aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews; my comrades with whom I had played, made mischief and fought; the stones from the pavement; at all that and all those for whom I later longed so painfully.
Mom told Dad about the whole mess by telegraph. He got me a whole ship's ticket and let it be known that he had had to enter me at a higher age.
The period in Bialystok was a real punishment for me and Mom. She wanted me to leave as early as possible, because the children at home did not give her any peace, they were alone and she felt as if she had abandoned them.
Besides, I kept her in fear all the time;
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I couldn't sit still and drifted around in every corner of Bialystok.
She trembled that I might have an accident.
The last day had come; at night I would go to Grajewo, where the agent would meet me and lead me across the border.
I went to say goodbye to all my acquaintances and relatives in Bialystok. I came to the hostel where the Krinkers were stopping, and there I met Khaykel Muts. I urged him to tell me the reason why he had beaten me. He, however, did not feel like it.
But I did not let up: “You will not see me again, and I will not have peace if you do not tell me why you hit me!”
He hesitated for a while, then revealed it.
My mother had come to punish him for consorting with me. She had said (about me), “he is a young lad, he will blab something to the police one day!”
As a result, Khaykel decided to turn his back on me. The best way out was to beat me up; it seemed to him a good way to get rid of me.
When I learned this, I almost choked with anger at my mother. As soon as I had the papers, I wanted to run away from her without saying goodbye.
When I met Mama, I was very irritated; she did not understand what demon had gotten into me.
When the hackney cab that was to take us to the station arrived, I demanded that she not accompany me.
She pushed me into the hackney with fury and held me angrily, for she was afraid I would jump off and run away.
When we arrived at the station, I grabbed the small basket and ran to the front gate.
For a while she ran after me. But just before the gate that separated the station building from the tracks, she stopped.
Silently and with folded hands, she watched as I tore open the iron door of the entrance gate.
For a brief moment, I looked around; Mom stood frozen, her eyes glued to my back, which was moving farther and farther away to be engulfed by the night and the smoke billowing from the chimney of the steam locomotive.
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Even a train cannot leave the place where it stands quietly; it must give a jolt by force. Even a train leaves with longing those who have come to say goodbye to it. But I did not give myself a jolt; I virtually went up in smoke.
I left my mother standing dejectedly on the other side of the entrance to the Bialystok train station. Later she told me that she stood there for a long time, confused, looking into the void; she could no longer find the thread that connected the two of us.
She searched for a similarity between me and each of her family members and could not locate any figure that resembled me. “Incited dogs pull his body,” she concluded.
The pain about a child, actually a child, going out into the wide world alone and without supervision did not bother Mom. She was not crying because her child left her, but out of self-pity; why had she been punished by having such a child.
I too was not bothered by the fact that Mom had stopped at the Bialystok train station, broken and confused. Instead of sorrow and pain, longing and love, an anger burned in me toward her for turning Khaykel Muts against me.
My poor Mom, she wanted to protect me; she wanted me to walk in ways that fit a “balebatic” boy. But instead, she aroused anger and hatred in me.
My mother, peace be upon her, possessed the great virtue of not falling into hysteria; outwardly she could remain calm and composed. She was completely different from my father, peace be upon him, who was heated and quick-tempered. She could still remain calm when there was commotion around her, giving the impression that anger and rage did not bother her.
When she saw that the anger was growing and she could not
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calm it down, she would withdraw and let the irascible person come to his senses and cool down on his own.
On the way to the station she paid absolutely no attention to my anger and rage. Calmly and composedly she instructed me how to behave towards the agent in Grajewo and calmly she put the envelope with all the papers into a bag, telling me where to go in Antwerp for my ship ticket that Papa had gotten for me; after all, because Aunt Etel had left without me, half the ship's ticket had to be exchanged for a whole one.
At dawn the train arrived in Grajewo. The city was still asleep. The passengers, still disheveled and exhausted, dragged themselves, carelessly dressed, down the stairs of the train with their suitcases. In seconds the crowd had dispersed; it parted like torn limbs from a body; and each individual limb the coachmen tried to capture for themselves.
My knock on the agent's door shattered the silence on the other side. Footsteps were heard, walking with unwillingness; and a harsh voice wanted to know angrily:
“Who‘s there?”
The watchword was, “The hunchback fell down!”
An evil Jewess with a crooked face hastily pulled me into the house and quickly locked the door. Hopscotching a bit, she ordered me to follow her. In a corner of the third room, she yanked open a door that was built into the floor and instructed me to descend the stairs. A faint flame and several dozen strained and frightened eyes welcomed me.
The cellar was rusted and lay there in melancholy, no bright ray found its way in there. The few iron black beds looked like leftover rotten teeth in an empty mouth.
On the beds some people lay awake with frightened faces and widened eyes. The basket in my hand reassured them; it was the assurance that a new roommate had arrived, not a gendarme.
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After about an hour, a swaying Jewish woman with a huge belly, which showed under her dress like risen dough, carried in a jug of boiled water and black bread on a dirty tray.
After breakfast, she instructed three residents of the basement to get dressed and follow her.
The agent did not operate the smuggling across the border on foot. She provided her clients with false passports and let them pass by train the short distance from Grajewo to Proskin (Prostken), which was already on the other side of the border.
My name on the passport would be “Itshke Lavende”.
With great doggedness, the Jewish woman instructed me to constantly repeat (the name and reason for my trip): “Itshke Lavende, you are going to Germany to get well. Do not forget it! Don't forget it! Itshke Lavende! Itshke Lavende! Don't be frightened, answer immediately; you are going to Germany to get well!”
At dawn of the third day, after breakfast of hot water and black bread, the Jewess led me outside.
I had not seen daylight for over two days. The morning light made me squint my eyes.
The agent did not allow (me to get used to the light first) to drive away the blindness. In great haste, she nudged me to walk faster.
A walk of several minutes brought us to a small side street where a coachman let us know with a wave of his hand that we should hurry to him.
In the station we were met by a confident and calm woman; she was very neatly dressed and behaved with dignity and composure.
“That's your mother, don't forget it,” the agent told me. Quick as an arrow from a bow the minutes passed; “there, where you see the white stones, there is the border!”
Beyond the white stones a different world is beginning already. The few white stones separated two worlds! It is not more than a few white stones, but neat little houses with red and green colored roofs come towards you; and people - others, dressed up, they even move a little differently; yet there are only a few white stones in between!
My “Mom” led me to a house that was just down by the railroad. She pointed to a wooden building, “there is the bathroom”.
In the “bath” we felt like a flock of scratchy sheep, as the people on the other side of the white stones treated us with such disgust and anger.
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Quite a few people walked around with white jackets and treated the border crossers with terrible disgust.
With every movement they let it be known, brutally and in all clarity, that they were disgusted and nauseated by all those people; but even those who wore gloves dragged the clothes we had to take off with two fingers.
In the “bath” the cold bit into the naked bodies; the austerity and contempt instilled terror in the “unfortunate lucky ones”; yet they were willing to endure all the shame to move on over stretches of land separated and divided by white stones and over raging waves.
After the procedure in the “bath” was over, Germans with big bellies, blue uniforms with conspicuous brass buttons, hats “with two cap visors” or soldier's caps and small swords on the sides began to chase us into the wagons.
They were wagons for transporting cattle. One had to sit on the floor; near the roof was a small opening that served as a kind of ventilator. Such a wagon was crammed with over fifty men and women and their luggage; there was not even enough room to stand, the people lay huddled together; it was impossible for them to stretch out their legs.
But who was bothered by the narrowness and discomfort? Nobody! Almost all of them were young boys and girls. Their songs and laughter drowned out the rattle of the train wheels. They all liked each other and felt close to each other; the joy spread from one to another and made the narrowness fade into oblivion.
At the station, something flew into my eye. When we arrived in Berlin, the eye was already completely swollen shut. At a Berlin train station, waiting for the trains that would take you to the various port cities, I fell asleep in my pain.
A strong shove in the stomach woke me up: a huge German gendarme stood over me and shoved me in the side and stomach with the tip of his boot: “Get up, you little Jew!” he shouted at my body, which was writhing in pain. German men and women stood by and laughed.
The German gendarme lifted me up by the collar with brutality,
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pushed me and threw me onto the platform where a train was standing.
The closer the train came to Antwerp, the more I was paralyzed by the fear that they would not let me go to America because of my eyes. I moved into a corner and cried. A young fellow took pity on me. He lifted my eyelid and cleaned it with the tip of his tongue. By the time we arrived in Antwerp, the eye was almost healthy.
How the immigrants were sorted into the Antwerp hotels, I don't know. I only remember being led along the streets with other people. Everything spun and blurred before my eyes; the noise, the harsh lighting, and the roar of the streetcars. Each of us was tired and exhausted and just wanted to rest.
However, it was not granted to me to come to rest; not even in the strange, distant city and the unknown country. When we arrived in Antwerp, a vicious Jew with only one eye took over our leadership, speaking in a kind of Jewish German.
His first task was to instruct the immigrants in the use of the “privy” so that everyone would remember to keep the “privy” clean and not to place themselves in front of it (in an unsanitary manner). He illustrated this by grabbing my cap and wiping the seat with it.
I snatched my cap out of his hands and started brushing it over his face. He threw a tantrum and started hitting me. It became a scandal. Several young boys stood by me, and this had such an effect that the first night in Antwerp ended with brawls.
The owner came running, the fracas was stopped; but during the week in Antwerp there was really no shortage of trouble for me.
What is time? When something becomes unnecessary and a burden and you want to run away from it, time can become a great punishment and torment.
The week in Antwerp kept me in anxiety and impatience. A young fellow, who had been staying in the Antwerp hotel for some time due to not being allowed on the ship because he first had to cure his trachoma (Chlamydia trachomatis), accompanied me for the week. He led me to the shipping company to get my ship's ticket and became my guide in general.
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Antwerp, however, terrified me and choked me with fear. Those huge horses and the dogs harnessed to the wagons did not let me rest.
When I saw a “Negro” for the first time in my life, I panicked.
On an Antwerp street, a black figure suddenly appeared in front of my face. I was startled; for it was coming right toward me. In contrast to its blackness, a white shirt stood out, a white collar and a white tie. I began to scream. The figure laughed it off, and from its mouth flashed teeth as white as sugar.
Our ship packed itself on a Shabbat morning full of noise, crying, with women, children, elders and a bustling youth. We got the ship moving with our singing, our joy and our excitement. Only when the shore was already no longer visible to us did we begin to settle into our floating home.
The passengers of the tween deck were divided on both sides of the ship. On one side were the women with their children and on the other side the men. The two divided crowds were not allowed to visit each other. If you wanted to cross over to the other side of the deck, where the women were, you either had to bribe a sailor or sneak over.
Passengers of the same sex were quartered in one cabin each. This was a huge cellar right next to the cargo hold. The only furniture in the cellar were iron beds, forged together in length and height. Three beds were placed on top of each other, and the more able and skilled people took the very top beds.
They had an advantage because those on the lower beds had to endure a lot from their upper neighbors as soon as they became seasick. The stone floor made the feet freeze, even through the shoes.
Both the toilet and the water were on the deck, and so the sick used to fill teapots with water and keep them beside them. Food was served on a huge wooden table, around which were long wooden benches attached to iron pipes.
Food was procured in a feeding trough, just as for animals. A sailor brought the trough and threw the food (on tin plates) with a big wooden cooking spoon. Every day there was the same food:
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A piece of herring in dirty soup, mashed potatoes, and sometimes a piece of black meat that looked like it had been rolled in mud.
The sailors were truly vicious men. They treated the passengers as if they were arrested or prisoners from an enemy country.
One sailor even committed murder.
A woman from Warsaw, who was traveling with her two children to join her husband in New York, had fallen ill. She sat down on the stairs leading down to the cabin. The sailor came running, but instead of asking her to let him pass, he gave her a shove with his foot. She hit and suffered a fractured skull.
The sea became her grave.
I was among the tiny minority of passengers who did not suffer from seasickness. I went around the sick and served them. My willingness to help everyone in the cabin brought me close to a Jew from Odessa who was traveling with his son to (his other) children. This Jew was a very daring man and stood up against all injustice.
Once he stood up for me, almost causing a panic.
I had asked for a little more food, whereupon the sailor poured out a whole spoonful of hot food on me. I began to throw my tinware at him. He chased off to catch me, but the Jew from Odessa stopped him. There was a brawl and a commotion. Fortunately, an older man came along and stopped the turmoil.
Twenty-three days the steerage passengers suffered in this prison. When we saw the shore of America, our joy was not only to have arrived in the new land, but also to know that we would now be delivered from this ship.
Each of us was now filled with deep seriousness; each was absorbed in his own thoughts. We arrived to stand before a court.
Would we meet with favor? Would everything go smoothly? Everyone knew that the “Kesl Gardn”[1] was known as “the island of tears”.
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Under the heavy burden of silence everyone dragged himself with his bundle to the avenues of “Kesl Gardn”. Employees stood quietly and gave instructions in dozens of languages. People lined up one after the other. People in white coats and jackets opened eyelids and drew a sign with chalk on the jackets of the dispatched.
I walk behind the Jew from Odessa and his boy; I see how they paint the sign on him and he looks at me full of concern. I want to go to him.
An employee blocks my way and tells me to go upstairs. The stairs lead me into a cage made of coarse wire.
A fat man with a shiny face holds a young girl and tortures her with questions. She wrestles with him. He says sharply to her, “you are telling lies!”
An aged, tired person with a gray face calls out my name. He asks calmly, exhausted, “will you recognize your father?”
“Yes, there he is!”
Across the street I see Dad, he's in a “wire cage” too. “Go ahead, hug your dad!”
I bend down to the basket; the girl is still wrestling with the fat man. Suddenly he lets go of her, she rushes out screaming, grabs her head and falls down.
“What about her?” “She was detained, she told lies,” says from the side the tired voice of a tormented person.
Dad is already holding my basket. He leads me to the asphalt paths of the avenues; I am chased by the screaming of the girl, she lies stretched out, her face becomes more and more yellow and sunken.
Joy pulsates around me and beside me, people hold each other, nestle together, talk with understanding and love. The buildings Papa has led me out of are moving farther and farther away.
“The ship,” Dad says to me, “is about to take us to New York!”
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