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In the beginning of the 1920's, many small towns in which large numbers of Jews were crowded and squeezed together, were spread throughout Russia, Lithuania and Poland. They endured trying and difficult conditions. Six days a week they worked and toiled for their bread and their meager needs. Few were wealthy, even in towns that had merchant connections with the large and distant cities. But in these small communities the Jews lived their lives in companionship, as if one family; they watched over each other. The celebration of one was a celebration for all; mourning for one was a mourning experience for all. In these settlements, all were distinguished by leading their lives based on Jewish values, with holiness and piety, with modesty and simplicity. The religious atmosphere was solidified and fixed by their spirituality and with the application of the intelligence of learned Torah students.

From afar came rumors of the coming of railways and telegraph connections, but in these remote towns the daily activities still relied on carriages pulled by a pair of horses; the bustle and noise of the cities and the secular culture hardly reached the little towns. These poor settlements remained strongholds of basic Yiddishkeit (Jewishness).

Jews prayed and studied Torah. Much devotion was invested in their prayers and in reciting psalms. With fervor, they directed their hearts to the Father in heaven. Out of humility, they never raised their heads; their eyes were always lowered. Agudah “ambience” saturated their souls, made their lives sweeter, and inspired hope for redemption before long. Look into the eyes of a poor, humble man. Who knows? Perhaps he is Eliyahu Hanavi (Elijah the Prophet), here to bring us the Moshiach (Messiah). With deep faith they lamented that not soon enough in the future, there would be a bridge, even if only made of paper, that would allow them to cross to the Holy land, and that all following nations of the world would fall into the abyss below, though their bridge was made of iron.

At the head of these Jewish towns were distinct Rabonim (Rabbi-teachers), famous, God-fearing Talmidei-Chachomim, with high morals and abundant mitzvot that influenced the populace and inspired them with deep faith, espousing the maxim “Yisro'el the eternal is an actuality.” Kozanhorodok, in White Russia, in the district of Policia, was a typical example of these towns. It had a devout religious Jewish community for hundreds of years. A small town, it was inhabited by two hundred Jewish households, with a much larger Christian population. It was surrounded by many small and large Christian villages; and situated among those were a few additional Jewish families.

Kozanhorodok was noted in Policia for its great, important, Rabbis who functioned as faithful shepherds of their small flock. As testament to the long existence of the town was the old cemetery with its ancient headstones, graves of tsadikim (the righteous) and Rabanim. The cemetery held an important part in the daily lives of the Kozanhorodok Jews. On any day, one could always find a Jew prostrated over a grave, or a woman bent over a tsadik's grave baring her soul, or a maiden sitting there, praying, with no a dowry or redeemer; or a dangerously ill individual and so on, all with some adversity.

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Many are the stories about the healings or the help that came as a result of the pleadings that were spread over the graves of the Tsadikim – there was no physician in Kozanhorodok, not even after WWI.

Shocking and horrifying stories were related among the townspeople from the days of the Cantonists and the kidnappers. They kidnapped poor people's children instead of the rich children and delivered them to the government (army) and to their doomed fate. For many years, Kozanhorodok's women could not forget the screams of the unfortunate women whose children had been snatched from their arms. Their last cries to the little children was to never forget they were Jewish and called after them “Shema Yisroel.” It was said that after many years, the few that returned to the town indeed had the Shema Yisroel ingrained in them.

Outstanding among the ancient buildings, the pride of the town, was the “Cold” Synagogue. Its architecture was reminiscent of buildings of the late middle ages; many rooftops, all under a large dome. The entrance was unusually low – an entering Jew had to bend down, bowing in humility, but the inside was very high. The wide, circular ceiling containing images of holy animals, reached the upper dome. The Aron Kodesh, (Holy Ark) in the synagogue was unique; there was no other like it, even in the big cities. It was the supreme effort of a master engraver

The Holy Ark in the Cold Synagogue

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who had invested the best of his imagination creating all the engravings and the open fretworks. The talk in town was that only three such holy arks were constructed by this artist from Bialystock – one in our town, the second in Lachwa, which is 3 kilometers from Kozanhorodok, and the third in some unknown place. One had to wonder what the intent of this master engraver was in building these holy arks, purposefully in such small forsaken towns like Kozanhorodok and Lachwa. Indeed, great are the mysteries hidden in a person's heart…

And so this synagogue with its Holy Ark survived hundreds of years with its holiness and mysteries, with the countless generations that gathered there, during fires and riots, during invasions and marching troops and until the Shoah (Holocaust) of our time.

Attached to the Cold Synagogue was a small, low building, the “shtibel ” (small room) in which services were held during the week. Only on Shabbat ot (Sabbaths) and Holidays was the Synagogue used, or on other festive occasions, such as calling a Chosen (Groom) to the Torah before or on the wedding day – many were such “call-ups” for weddings held there. And here should be noted a prevalent superstition: It was believed that the dead visited the Synagogue at night.

Near the Cold Synagogue were two Batei-Midrashim (Houses of Learning). Stationed in one, was the Rav Yechiel Halel Gorelik (and his followers). The second was the Beit-Midrash of the Stolin Chassidim. Each day, between Mincha and Maariv prayers, the Shul yard was filled with the worshipers, learning and discussing related world events. This was their opportunity for relief and spiritual renewal after a hard day of toil and livelihood concerns, during a day of interacting with commoners and inhabitants of nearby villages.

In Kozanhorodok, connections with the “outside” was entirely in the hands of the horse-drawn wagon drivers. They would relate what they had heard outside the boundaries of the town. They also brought letters, notes and greetings from people who had gone to nearby Luninyets to work and earn their livelihoods.

Towards evening, the people of Kozanhorodok would go in groups, with their wives and children, to meet the drivers, to ask about mail (letters) and receive whatever may have been sent to them. There were maidens of the town who dressed nicely, combed and bejeweled, who went to meet the drivers, on the chance they may have brought them a letter from their intended (future) Chosen (groom) who went out to Luninyets each day of the week.

There were no flour mills in Kozanhorodok. Outside the town, on sandy yellow hills were many windmills – high, narrow, wooden structures with four large wings (blades). The wind during the day caused the blades of the windmills turn, and all the surrounds were filled with that noise.

Kozanhorodok was blessed with a river that passed and streamed through the town, rewarding it with beautiful landscapes. In various twists and turns the river traversed the town and surrounded it from three sides. To leave the town, one crossed over a long, wide wooden bridge that was supported on thick wooden pillars sunk into the water and river bed. In the summer, when the water was low, it was possible to cross the river in a few places by wading on foot and thus shorten the distance. The river was very wide, sometimes, long wooden rigs would be floating by, laden with wooden beams and various planks, on their way to the big cities. The river brought a sense of well-being and pleasure to the townspeople. Their herds drank its clear sweet waters. Towards evening as the sun set, the river edges filled with horses and cows drinking and wading in the water, their contented animal lows and nickers filling the surrounding air.

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Along the length of the river the towns' gentile girls gathered as well; among them also some Jewish maidens, all washing laundry. They would slap piles of plain or coarse clothes in the water, that after the washing glistened white as snow. They enjoyed their work and would sing hymns or Belarusian songs.

When the Jews of Kozanhorodok wanted a special glass of tea, for example after the end of Shabbat, or when inviting a guest, they would hurry to the river to fetch a pail of water. During the hot summer days the Jews of the town enjoyed bathing in the river. On Erev-Shabbat (Fridays) almost all the male Jews of the town, large and small, flocked to the river to bathe and purify themselves in the natural Mikvah.

Swimming in the river was the favorite activity and sport for the Kozanhorodok boys. Who in the town didn't know how to swim? They were experts in all the swim strokes. They did not know about bathing suits. In town were bath houses designated for men and women, separately. Occasionally, in the mischievous spirit of a rascal, one of the boys, an accomplished swimmer, would swim underwater towards the girls and surface suddenly among them, eliciting their screams and protests… The youths not only swam and bathed in the river, from the banks they also fished with fishing rods. And then there were those that rented a fishing boat to fish with a rod or cast a small trawl. In the boats, the boys and girls had their best youthful dreams by the light of the moon.

There was a small grove, called “Bobroina”, on the river bank at the edge of the town, near the watermill. The grove was a cluster of pine and oak trees, young and tall. They were reflected in the flowing river waters as if they were falling, and the pine needles were immersed in the water. The townspeople were charmed by the grove – during the week it rested in silence, but on Shabbat (Sabbath) afternoons, boys and girls flocked there, in a festive mood, wearing their best Shabbat clothes and an air of fresh enjoyment. They strolled around, lay on the pine leaves, skipped, jumped and gathered pine cones; the little ones played hide and seek. In the hours between Mincha and Maariv the adults strolled as well, the old and the young, enjoying God's world.

In main, the River was the source of livelihood for many of the Jews. In some seasons the trading in fish grew to large proportions. The gentiles were also involved in fishing – they were very proficient, in large fishing boats, with trawlers and other fishing equipment. They would sell their catch to the Jewish merchants who in turn would trade and send the fish to the big cities: to Warsaw, to Lodz and so on.

The entire settlement of the Kozanhorodok Jews was in the town center and its alleyways. Located there were their residences, the workrooms, the shops and the Beit Midrashim. There were no dedicated work shops; the shoemaker did his work in his living space, the tailor in his house and the sofer (scribe) in his home. In the wide space of the town's center was the town market in which was also the Orthodox Church. Every Sunday and on their Holidays the town's Christians assembled, dressed in white clothes with embroidered ornaments. Next to the church stretched the Priest's garden, surrounded by a high fence, which was closed, as a barrier to the Jews.

In the town there were also streets where the Christians lived; these were mainly in the suburbs and actually in some slums. There was a populated neighborhood across the river, in it were many fishermen and cattle breeders. That neighborhood was called “Meydan.” A single Jewish family lived there as well, the Saba family, which was much liked and respected by the gentiles. On a day of festivities, a celebration or a wedding, the heads of the Christian community would bring gifts and volunteer to bring invitees in their carriages to join the event or to ferry musicians from neighboring villages to the party. At the celebration itself the Christians joined in, eating and dancing and entertaining the bride and groom. Family secrets and the hidden affairs of the “ne'er-do-wells” in the community would be revealed to the household in great detail. The Christians knew well all of the Saba's grandchildren that would visit on Chol Hamo'ed, they knew all their ages and their family connections.

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The local government in Kozanhorodok was a rural government, at its head sat the elder of the village, called the “Walost.” Jews played an important part in this local government. They were appointed by the district government as village elders. The secretary of the Walost was always a Jew. Occasionally, two secretaries were in place, a Jew and a gentile. In Kozanhorodok, good neighborly relations between the Jews and Christians prevailed.

After WWI, when riots broke out in many White Russian towns because of the invasions of the murderers, no robbery or murders took place in this town. The Christians were not caught up in the wild incitements and the Jews were secure and safe. But during WWII, Kozanhorodok, with all the others, was completely wiped out. The “good” neighborly relations and all the Jews' money and gold, unfortunately, were to no avail.

The Cemetery in Kozanhorodok

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R' Shlomo Fishman was 98 on that Shabbat – the last one of his life. He came home from Shul and his tallit fell from his hands as he slumped into the armchair that Grandma offered him. She saw immediately his appearance was different from yesterday's or the day before. She called out the town's paramedic and all the family members. All the children came, and Grandpa, seeing them crying, recovered a little and scolded them as was his way: “What's all the crying about?” “Here I'm about to die, leaving behind a life of happiness and respect, I've merited to have children and grandchildren – like Yaakov Avinu (Our forefather Jacob)” – with these words, his pure soul left him. Former generations, far more wholesome in their spirituality and their faith, apparently were also physically stronger than us. Grandma lived to 108, with clear mind, until she met her death at the hands of Hitler's minions, with the Jews of the Luninyets Ghetto.

The family was large, with many branches, and Dad, though not the firstborn, was the most advanced and enlightened of the sons. As did many of this generation, he secretly studied secular subjects. Perhaps this was his reason not to look for ways to avoid conscription like all the others – he went and enlisted in the Czarist Russian army in Kiev; for him this was an opportunity to go out into the great world.

And here is a typical tale Dad related to me: In Kiev he met a girl and fell in love with her. Her parents liked him and promised him a chance to continue his studies. They waited for the happy day he would be released from the army and the couple would announce their engagement. The awaited day arrived. On that day, the father of his beloved gave him a gift, a valuable violin. It was decided that the parents and their only daughter would “ascend,” together with my father, to Kozanhorodok.

In anticipation of the coming of these Kiev people headed by my father, much preparation took place in Grandma's house. Grandma cleaned the house as if it was the eve of Passover. She prepared the best foods and baked goods. Curtains and Sabbath tablecloths were spread out, as was appropriate, to welcome the returning son, the guests and the parents with their daughter.

It was a fierce winter day. The handsome young man, wrapped in a large fur, arrived in the town with his guests. The usual carriage drivers could not have imagined that on such a snowy day with frost on the ground there would be anyone coming by train, especially to Kozanhorodok. Not finding a winter carriage at the station, everyone threaded their way on foot. When they arrived they were heartily received; the tables were set; all the family appeared; and everything was ready to celebrate the engagement.

Suddenly, in midst of the celebration, panic arose. The grandfather came in and announced forcefully: “This will not take place and will not happen!”. “Why?” “The fiancee walks around with her head uncovered.” “And seven times worse than that,” he continued, he, the Grandfather, saw with his own eyes, his future in-law washing himself with aromatic soap, with half his body naked…!

The crying and pleadings by Grandma and the family were of no use. In front of everyone, Grandpa pulled off his belt and whipped his son. That same day, the Kiev people and their daughter left town, despite the bitter cries of the daughter's beloved; in their hearts, for sure they were happy to abandon the shidduch (match) with these wild, strange people. To this day I remember that image of my father; I believe this event left a mark of sadness on his soul for the rest of his days.

Memorably, the gentiles of the village said to my father that there was none like him, not amongst the Jews and not amongst the gentiles. After the event I related, Dad was bitter for many years. He married a woman when he was only 28. As he built his house (life) he involved himself not only with his livelihood, but also with reading and introspection. As was later told to me, he wrote many poems and observations. But these writings remained with him, without sharing anything.

In one of his letters, he asked me to approach (Chaim Nachman) Bialik and ask his opinion on two of the poems he'd sent him. When I entered the poet's house, I was so excited I could barely speak. I offered Dad's letter with the poems. When the poet finished reading, he said “Your father is very accomplished, but his time has passed. Now is the time for these,” and he pointed to a booklet of new poets resting on the table.

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I lived in our town for just a few summer and winter seasons. Even so, they registered deeply in my heart. Summer days were nice and glowing, cheerfulness and joy prevailed everywhere. In contrast, the winter days were stark and desolate, but even they fill me with longing and yearning.

By now, my recollections are faint and blurry because of all the other impressions wandering within me, yet whenever I see a moon floating in the sky or a magnificent landscape it seems to me I'd seen something as wonderful as this before, and as I rummage through my memories my little town pops up in all its beauty.

It was a remote little town, among the swamps and marshes of Polesia, far from a city or a train station. The houses were made of wood, most had straw-thatched roofs, each with its garden or yard. A small settlement, poor, but outstanding in its innocence, modesty and idyllic atmosphere. The people did not seek greatness or glory. Whether in their store or in their workshop, everyone toiled and worked all day long. From man to woman, young to old, they spun the grey thread of existence with the labor of their hands and their daily worries. Their number of work hours had no limit; they had no concept of vacations. An immeasurable amount of thought and effort was invested in preparing for Shabbat, to exalt and glorify it for its holiness, if only for a brief time to elevate and distinguish it from the mundane week days.

On weekdays, the townspeople ate rye bread, but for Shabbat and Holidays they baked special, white, braided Challahs. If anyone was observed baking wheat bread on a weekday everyone knew there must be a special mitzvah meal in the house, or, God forbid, an ill person, and they would hurry to pay a visit. They also didn't eat much meat because it was considered a luxury.

Once in a while, on a Shabbat, my imagination leads me back to my distant town – I'm in my parents' house, and in front of me is an entire world of peace of body and peace of mind. Only then do I feel the taste of Shabbat, just as it was in my childhood.

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A chapter not often told, understandably, was the relationship between the Jews and the gentiles. But even in this area there were glimmers of light that merited pride in our town. Consider the following episode:

It happened on a cold fall evening. Dad was not home attending his business, and Mom was at a neighbor's house for a friendly chat. My big brother and I were still awake. Suddenly , with a loud bang, the door swung open and Mom burst into the house screaming “Fire!” This was not a rarity in our town, but each time it caused a terrible panic. We actually saw the fire advancing near our house. Our neighbor's house was entirely in flames; the fright was enormous.

With haste I dressed my little brother and wrapped him securely. I myself held on to my big sister's hand – I was then about 10 years old, filled with fear and anxiety. Meanwhile, Mom and my big brother were busy saving household things.

Our house was in great danger as we left it and turned towards the well in the Jew's street, to shelter there until the danger passed. But I saw that the fire seemed to be chasing me, I immediately changed direction and entered the street of the gentiles. Moreover, my fear grew so much that I pushed further into the street without looking back, not even a glance. And so we entered the house of one of the farmers. At first I had a very hard feeling, but when I saw the attitude of these people toward us my mood immediately changed for the good. Indeed, they fed us, offered drinks, and laid us down near the oven to sleep for the night. Almost immediately, we fell into the arms of deep, sweet sleep.

Meanwhile, Mom, having saved whatever she could, began to look for her children – they weren't there! Her sorrow in not finding them right away was enormous, especially since she saw the street to which we had fled was now completely in flames. Hour after hour she walked between the scattered debris crying up to the sky “Who has seen my children?”, “Where are my children!” She really thought we had been burned and were lost in the conflagration.

Finally, as dawn broke, one of our uncles who had come from Lachwa to help us, found us sleeping securely and peacefully, near the warm oven in the farmer's house. Later, we learned these farmers were the ones that had saved our possessions from the house, from string to shoe-laces, and made sure nothing was lost.

Yes, friendly relations with our Christian neighbors were more than just a few. The neighbors related to my father with actual admiration. And he earned it. Smart, educated and knowledgeable about world affairs, he was accepted by both Jews and Christians as one of them. They brought all problems to him, and more than once he would assume the position of doctor or judge. He knew how to conquer everyone's heart with his stories and his jokes. If I saw a group of people, particularly of gentiles, standing in a circle I knew my Dad was in the middle telling one of his interesting and funny stories. No wonder was the large number of friends he had among the farmers in the neighborhood and surrounds.

But times change. Evil spirits and evil plots joined together, and one day we found ourselves among enemies and enemies of our souls who sought to unleash their wrath on us. One spark was sufficient to ignite the fire of hatred. And that fire broke out and consumed the entire house of Israel.

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It is difficult to determine when the Jewish settlement in Kozanhorodok was established; we have no notes or books kept by the community, nether are there any documents. But there is no doubt that the Jewish community in Kozanhorodok existed for about 400 years. The old cemetery, the ancient headstones and the older Jews' recollections, including their stories about the old “Cold Shul” synagogue, are testament to the long history and “old-age” of the Jewish settlement.

However, in the nearby city of Pinsk there is a history of their Jewish community in which is written: “In 1679, the elected Jewish community leaders gave the Leishener Cloister (which belonged to the Pinsk Jesuit Church) 1500 guilders for the benefit of all the Jews who lived in Pinsk and its surrounding villages.” Amongst those stated villages were Lakhowitz, Kloz and Kozanhorodok. Thus, in 1679 a Jewish community existed in Kozanhorodok; they were required to pay dues and taxes. In 1776, records show some of those outside Jewish communities, which included Kozanhorodok, refused to pay dues to the Pinsk Jewish community and declared themselves independent. On this basis, one can estimate without exaggeration that the Kozanhorodok Jews existed there more than 400 years ago. In 1897, amongst the general population of Russia, there were 1,597 Jews.

The Jewish population in Kozanhorodok lived in a separate quarter of the town. The area began at the bridge and stretched over the entire long street of sand. Its houses, with their straw roofs and frequent fires, remained unchanged until the last 40 years; and were it not for her strong competitors – Luninyets, as well as the emigrations to America – Kozanhorodok would not have fallen so fast from its category as a city. Almost all the Jewish population simply continued their way of life, and with their toil and sweat earned their daily bread. A large number of them would spend the entire week in the outer “foreign” cities hardworking as carpenters, builders, shoemakers or fishermen and only towards the week's end come home to the family to rest and enjoy the Sabbath.

And thus Kozanhorodok continued…

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During the Polish administration, Kozanhorodok declined completely. The big Synagogue, noted as one of the finest architectural masterworks, with its two smaller side synagogues, were vestiges of what was once a very large Jewish settlement. The cemetery confirmed this. The small town, especially after the fires, became small, poor and downtrodden, and from year to year the Jewish settlement kept diminishing. In the first years of the Polish administration many left for Argentina.

In Kozanhorodok were several Zionist organizations such as “Hechalutz” and “Hechalutz Hatsa'ir”; today, many of their members are to be found in Eretz Yisrael (Palestine). In the thirty years that the aliyah (ascending) to Palestine took place, our little town became very quiet.

Life in the town became very hard; everyone's face reflected the burdensome worries of earning a livelihood. Many shopkeepers and hand-workers applied for work in the Mikashevich-Panir factory. Most of the rest, the tailors and shoemakers, left the town. Friday eve saw almost half the town return for Shabbat and the next day, on Motzo'ei Shabbat (after Shabbat) evening, they returned to work. The older generation lived like that and accepted their fate. They had no thoughts of emigrating or leaving the town for another town.

In contrast, the younger generation sought a way out, a path to a better life. Their only education had been in the Polish Folk School.

The market in Kozanhorodok

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While they aspired to make more of themselves than their predecessors, the depressed work situation prevailed, and all had to wait for better days. When the Bolsheviks arrived, the town grew livelier. The youth embraced the new life-approach. Many obtained government positions, became teachers, traveled the world and enjoyed an improved moral and physical outlook on life.

But the world war (WWI) put an end to all this.

In the Synagogue yard stood the Cold Shul, surrounded by Batei-Midroshim (smaller synagogues/learning places) on all sides. It had a carved Aron Kodesh (Holy Ark) that was truly a master work of art. The painted images were a gallery of all kinds of animals, like the wild bull and the Leviathan (sea monster) and the inscription “And the bear sojourned with the sheep, the leopard with the goat.” One thought that no fire could ever harm the synagogue, because of the many fires the town endured non ever reached the synagogue.

When the Shabbat's weekly portion B'Ha'alotcha came around, the old Shammes (beadle) would go on Friday afternoon from house to house distributing tallow candles. Everyone knew these were for illuminating the synagogue. Fruits hung from the walls and Yankel with his band came to the synagogue before Mincha (prayers) and played a march. This custom continued until the new Rabbi arrived and cancelled it because he feared housewives could, God forbid, delay the candle-lighting for Shabbat. On the eve of Yom Kippur, they would spread a sizeable amount of straw over the floor because of the custom to stand frequently during the service and this would protect them from getting too cold.

After the Kol Nidrei many of the older Jews spent the night in the synagogue, praying and saying tehillim (psalms). I spent many such nights with my Zaydie (grandfather), o”h, in the synagogue.

Family names were never used in the town, but each family had their own appellation. So we have the “Klezmorim” (Musicians), the “Nachmantsuks” or the “Brynyuks”. The Musicians consisted of Yankel (Yaakov) the Klezmer, his band and his son. The Nachmantsuks, used the forename of Nachman Yitzchak and his family. Our family was called the Brynyuks, after my Grandmother “Bryna” and her husband Dovid. The names were in this order: Menashe Dovid Bryness, Feivel Dovid Bryness and Feivel's children: Aaron Feivel, Dovid Bryness and so on. Also, there were Bubbah (Grandma) Tcheryl and Bubbah Sascha Chanah. And, invoking Bubbah related names, we had, for example, “Moishe, Bubba Cheryl's.”

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When a simche (celebration) took place in town such as a wedding, a bris, that simche included everyone – the whole town became connected. When there was a wedding, Yankel the Klezmer was the first to go to the in-laws and ask about playing at the wedding. After Shabbat and the following week, Yaakov and his band went to the bride's home to play and wish a festive mazel tov to her and the in-laws. Also visiting her were maidens from the bride's family and her friends. It was customary for the maidens to receive a “tenner” or other money from their fathers (to give the band) for dancing. They danced quadrilles and polkas, and that's how they spent the evening.

On the day of the wedding, the klezmorim would come to the groom's home, accept some “notes” (monies) from all the in-laws, and then lead them from the home; accompanying them and playing music along the way, as a fine “mazel tov” honoring the groom.

The wedding itself deserves a separate chapter: The bride is seated and the groom is led to her. He lifts her head-covering and places it covering her face; they are then both, separately, led to the synagogue and the wedding chuppah (canopy). Following the wedding, a festive meal is served, and, with wine lifted spirits, each in-law is greeted with a mazel tov until one of the klezmers announces: “Kallah's (bride's) side to the tables!”, then “Chossen's (groom's) side to the tables! and ending with the call for the “Drosho–Geshenk!” (Sermon–Gift).

That call for a “Drosho–Geshenk” was a left-over custom from an earlier time when the Groom would give a prepared sermon during the meal and would receive a gift from his in-laws for his sermon. But as time passed, giving the sermon became obsolete and only the “Sermon–Gift” survived; guests would give whatever was possible. Then there were those who tried a different spiel: They tore a paper Russian Ruble in half and the two people then called to the guests to add to their half-Rubles for the Drosho-Geshenk. The collection was counted. The Klezmorim received a known percentage of this amount. Yankel the Klezmer conducted his high-handed monopoly like this until one day, a younger group had established themselves, learned the tunes and melodies and became a second, competing Klezmer band. A “war” started between the two bands. But who would choose to break in and fight with Yankel the Klezmer? They had gone so far as to bribing the groom to choose their new band. This went on for a while until both bands made peace with each other, merged, and joined into one band.

Disputes and Wars

The majority in our town were poor craftsmen of all kinds, working up to 18 hours a day to earn a piece of dry bread and to put away a half ruble for Shabbat provisions. This was a time of intrigue and disputes, Chassidim versus opponents, Kozanhorodok Chassidim against the Stoliner sect.

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There were 2 Shochtim (ritual slaughterers), Dovid Baer from the Kozanhorodoks and R' Arka from the Stoliners. As usual, the Stoliners would not eat meat from Baer's shechita (slaughter) and the Kozanhorodoks avoided all meats from R' Arka's. Furthermore, a war existed over the Chevra Kadisha (burial committee), which consisted of elderly Jews who ruled over their interests with an iron hand. Not everyone merited entry into their stronghold. Until Leib-Wolf Pathchenik, the leader of the younger Dovid group, started a revolution. Since the older group was not legally registered, the younger ones created a document with all the proper signatures and submitted it to the Government authorities – this registered them and established them as the legal committee. This started a war between the older and younger groups. An incident occurred in town upon the death of a rich settler. The older group sought to gain a hefty remuneration for their services, but the younger ones offered their services for much less. The war between both groups stretched out for a long time, until, in the end, the older group gave in to the younger Dovid group and made peace with them.

There was a public affairs office in town with a Christian deputy at its head. However there were those that were not happy with this local administration; their leader, Tsadok Elyah and my uncle, Sholom the Meshuggener , who were capable of driving the townspeople crazy, created a document with all the proper signatures, some real and honest, but others were falsified. They also had faked the deputy's signature, even though he was the one whose responsibility it was to verify all the signatures. They submitted the document to the Government requesting a change of deputies. Someone in the Government suspected a problem with the signatures and the document was returned to the deputy for verification.

Whoever had the job was ordered to go immediately and arrest both of the instigators and bring them to justice. But our B'ney-Yisroel (Jews), being who they are, abundantly merciful, had the two released by guaranteeing to produce them at the trial in front of the Christian judge. However, thanks to Kazimir Shtesit, one of the appointed judges who knew Shlomo, the charges were annulled and they were freed.

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I came to America in the year between 1904-1905. I was nineteen years old at the time, but memories of my shtetl have remained deeply imbedded in my heart.

As meager as was our way of life living in Kazanhorodok, I know only one thing for sure – that Kazanhorodok was a poor, beautiful shtetl, with its river, water mill and wonderful woods, scented by its young, tall pine and oak trees.

The older folk used to tell about plans for a much desired railroad that would cut through Kazanhorodok to enable more productivity. But they needed to bribe a certain person of authority there, and unfortunately the sum needed for the bribe was so large, that no way could the entire shtetl come up with it.

That is how Kazanhorodok was left without a train, and so the shoemakers, tailors and carpenters had to go to Luninetz – the neighboring town that was fortunate to have the railroad – to look for work to sustain themselves. This led to a rift that festered between the two towns. But the poor inhabitants of Kazanhorodok made a living from each other, and from the Gentiles who occupied the small villages that were close by.

There were fairs four times a year, twice in winter and twice in summer. These fairs were called Nicaul and Troyze. This is how life was, and we managed to get by. Certainly there were no great wage-earners and the whole salary frequently went for just bread and potatoes. There were many ways of preparing potatoes, many variations, some quite ingenious. I remember that they used to cook fish-potatoes. That meant there was no fish in the pot, but the housewives used to chop onions and use pepper, etc., mixed into the potatoes, and this was called fish-potatoes (Kartufles).

There were two rabbis and two shochtim (ritual slaughterers) in Kazanhorodok – the Horoduk rabbi's shochet and the Staliner rabbi's schochet. The number of non-chasidic people (mitnagdim) was small, but they had their own non-chasidic rabbi – Reb Itchi, the son of the rabbi from Lachver, who was a very learned and intelligent rabbi. Reb Itchi didn't earn a living merely by being a rabbi, but also had a store where he sold materials for tailors.

With a schochet, the non-chasidic Jews were not particular – they ate from any of the shochetim. Altogether, they didn't flaunt their differences with the Chasidim, but when it came to davening (saying prayers) in the same Bet Midrash (House of Study), they sometimes came to blows.

The respected teachers of the shtetl were Kalman (Shlomi's) and David Katzman. Kalman was a grain handler in the little village of Tzna, which was near Kazanhorodok. David Katzman was a saddler and harness maker. He used to leave Kazanhorodok for a couple of weeks at a time, going over to the larger towns to work for the Gentiles, getting their reins and harnesses back to shape. Katzman and Kalman used to teach the modest and simple folk in the shul on Saturday. They would sit around large tables and tell beautiful, heart-warming stories about the great

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rabbis. Their stories were educational, and at the same time moralizing, and they touched the hearts of the poor, toiling Jews.

There was not too much love from the Kazanhorodoks for the Luninetzer Jews, because they were envious of them. But one thing the Kazanhorodok Jews had over the Luninetzer – that they could be certain of – that after one hundred years the Luninetzers would have to depend upon them and come to them. The cemetery was in Kazanhorodok, and the Kazanhorodok Jews never caused any difficulty with the burial of the dead.

In the cold shul there were various paintings on the ceiling and walls. Also a cut-out Holy Ark, about fifty Bibles – large, middle-sized and quite small. For Simchot (celebrations) the musicians would play in shul at evening time. The shul looked like a fortress, with a high dome.

My great-grandfather, Hankel the musician, used to sit there in a corner by the eastern wall and pray. Since I was his first great-grandchild, I would always go with him to daven. He was a relative of the rabbi from David-Horodok, Chernavilar Magid. Since he was a young boy, of respected and proper parents, he taught himself music and “felsich”. As an orphan,

Kozanhorodoker Elders From the right: Kalman Ritterman, Zerach Shteinberg and Dovid Katzman

he chose music as a profession. He was a special mentch, very charitable. He died in 1896. Also my Bubbe Basha was a very charitable person and took care of the poor. Every Thursday she would go all over the shtetl, gathering food for the poor. She also organized other women to help with this and to also donate, not only to gather from others in the shtetl. She would parcel out much from her own food. This is how she conducted herself and after leaving for Luninetz did the same mitzvoth there. Understand that portioning out the challah for Shabbat was done quietly and discreetly, to make sure that the poor Jews would not feel ashamed. A small shtetl with Jewish hearts!

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Welcoming Shabbat really began on Thursday in the village. They already worried in advance as to how they were going to provide for Shabbat.

In Kazanhorodok there were really very few families that didn't need to borrow in order to get food for Shabbat. Kazanhorodok didn't have too much money to give away. With God's help, every woman used to buy a few pounds of flour, a piece of calf's meat (or other parts derived from the calf). Some would buy part of a carp, a calf's foot for cholent, but the red meat our butchers would carry to Luninetz. On a special Shabbat there was usually fish. From the few pounds of flour our Kazanhorodok women would first of all bake a few pletzlach to eat Friday morning. Also a pirogue filled with blackberries or other preserves, three large challahs and small ones for the young children. Of course also a tin of kichlach for the special day of Shabbat.

Our women also did not forget the poor of the village and each one would bake two extra challahs for them. They felt very good about the mitzvah of bringing the challahs to the poor and for making them respect the Sabbath. Chopping, filling and cooking the fish, getting the cholent ready to be put into the oven, kept them very busy. Of course there had to be also a kugel for Shabbat!

For our Kazanhorodok women, nothing was too much work for respecting the Sabbath – cooking and baking; washing the floor; polishing the candles; hanging a clean covering over the hearth; and spreading yellow sand around the outside of the house – that was part of the preparation. The women shared the job of picking up the challahs for the poor for the Sabbath, asking for donations for the poor, the Talmud Torah, the Book of Psalms, and other various needs. How good the house smelled on the Sabbath! Of course the heads of the householders stopped working and all of their stores were closed.

Our Synagogues, our holy places, the cemetery, our upstanding householders, our elderly men and women, our little children and their little wagons – we loved all these, precious and holy – all was upended and destroyed by a murderous hand.

They no longer exist: the big native synagogue, the Chassidic synagogue of the Stoliner sect, the Kozanhorodoker sect's synagogue, the new beit-midrash where the Rebbe davened (prayed) and learned with the yeshiva boys. Where is the high, big synagogue – the Cold Shul, to which was attached the smaller beit-midrash? In that beit-midrash was the talmud-torah (Hebrew school). The Rabbi there was named Rabbi Latkes, and why did they called him that? I don't know. Many strange names like that existed in Kozanhorodok, such as The Hyena, God's Messiah, the Shadow, the Cheek, and the Barren.

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The high Synagogue (The Cold Shul) was constructed by a great artist. It is said that in his lifetime he built three synagogues, and our town merited to have one of the three. The Synagogue was wonderful and beautiful. The magnificent Aron-Kodesh (Holy Ark) had, in stark relief, beautiful carvings and fabulous colors and artistic paintings. To this day, in front of my eyes, I still see those lifelike creatures, the images and the cherubs.

In Kozanhorodok there was a hilly elevation called The Soul Mountain. It was not far from the cemetery; that's why it was called that name from generation to generation. In town it was often said that under that mountain used to be a cemetery.

Everything was destroyed, and the entire town was transformed into a large cemetery.

At that time, when Russian youths rebelled against the Tsar, the Jewish youths of Kozanhorodok organized themselves under the “Bund.” they included Nachman Itzik Tsiperstein, Chaim the-tall-one's son and Asher Chana-Beiless. Nachman Itzik was educated in the Katerinaslav school, and he customarily spoke Russian. The first task undertaken by the youths was to organize the workers and try to establish an 8-hour workday. Itchie Kaufman was also one of the leaders and party organizers.

Nachman Itzik was the one who went to his uncle Moishe Yehudah (a damask tailor) and took all the maidens away from the workplace. That shocked the townspeople and they began to fear these youths. When Chaim the-tall-one wanted to punish his son and take him home, Itchie Kaufman confronted Chaim with an iron fist. This frightened the Jews of Kozanhorodok even more, to the extent that my Mama even withheld my Father's potato-stew meal when he wanted to go to one of their meetings.

In nearby D'voretz (Belarus), that town's government administration had an official bureaucrat who knew and appreciated Meir Lutzki and relied on his advice and all his undertakings. He liked Meir very much and favored him. This angered Prakoypn, a co-worker, the manager of the administration, who was very jealous of Meir. When they were both alone, Prakoypn murdered Meir. The Bund members went into hiding, but were seen as they were making their way to their hiding place. Prakoypn noticed Asher Chana-Beiless among them,

[Page 213]

right after the killing. It immediately occurred to him to blame Asher and two other Jewish youths for the murder, to lie and simply state they had demanded money from Meir Lutzki, and when he refused, Asher, with the two others killed him. Asher and the two boys were arrested. Gentiles in D'voretz claimed they had witnessed Asher killing Meir.

The Jews of Kozanhorodok and Luninyets collected money and hired a good lawyer, but due to their revolutionary tactics, Asher and the boys were sent to prison. Nachman Itzik arranged to disguise Asher's father as a woman and with the help of his friend Wolf Chaya-Sarah Tzviyes, managed to get him over the border. He wound up in Montreal, Canada, and became a rich pharmacist.

Many others escaped to various countries. Itchie Kaufman was arrested, but then they had him released. In between the two world wars he lived in Luninyets, but he remained true to his ideals. With the outbreak of the Russian revolution in 1917, Asher Chana-Beiless was freed in Kosanhorodok; his hand was lame from the many sufferings and tortures he had endured. The leaders of the new revolution did not appreciate Asher because of his leftist leanings. Furthermore, he did not get along with his one-time friends, so he joined with the many communists and left with them when they abandoned Luninyets. The family never heard from him again.

Years passed and Prakoypn from D'voretz started to regret what he had done, propagating the lie that impacted Asher so severely. He confessed the truth to the gentiles, but by now it was too late. Asher's father had died; his brother had escaped and was in America, and the Jews of Kosanhorodok were engrossed in dealing with the abundant concerns and problems of the times.

Kozanhorodok was a small town of working people. Their small piece of bread was earned with toil and sweat. A majority of them would leave their homes at dawn on Sunday mornings for nearby villages, almost always on foot, where they worked for the peasants as saddlers, tailors, shoemakers and so on. Their week was spent at the gentile's house; in summer they would sleep in the barn stalls, daily rewarded, as it were, with a piece of dry bread and vegetables. On Fridays they would return home to their families. The situation was somewhat better for those who worked in villages where a Jew had settled, for there they could receive a cooked meal.

[Page 214]

There were also a few who were involved with fishermen, working on the Pripyat river with their fishing nets. The main river fishermen were from Babruysk (Belarus). Most of the workers were drawn to Luninyets, and among them were carpenters who built houses. In fact, the largest and finest houses in Luninyets were built by Kozanhorodok workers. Two of the best known workers at that time were Leib Wolf Patechnik and Yaakov Kashtan – they too would return home on Fridays.

Two types remain deep in my memory: One was Yossel Zakelman, or Yossel “Can Do”, as he was called in Kozanhorodok. A small adult with a small beard, his whole working life was dedicated to the Basni (Belarus) village as a saddler (harness maker). Each Sunday he'd set out on foot to repair things for the farmers – horse-collars, leashes, bags and other such things. Yossel could not go around without a sack or a package on his shoulders. I once heard my Father, may he rest in peace, say: “Why be so stingy to deny yourself for a few groshen (pennies) and go with a carriage; and if your'e on foot, why do you need to shlep (drag) a package on your shoulders?” And he answered, believe me, “It's much easier and better for me to walk rather than travel on a cart – the path then belongs to me, I have walked it with my own feet; I can, with eyes shut, reach Basni, and believe me I cannot be without a peckel (package) on my shoulders. Without that peckel I feel I'm missing something and things aren't right.”

Yossel had a good and wonderful attitude: He was always funny and happy, a sworn optimist. My Father used to ask him “How long are you going to wander around with your Basni gentiles?” And his answer was: “What do I lack – things are good for me, let us hope it never gets worse.” In his whole life, the only villages he'd been in were Luninyets and Basni. His Shabbes Kapote (Sabbath coat) and hat were yellow and green with age. Once, his son came to visit as a guest for the holidays and brought his father a new coat and hat. This angered his father who said “Have you nothing else on which to waste money? My Kapote and hat are still serviceable, I don't need new ones!”

As he grew older, his four sons in St. Louis, America, started sending him money each month, urging him to stop working and enjoy life. “Father should enjoy a quiet life and stop working.” He declined their proposal. “What's wrong with simply going here and there? I can't live any other way. As long as a man still has the strength he should work.” His children once sent him money specifically for him to be photographed and asked that he send them his picture. Yossel took his wife, Mama Sprintze, and they went to Luninyets dressed in Shabbat fineries, announcing “We're going to be photographed.” The townspeople feared he would, God forbid, lose the 3 rubles he had taken with him,

[Page 215]

that he'd been holding in his hand all this time. Sure enough, the photograph showed him stiffly holding three banknotes in his hand.

A second type of worker accounted for, one who also was happy with his lot, was Leibe Latuche, or, as my Mother, may she rest in peace, called him, Leibe the Uncle Mensch. Leibe was a silent, peaceful man – one never heard him raise his voice, not at home, not at work and not even in the Beis Hamidrash (Learning Hall). All the years he worked hard, but was never bitter. He enjoyed kneading the clay and laying bricks for Motche Parapelotchik – the main masonry contractor for building houses in Luninyets. Leibe was a small man with a long yellow beard. He too would leave at dawn every Sunday and return home every Friday for Shabbat. Leibe had a pair of large, heavy boots that he would smear with polish in honor of the Sabbath. But he even spared the boots – going to work, he would carry them on his shoulder and walk entirely barefoot. When commented by others that he could ruin his feet, he answered “It's easier for me to walk this way.” And besides, “Who says I should run when I can walk slowly, and what about my eyes?”

The entire year he worked with mortar and bricks – just like the Jews in Egypt, and he was very happy with his lot. At work, the bricklayers would shout “Leibe, we need bricks, get more clay!” He was not upset – “Right away, immediately,” was his answer. Their shouting didn't help, he continued working as always, without interruption, slowly, methodically and quietly. Working from dawn to sunset, his shirt and face were wet with sweat, but Leibe never complained.

Once I heard my Mother complain to him, saying “Leibe!, Leibe!, how long are you going to shlep bricks and knead clay? Learn to be a bricklayer! What's going to become of you?” And Leibe answered “What's wrong with what I'm doing now?”

Leibe Latuche was a calm person. He prayed in the Zemdisher synagogue where often disputes and quarrels arose over the honor of an Aliyah (calling to the Torah). Leibe was never asked to lead the prayer service, nor was he included in matters concerning other beit-midrash matters; he would always stand in his own corner, silently reciting psalms. At home he was also calm and quiet, deferring always to his wife and children. At work he never relaxed – he would fence the yard, chop wood for the week and help wherever he could, always in silence. And I know of no other man who enjoyed the truly joyous rest on Shabbat as much as Leibe. His Sabbath was literally “Shabbat” (ceasing work), embodying the words in the prayer “Shabbat-Vayinofash” (“– on the seventh day the Lord ceased work and rested”).

Here is an episode concerning Leibe: It's well known that every Jew had a cholent and a kugel (meat-beans stew and potato pudding) for Shabbat,

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each with their characteristic taste and aroma; additionally there was usually stuffed kishke (derma) – without these Shabbat would simply not be Shabbat. One Friday, Leibe came home and saw that the cholent pot was still on the shelf. He suspected his wife did not make any cholent or kugel, and the Sabbath would be shamed. But he said nothing his wife. Friday night, after Kiddush, at dinner, his wife noticed that Leibe looked very sad – “Leibe, what's wrong with you? Are you ill? Does anything hurt?” “No, nothing!” Leibe answered. But as she walked over to him he realized he had to tell her the truth, so he said: “You probably didn't have enough money for Sabbath and didn't buy any kishke and didn't make a cholent to honor the Sabbath. Well, never mind, God will forgive us “ – Oy, you silly fool,” she cried out happily, “It's exactly the opposite, for this Sabbath.” I put together a cholent and a kishke the likes of which we haven't had for years! “So why is the pot still on the shelf?” asked Leibe. “What don't you understand; our pot is too small for the large kishke I got, so I had to borrow Chanah Bashkis' large pot – you'll see it tomorrow!” And Liebe's higher Sabbath spirit found its correct way and afforded him a truly meaningful and enjoyable Shabbat .

Liebe Latuche

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