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Every locality has its noteworthy things, its monuments, its ancient history, its trade or industry, that are renowned among other peoples or countries. And with what could Markuszow become famous, if not in all Poland, at least in the surrounding area? Nevertheless, our shtetl was worthy of something. In 1912, the czarist governing authority in Lublin decreed that there should be a market day on every Monday in Markuszow. Thanks to this, thousands of farmers from near and far, merchants, retailers, tradesmen from large and small cities, commissioners, brokers, and customers from the shtetl itself, and from the surrounding areas, flooded into Markuszow on that day. They filled the shtetl with the usual commercial clamor, and aided not just in making money but also in making a “name.”

It is hard to imagine the economic life of Markuszow, especially the livelihoods of the local Jews, without the Monday market. It's quite likely that this market-day had no smaller (if not bigger!) significance than the textile factories of Lodz and Bialystok for the economy of these two cities, or the brush industry of Mezrich.^[1] The significance of the market for Markuszow was also important in that around the weekly market day there simmered a bitter quarrel between our shtetl and neighboring Korew–a quarrel that was longstanding and was pursued with legitimate and illegitimate means. Markuszow won. Korew's complaint was that they were more entitled to have a market because they had a larger population, a larger area, and most importantly–production in Korew was more developed than in Markuszow, and suited markets well. For example, furs for farmers clothing, clothing, harnesses, and other things. Countless delegations from Korew travelled to the governor in Lublin to beg them, demand from them, calling for intervention. But it was all like a voice in the desert. The delegates from Korew returned home in shame and disappointment. In 1912 the decree was issued that the weekly

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market was to be held in Markuszow every Monday. The joy in Markuszow was boundless, as if they had won the greatest prize.

But with this satisfaction also came problems. While the shtetl waited a whole week to make up for the empty days preceding, various animal diseases appeared affecting the cattle and pigs, and other livestock, and the governor could close the market. We knew that Korew residents had immediately spread the word about the diseases in order to hinder Markuszow. The Korewers complained that the diseases were infectious, and the market must be closed–but how can you not let a group of people have a market day? Consequently, it would be only fair to transfer it to Korew. This time the governor gave a categorical refusal to the lobbyists from Korew, and after a four week interruption, the Markuszow market was revived, and in order for that to happen it was enough for the governor to receive a visit from the Markuszow elite only once. On the fifth week, the market took place with such volume that everyone really felt as if the earth was going to cave in under the weight of all the people and merchandise arriving.

Korew still wouldn't give up. When Poland became independent, they tried again with the {new}leadership. Since that didn't help, they tried to win over the farmers. Korew declared Thursday a market day, put up placards in all the surrounding places, advertised in the newspapers, and promised every farmer that came to Korew on Thursday, a kilo of salt, and a half liter of naphtha for free. But this didn't help either. In truth small fairs were held, but they came to nothing.

As a result, the market in Markuszow became a household word in the nearby, and even farther away, circles. Whoever occupied themselves with markets, did not let the opportunity go by to nip down to Markuszow on Mondays. There were things to see on such a day: a captivating picture of thousands and thousands of people all concerned with business.

As soon as day broke, you could see Jews milling around at the entrance to the shtetl –buyers. They were strolling along the entire roadway, or waiting for the oncoming farmers. In the meantime, they discussed the prices of fowl, eggs, butter, cheese. One Jew tells about how yesterday in Warsaw prices were deplorable. “Poultry–a steal, but good only for throwing into the Vistula.”

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To that comes a question from another Jew. “Why then did you come to buy today?” “We have to do business, after all,” comes an answer. Discussion such as this, and similar ones, could be heard from very early on, before the market even started. In another hour or two, there won't be any time to talk, because everyone is dragged with enthusiasm into the seething market, and it becomes impossible to see anything a step away.

The majority of the farmers arrive from the Lublin side. The fields are green on both sides of the road. The birds in the trees promise a day of abundance. But you really have to earn something in today's market. It's Erev-Pesach, and the holiday costs a lot of money. At eight in the morning, you can count just a few farmers' wagons nearing the shtetl, but in an hour from now, they will be spread across the entire breadth of the road–four or five wagons wide.

A middle-aged farmer sits on one wagon, next to him, his wife. A large basket of butter and cheese sits on her lap. Next to her, an even bigger basket of eggs. In addition, four sacs of wheat are lying in the wagon, and at the very bottom a big pig is tied, surely 300 kilo in weight. The farmer drives the two nice horses. The wagon approaches the first houses in the shtetl. Leibl Wallach runs out of the granary and approaches the farmer.

“Gospododzu, drive in here.”

“What are you paying for wheat,” the farmer asks, without slowing down.

“Thirty-three fifty.”

“Will you give forty-four?”

“Another ten groshen,” shouts Leibl Wallach. “In the city, you won't get more than thirty-three twenty-five. Stay here, right here, drive in!”

But the farmer is not impressed by R' Leibl's bid. He flicks his whip at the horses, and shouts,” Vio,o,o, I'm driving to Simcha, my Jewish friend.”

He can, however, drive no further. His wagon is surrounded by the category of traders called “Vos es lozt sich.”^[2] They examine the butter, the cheese, the eggs, ask her about the prices, bargain, make a racket, clamber over the merchandise. The farmer cracks the whip over the horse, and the wagon moves off. But the buyers do not desist. They hang from the shaft of the wagon, the ladders, the rungs. Several have jumped on the wheel axels while in motion. The wagon lurches, the farmer lady hits at the hands

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of the insistent buyers, but it doesn't help. Like skilled acrobats they hand over money in the air, carry on the business airborne, probably likely they spend their lives in the air.

Similar scenes can be seen with the “feesgeyers”^[3]. This means that the poor men and women farmers are literally beleaguered by the yet poorer Jews. Here poultry transactions are taking place. The buyers catch the hens by the wings, palpate the bones on the underside, blow into the down. Feathers begin to fly. The farmer women grab their chickens back. They don't like the prices offered. They will look around the market to judge the way the prices are going.

The large livestock market has filled with horses, cows, oxen, sheep, goats, and pigs. The clamor of the animals melds with the commotion among the farmers who have come to buy and sell the four-legged creatures. A farmer leads a young, shiny horse by the bridle. Someone smacks it, the horse shies, and the farmer has to chase it. He will not let such a fortune escape. The crowd looks on at the gait of the horse, smack their lips with approval. The owner smiles happily. A customer sidles up, calls out a price. A middleman springs out, and they begin to slap hands.^[4] For 2 zlotys, 2 slaps. For 5 zlotys, 5 slaps. The middleman mixes in with a compromise. “You go down 10 zlotys, and you go up 10 zlotys–and make it final.” The slapping begins again, and the horse passes to a new owner. The same business goes on with the buying and selling of a pig, a cow, a sheep. Hands are well slapped before the transaction is completed. The middleman gets his.

You have to know how to navigate the Lublin road, the main artery in Markuszow, on market day. The side streets too are filled with wagons, horses and people. All the stores, warehouses, shops, including the covered wagons, are filled with customers. Farmer men and women spend the money they have just earned today in the market. And there is no lack of what to buy–as long as the money holds out to buy everything. A farmer lady remembers she has to buy seed. You don't have to go far. Here they are in a separate place, grain of varying sizes and colors peering out of their sacs.

On the Warsaw side, the places and passageways are filled with wagons carrying everything: potatoes, tomatoes, all kinds of greens, young radishes, and young onions, fruit–dried and those left over from the winter cellars. A little further off, but quite close to the road, the clang of metal is heard.

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Iron mongers display their goods here: scythes, shovels, axes, hammers, saws, and assorted ironwork. Farmers try out the scythes, listen to the reverberations issuing from the metal, and begin to bargain. Without this, even the smallest transaction doesn't get done. Bargaining occurs with small and large things. The business goes on for long minutes, tiring out both the customer and the merchant. One of them or both lower the price, and a deal is finally completed.

The same happens in the pot market. But everything is called a pot: big, small, midsized, earthen, crockery, metallic, aluminum and tin, copper saucepans, and steel frying pans, teapots, and food containers. Every pot purchased or about to be is tapped with a little stick, or the fingers, examined for a hidden defect, and after–the bargaining.

In another location, the harness makers have hung their ware on tall poles: reins, saddles, harnesses, belts, whip handles, and leather whips. Their brown hands and faces with spots bear witness to the trade they practice. Many farmers come to examine the merchandise, but not all can afford to buy an entire harness even though they would have loved to get it for their horse and wagon.

At the very end of the street that leads to the big cloister, the renowned furriers of Korew display their goods. They are known in the whole region for their double pelts for farmers. Now the merchandise lies on display in stalls, and even though it is Erev-Pesach, a long time before furs and pelts will be needed, farmers and wives stand around the fur wares, pick through the merchandise, ask about prices, and again–bargaining until a sale, or leaving with empty hands.

On the place near city hall, in the market itself, about one hundred bigger and smaller stalls are arrayed with finished goods, suits, farmer sukmane, hooded fur capes with “cheese sacs” on the shoulders, ready-to wear pants, undershirts, cotton jackets and all kinds of other clothing. In this place, money spent is mostly from what was earned that day at the market. Closer to the road–street stalls with haberdashery and confections, and what not? Any food you could want is supplied with the greatest courtesy and zeal. There is a big “universal” store, with everything, but of more doubtful quality.

At one stall–a big crowd: and the bigger the assemblage gets–the stronger the curiosity and crowding.

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A tall goy gets up on a chair, and his black curly locks, which peek out from under his garnet hat, fancy with colored feathers, makes an impression on the farmers. He lets out wild shouts and screams continuously, “Zarraz, panowie, zarraz!” He holds combs, mirrors, and other “bargains” between his fingers. Farmer hands with money stretch out to the junk. Everyone wants to do business with the “foreigner.”

The market is nearing its close. Few farmers are left walking around the market looking for something to buy. They can choose not only the merchandise, but also the merchants. Competition among the Jews is great. It is no wonder–most of them have, as a result of this market day, earned money for taxes, private debts, paid off the Gemilut Chesed.^[5] Yes, Pesach is coming fast, and the tax authority is waiting for the installments on business tax, income tax and other taxes.

There is a large assortment of boots and shoes for farmers at the market. Heavy boots hang on long poles, used and new shoes that farmers tried on their feet, and did not always fit. For these items, as for all merchandise sold at the market, bargaining went on without end.

On the “Eastern wall” of old Baruch's house, from ages ago, nails and hooks were hammered in that stared nakedly from the wall all week. Now, however, on market day, thousands of hats are displayed on boards, or hung on nails. Here, the hat makers from Korew, Miechow, Wawolnica, and Opole hang their products for sale. These Jewish businessmen are, because of competition (or without it), eternal paupers. They want to make money–yet not one of them advertises his merchandise, or calls out to the farmers to buy their hats.

The sun descends in the west, ready to disappear. The day is nearing an end, and so is the market. The Lublin road becomes more sparsely filled with merchants, farmers, and shtetl residents. The horses and wagons stand mostly alone, without their owners. What happened? Nothing bad. The farmer folk have filled all the restaurants, beer halls, various taverns, and every corner of the shtetl where you could get a drink. They eat, drink and get drunk–without end, without limit. Dozens of farmers in various unseemly poses wallow in the ditches and on the roads. Many are asleep

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having been beaten up badly, because that is the way of every market: fights to the blood by the drunk farmers, bottles flying over heads, and more than once with knives. The police would always mix in, but could never prevent the fights, the bloodletting, and the heavy wounds. Many farmers were arrested, and their abandoned wives had to drive the horses home alone.

The market day has ended. But not for long, because on the following Monday, the same thing will be repeated. Jewish livelihood in Markuszow was based on it.

1. Yiddish version of Miedzyrzec, Lublin province. Return
2. Yiddish, rough meaning, “Whatever it takes.” Return
3. Those arriving on foot. Return
4. Horse trading transactions traditionally involved slapping hands on every offer and counteroffer. Return
5. Community no-interest loan society Return

Jewish ways of earning a living in Markuszow cannot be described without a mention of the orchard leasing business. The orchard market began right after Erev-Pesach. As soon as the first blossoms appeared on the trees, people set off for the villages to examine the blooming trees like a doctor examining a patient. They visually appraised the bounty, listened to the asking price, negotiated sometimes for an hour or two, sometimes for several weeks, until the transaction was concluded. Then the Jew would put down a big deposit for leasing the orchard, accept the best wishes of the farmer, and travel back to the shtetl with a prayer on his lips that a windstorm, or strong rains, or thunder shouldn't harm the blossoming, that the orchard should be abundant, because his livelihood depended on it. It meant survival itself for dozens of Jewish families in Markuszow.

If the orchard had cherry trees or sour cherries (Morellos), then the orchard leaser, or sadovnik as he was called, swiftly moved himself and his family to the orchard, and there, they established themselves for the weeks it took until the last fruits were taken from the trees. The new dwelling consisted of a tent or hut, covered with woven straw where they kept their meager possessions, and laid their weary bones at night. Food was cooked outdoors. A pot was hung on a tripod over a fire of twigs. The main job of such a family of sadovnikes

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consisted of guarding the fruit against theft, picking the fruit, packing it in crates, and transporting it to Lublin, to the surrounding shtetls, or to the Markuszow market. If he was a wealthier sadovnik, he would send his merchandise to Warsaw.

The life of a sadovnik was hard enough. It was also a supplemental form of income to the existing jobs which were a means of support for only one or two days a week, whereas you needed to eat seven days a week. Where do you get the rest from? So, turning to this source was the city melamed or shoemaker, the storekeeper or carpenter, the pious scholar or the market wholesaler. In general, coming up with a few zlotys to pay the farmer was for these Jews a Herculean effort. They ended up investing in a thing that did not always return the amount invested. Sometimes damage occurred during the blossoming. Natural catastrophes made a mockery of the optimistic projections and hopes of a little income.

The real hard life began with the moving over to the orchard. As mentioned, such a family lived in their tent and always had to protect the trees from bird pecking, passersby or the village boys who considered it a righteous thing to eat their fill of Jewish fruit, even when the trees in their own orchards were sagging from the abundance of fruit. And if you made it to see a harvest, then the work began of climbing the trees, with a ladder or without, to collect the fruit. The work was associated with the danger of falling from the tree when the wind made it sway strongly, or when a branch broke. More than once, news reached the shtetl of a tragedy affecting a sadovnik.

The picked fruit was packed in crates, and around three in the morning, the sadovnik would harness the borrowed horses and wagon (if the farmer entrusted him with one) and ride off to the city, or the shtetls to sell the merchandise. Happy was the sadovnik who collected on his first sale. Then he forgot all the troubles and vexations he had had to endure. Happy, full of confidence, he travelled back to the orchard, told his wife the great news, passed out candies he had bought in the shtetl to his children, ate the prepared snack, had a little nap–and back again to the boring work.

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Sadovnik families in apple or pear orchards had to be there during the holidays.^[1] The days grew shorter, the nights longer, but above all, the cold and rain of autumn ate into the bones. It was hard to get up at dawn, and crawl into your winter clothes, and transport the produce to the buyers. But they forgot about all these hardships if the season was a successful one, and the merchandise was sold without damages. Then you could prepare for winter with the hope that some zlotys would be left for after Pesach in order to rent an orchard again.

There were several categories of sadovnikes connected to the produce business, but about 90 percent of them were shtetl businessmen. Exporting produce to the big cities like Danzig, and especially Warsaw was the business of the Gothelf brothers, Yechiel Fishbein, and Itzchak Teitelboim.

The fact that dozens of Jewish families spent long months in the orchards, carried on their family life and religious observance, helped more than a little to break down the artificially erected barrier of racial separation and hatred between two peoples. The farmer saw that the life of the sadovnik was exactly as hardworking, stressful, and all-consuming as his life. There were many cases where they would help each other out. When it was time to cut the wheat in the fields, the sadovnikes helped with the cutting from dawn to dusk, lived alongside the farmer, ate out of one bowl (if he was not so strongly observant of the commands of the Shulchan Aruch), and spoke the same farmer's language. The farmer knew how to value such contributions, and tried to help out the sadovnikes. The Jewish tenant farmers did not complain about antisemitic manifestations from the older generation of farmers. On the contrary, healthy, friendly relations existed (with certain small exceptions) between the Jewish population and the Polish population, both in the shtetl and in the surrounding villages. It did not seem strange in the eyes of the farmer, to see one of our sadovnikes, stand by his tent in his tallis, saying his prayers, and carrying out the rituals of a Shabbes meal. He did not make fun of the zmiress^[2] which later carried from the tents, just as he had respect for all the religious behavior of his, now very near, Jewish neighbor.

1. Presumably the High Holidays in the fall. Return
2. Religious festive songs Return

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A saying about Markuszow used to go around: “When a wagon arrives there, the head of the horse is in one end of the shtetl, and the back wheels are at the other end.” But as small as the shtetl was, it was nevertheless famous for its girls and their industriousness. They were called, “Yunge balebustes,” and it could not be otherwise. Their mothers were always occupied with worries about a livelihood, with pregnancy, birth, and the raising of children. As a result, the whole burden of the household chores fell on the young daughters who never took their aprons off all day, occupied continuously primarily with peeling potatoes, the most popular, famous, and cheapest meal of the folk. They would sit for hours around the bowl and joke that potatoes grew so that paupers would also have the opportunity to skin someone.

A real trial for our young balebustes was cleaning and washing the pots. They would scrape the dirt with their fingernails and curse their lives while doing this kind of work. Although washing clothes was much harder and took longer than cleaning pots, they were happy when they went to the little river outside the shtetl, and rinsed and pounded the clothes. This was an opportunity to get out of the house, spend a few hours in the fresh air, and gossip about news in the shtetl, or the world.

In general, Markuszow girls had to obey their parents in everything, be quiet and obedient, give respect to the parents, and follow the commandments. As a result, after Shabbes, they had the right to read the Tseneh Reneh.^[1] Our shtetl daughters were renowned for their beauty as well, especially for the rosiness of their complexions. The sun in Markuszow was not prevented by tall buildings from reaching everyone's face and tanning it brown or red. Since people used wood for cooking, which was wet most of the time, the young girls would spend a lot of time at the stove blowing

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on the fire with all their strength. The husband who had a sense of humor would joke, “Thanks to the wet wood, my food gets cooked, the wood is not all consumed, and my wife is always pretty, because of her rosy cheeks.”

This was not the end of the entire hard burden of the Markuszow balebustes. As soon as a daughter was born, the parents began to think about a trousseau, and a dowry. As soon as she was a little older, she would have to pluck feathers for her own bedding, as if the groom was already at the door, and was only waiting for the bedspread. Twelve and thirteen year old girls would sit around until late at night until they were almost transformed into a bunch of feathers themselves. And if one of them were tempted to go outside, or to a friend, her mother would remonstrate that she had to help get her ready to become a bride.

This is how our girls lived in the shtetl. It's true that their hard work did not bring any money into the house, but their work was no less stressful and exhausting than the jobs of their husbands or fathers.

1. A Yiddish collection of stories from the bible ostensibly written for women who generally did not study Hebrew. Return

Before the outbreak of WWI, the social composition of the Jews in the shtetl was as follows:

Trade (stores, market buyers, middlemen, and others)–40 percent; artisans–30 percent; village traders–20 percent; employed in the larger cities–5 percent; religious functionaries and others–5 percent.

I can't provide an exact number of Jews in that period, but at the beginning of this century their number was estimated at around 700-800. How did they earn a living?

The first thing you saw in Markuszow were the two rows of stores which stretched along both sides of the main road to Lublin, a sign that small business was one of the most important sources of livelihood in the shtetl. What else could a just-married

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young man do than invest his dowry in a small shop that was managed by his young wife, while he studied day and night, and remained a stranger to money matters. When children were born, the good student had to become a storekeeper, even though he didn't know any Polish, and understood little about business. (A lot of curious stories were told about this). Nevertheless, such a young man slowly grew to learn about business, and began to care for himself, his wife, and the growing children. So you could see the freshly minted merchants in the stores, selling herring or a piece of cake for a groshen to a mother who would first chew it herself before giving it to the child.

As small and pitiful as these stores were, as poor a businessman as he was, they nevertheless drew a living from it, and married off their children (in whom they wanted to see the same merchants).

There was another category of merchants–the market sellers (women) who sold produce in summer, and hot beans or pickled apples in winter.

The shtetl also had various tradesmen such as shoemakers, tailors, hat makers, harness makers, boot makers, carpenters, cabinetmakers, locksmiths and all the rest of the trades for Markuszow itself and the surrounding area. I can recall several Jewish podriatchikes (purveyors) who supplied meat for the czarist military that was stationed in the Markuszow area, Nowa Alexandria (Pulawy), Ivangrod Fortress (Deblin), Lublin and Lodz. About 60 animals a week were slaughtered in Markuszow, and many Jewish families made a living from it. The main purveyors were: Michale Heshil's, Shloime Heshil's, Yomi Yankl's, and Pinchas and Kalman-Itzik.

The Jewish carriage drivers bringing in and taking out the merchandise played an especially important role in the economic development of the shtetl. They would be on the road from early in the morning until late at night, and struggled mightily to help push the loaded wagons up every hill, and had the onerous responsibility to ensure that the merchandise arrived on time, and undamaged. They also used to bring the newcomers who wanted to settle in the shtetl, and transport the youth who went off to the wider world in search of good fortune and a better livelihood.

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