[Page 23]

Our friend, Y.B., said to me a few days ago: “Let us dedicate together a few words in memory of our Sekiryani. I, the veteran in the group, will start with words about my generation and you will add sort of a continuation…” I have to admit: I was stricken with anxiety. It was as if I was required to talk about some metaphysical essence, almost mystical that might be tangible, but there is no way express it, and certainly, not to define it as such because the mind has no control over it, after all, if it's possible to say, a topic for a prayer, for faith. Surely, it's clear: Sekiryani is the homeland of us all, with its residents and its alleys, with its small and intimate houses and a ring of green hills which surround it all around, in one word – the earthly Sekiryani with its way of life – no longer exists. It's gone like all the small and large Jewish communities in Europe. There's no doubt – it's gone. Therefore, only the spiritual Sekiryani remained, the one in the heart, yours and mine and all of us, the one that would never be destroyed, that any Nebuzaradan or any Hitler wouldn't be able to obtain, the one that bequeathed us the key to the world, the ability to access the visions of life and their effects. The symbolic Sekiryani. I will no longer prolong it. You have to admit, that if you ever met a person in a foreign land that made a strong impression on you, you have the feeling that someone has already made such an impression on you in Sekiryan. If you wandered in the evening in the fields of a foreign land, looked at the sky and the stars greatly charmed you – there is no doubt that the matter came to you thanks to the stars that once hinted to you from Sekiryani's sky. Ask Tchernichovsky, the author of “Faraway stars” – and he will tell you. If you ever wondered in a forest – didn't you have, during the act, a vision of “Kolbiltchin Forest,” the forest on the road leading to “Voloskova,” and also another forest, from the forests of Peter Nikolavitz Lishin, which is in the vicinity of our town

[Page 24]

Such is, my townspeople, our Sekiryani, of all of us. And as for me, for myself, here I would like to add something, although I must first ask for your forgiveness for the excessive use of the word “I.” Maybe that's also a symbol. Things about a city – must be autobiographical. When I do for myself a simple calculation, using a calendar, I don't know if I can count myself with the residents of Sekiryani in the full sense. In this respect, it's more justified if I tell you: “I am a foreigner and stranger among you.” I left in 1914, returned at the end of 1920, and the period of years, until my second and last departure in 1923, I spent wandering and studding abroad and only came home during the vacation season, and even that – as a guest for the hour. Therefore, I can only take into account the period until 1914, and I was about fifteen and a half then. “To be taken into account?” I was probably not so accurate. It's necessary to deduct the first four years because we cannot consider them in terms of memory. Therefore, I only lived there for a total of eleven years. Of course, according to the calendar this is a very small number. But, accordingly, it's very strong in biological or psychological point of view. The special strength of the childhood period in our lives isn't in the degree of culture, and the power of culture is in absorbing impressions worth preserving for the future. Therefore, I have a lot of stories to tell about Sekiryani the way I comprehended it at that time. Therefore, I'll reduce the above mentioned eleven years into three “periods,” or periods of time – as you wish, and if I would also mention the names of certain people, it is only because they were engraved more in my memory, or because they seem to me as “characters” who came to hint not only on themselves.

A) The period of the grandfather. I'll mention his name: Chaim Kuperman, he is Chaim–Hirsh Kutlir's. Many among you remember him. And who among us can forget them – our forefathers, those magnificent patriarchs, that is to say, the first images that emerged before our eyes at the dawn of our life? (only a few individuals get see the ancestors of those – and also this in a fog). Well then, the doors to grandfather's house are wide open… people enter and leave, leave and enter. They come from near and far: neighbors, relatives, friends, close associates and just people. Here is Michel–Moshe Wasserstein who brings inside the smell of the walnut tree in front of his house; here is Karpel Morgenstern the good and the benefactor; here is Moshe Tendes who is always in a hurry and in spite of that he “studies” endlessly; here is Yitzchak Weinboum the silent “master,” the noble, the ambitious, who ended up rebelling against the way of the world by suicide, rinsing himself in a “dose” of carbolic acid, and with that, he's probably the one and only of his generation…

[Page 25]

Here is Yehiel Muzis, the Rav Mitaam [government–sanctioned Rabbi], a handsome man who wears a top hat, a long coat and combines Yiddish and the language of the country in one phrase; and here are Yosef Susman, Avraham Lisker and Leib–doctor who has a great sense of humor and the foundation of satire… Idyllic world. There are still no “aspirations”: these will come later, in the days of the sons, and the sons of the sons. There is still no deviation out of the framework: it will also come in its own time. There is no civilization apart from the “Sidur,” the “Machzor.” the “Chumash” and others like them. There are also no books. They are simple Jews, humble in their thought and emotion. They still don't build tall buildings for rent. Their homes are small, simple, cool in the summer and warm in the winter. However, these residents have sort of self–culture: all of it theirs. They have wisdom and love their family. There is tradition, there is a synagogue, there are customs, there are attributes, our forefathers, the patriarchs of blessed memory, gave us a lot. We learned to love the corner and to return to it if we left it. We were instructed to respect the family, the dishes, the furniture and the carpets on their “tracks”: not to forget anything. Why their sons taught us to write? Not only that we will write “home,” but also to support the poor, praise the elderly, get up for the elderly and feel sorry for a child. They taught us that life was given to us as a gift of grace, and for that reason their image will rise before us at times of mercy and inspiration.

B) The period of the father. Only one major thing. Something is happening here. Changes are taking place. They come suddenly and abruptly, like an uncommon wind that enters in the midst of a sunny day, scatters the curtains, reveals the carpets and shakes the glass dishes on their shelves in the cupboard. There is kind of unrest. Deviation from the place to other horizons has begun. A new generation arises and wants other conditions. The soul longs. It still doesn't have a clear idea where. This will become clear later. The direction will clear out later. For the time being only this is clear: what “there is” no longer enough. In the field of education there is no longer need for “tradition,” for the “Heder,” for the “rabbi.” From somewhere come the founders of “schools.” Berman came, Goldstein came, and they bound Hebrew and Russian together. There's still no alternative. For the time being there is only a compromise. “Libraries” were opened. From Pamiliant it's possible to bring home “Mapu,” “Smolenski” and others. From Zeidler's house in “Volost Street” it's possible to bring “Gorky,” “Chekov,” and also “Mayne Reid” and “Jules Verne.” With the departure of the Sabbath the eye is following with curiosity, anticipation and envy the “world” that strolls in the “Nobelman” boulevard, after the high school students, the children of the rich in their shiny uniforms and dropped hats, who returned for the vacation season – some from Odessa and some from Mogilev…

[Page 26]

The accent of the country in their mouth is so “convincing!” Yes, it's no longer possible to be satisfied with the economic situation, and not only in the material sense. The space is tight at home, the street is narrow and the town is narrow. Migration to Brazil has begun, but also to Peru and to Chile and to Uruguay, and a little also to Argentina. The travelers are, first and foremost, from among the poor, and in the course of time – not necessarily… the travelers are from among those who had lost their assets or went bankrupt, and again – not necessarily. The travelers are from among the “criminals” – tobacconists and bartenders who had to “face” justice. A few are from among the youth who had to “report” soon. It is relevant to say “travelers” or “leaving” and “walking”: They disappear, they slip away in secret, in deepest secret, in the middle of the night, “one by one and unseen”… each for his own reason, obviously, every morning – someone is missing. Two are missing at once: Elik Kuperman with his brother Froyke, Missing are the brothers Elik Shamshan and Yosel Petachyahu's. Missing are all the sons of Moshe–Leizer. A whole “row” is missing: Chaim Charnis, Pinchas Rotenberg, Manya Grossman, Leib Grossman, Velvil Zalman's, Feivel Schistel, Aharle Kilier, Itzik Zateim… Mordechai, the water drawer, a Jew of about fifty years, even he has been missing. It turns out that he defected from the obligation of military stabilization – and finally, after thirty years, he has been found. It is very sad here, extremely sad. With the turn of the day, sons and daughters stream from all directions to the road leading to the post office – to meet the “postman.” They will surround him as soon as he appears at the gate. Maybe a letter, maybe also letter and also check? Ha, the letters! From Rio de Janeiro, Bahia, Santos and San Paulo – everyone is full of longings, expectation, doubts and “fatigue” from a lot of trouble and also from expressions and words that aren't very clear. “I am also the “pulse” and also the “kobridor.” On the other hand, there are passages that are very clear: “I'll come soon, I'll build a tall building and give Sarale' a decent dowry.” “It seems to me that I'll take you here.” Sad, extremely sad. What will happen? How things would fall? To there? It's clearly written that they aren't used to the way of life in that country and they do not think that they can provide a Jewish education to the children there! And if here – to where? Odessa? Mogilev? Kiev? But right here, as always, in this situation, changes are taking place again, they appear unexpectedly.

C) The period of the sons. With your permission I would say: the period of brightening or the resurrection period in Sekiryani, and maybe, simply – the period of Spector? Who among us, the boys and girls in the days close to that World War, cannot remember a Yeshiva bocher from Yaltushkiv, the same skinny and shy eighteen years old boy

[Page 27]

who suddenly appeared, accompanied by a certain resident of our city, at the homes of our parents to offer himself as a Hebrew teacher to their sons. He immediately examined the extent of our knowledge and before long captured our hearts as he filled them with the spirit of security and faith. Here I said, “Spector,” and it refers to many others. Who doesn't remember the first preaching teachers: Chaim Schwartz, Shacar, Gandalmi, Matosov, the Yadlin brothers and their friends from other circles who came quickly together to initiate a revival movement in our place… How did they do it? Here is the entire “trick.” First of all, they came every day, at the same time, to teach us in the rooms of our homes… However, is it the main thing? Today, the matter might not be understood properly. There was some kind of extreme dedication, together with some degree of devotion in these Yeshiva and high–school students – two “archaic” qualities that only, with their help, they were able to provide us, once and for all, a thorough approach to education and also to instill in us an attitude of love for them, love for all: to the story and to the essay, the poems of Gotliber, Yehudah Leib Gordon and Bialik, but, first of all, to chapters from the Bible…and, even from the Gemara. But, the main point is: they knew how to add a unique quality to the language they have taught us, the virtue of leaving the bounds of the rooms to the full space outdoors… I hope, relying on your memory, that you don't view my words as “literature.” Yes, the members of the “entourage,” with all their modesty, meant, explicitly, that what they had taught us inside would also be heard outside. More than that: that they would be echoing and roaring. Here I would add and say, that their activity in Sekiryani wasn't primarily an activity outdoors and in the streets. Don't you remember? Suddenly they declared themselves “Hebrew speakers” on the basis of an explicit vow: not a word in a foreign language. And indeed, so they have done, when you met them in the street, between lesson to lesson, they stood and spoke in the “vowed language,” and rather too loud!… it was the first step that probably encouraged them, because, very soon, they decided on an additional step: to turn the temporary speaking meetings to compulsory meetings at set times, either short or long, and then the duets will unite on their own to a choir. A hostel? A hostel that is also extensive and intimate and welcoming at any time and hour, but also open and closed as one? The apartment at the home of Baruch–Moshe Aharn's, he's my father Chaim Shahar, had great qualities: the fact that the grocery store, which was always busy, actually took over the entire front with all its entrances and didn't bother the “guest,” even in the big “fairs,” because it was also possible to get in through the side narrow hallway

[Page 28]

which lead, first of all, to the kitchen. Surely, there was a back passageway in the yard, and in the summer, wasn't it just possible to enter through the window in the alley? Smile, there is always a “matter to deal with there.”Three” – and they're the living spirit, the source of inspiration. If Zelda is busy, Luna is free, and if she she's not there – maybe big and beautiful Bluma will enter. In the evenings you will find them all together… the parents of the family, meaning, my parents, Chaim Shacar and the three daughters, they also excel in kind of a precious quality: the boisterous of the “gang.” Just as it doesn't disrupt them in their trade in the fairs, they surrender to her in their sleep – in the afternoon and also at night… This matter probably came to them from the degree of respect that they have expressed in secrecy to the world of “those,” to their debates in matters of teaching and Zionism, and also to their recitation and their singing and matters between boys and girls which were entirely in the purity of the holy language! In short, maybe only here it is possible to see the beginning of the story. The months of spring and summer ruled the world, windows and doors stood open and some passers–by on the sidewalks started to stop and peek and listen inside, at first, from a distance, later on – more closely. Some made up their mind, entered and sat for a little while until they finally become “residents” and expanded the “circle.” At dusk, on Saturdays and holidays, the road, which stretched from the square to the Acacia Boulevard, on the way to the villages, was bustling with parents who followed the members of the “gang.” One by one the zealot intellects got caught in the language of the country. Here, Kimelfeld is getting closer, Acklander is carried away… Dr. Neiman, the gentile, is also “interested to know.” Now, all that the teachers had to do was to create us, the scattered students, in “their own image”: one lump, which is also demonstrative. At the end of “Synagogues Street” they found a sizable room, gathered us there and turned us into “Pirchei HaTecheya” [Flowers of Rebirth]. On the Sabbath, in the afternoon, when we read before them, one after the other, our endless speeches and poetry from the stage, the window panes of the houses of worship vibrated from side to side, and homeowners got out of bed and gathered around us on all sides. The girls saw that, got together, and became – “Benot Zion” [daughters of Zion]. Don't you remember the sound that from now boomed like a rolling thunder and reached Briceni, Edintsy [Edinet] etc.? Now I'll ask you: wasn't it then, really then, that the feeling that everything is clear, that there is a direction, was created. And you must also remember that: exactly, in one of those days, late that summer, an event took place that symbolized and gave expression to the general feeling that I've been talking about: a teenage boy, a guest from Eretz–Yisrael, appeared in our streets.

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He is, Yosef Braverman, a student in “Herzlia” in Yafo, who spent the months of his vacation at his parents' home in Odessa and traveled from there, accompanied by his parents, to the home of his grandfather, our Karpel Morgenstern. The city buzzed around him like a swarm of bees and the beehive was at the Karwasarski's home. Indeed, this was the beginning. Immediately, the star of Brazil was extinguished… Ladies and gentlemen, my time has come to finish: a few months after Yosef returned to the gymnasium in Yafo the Karwasarski family left Sekiryani and settled in little Tel–Aviv. Ah, that charming little Tel–Aviv where great spirits pulsed! Our elderly, Zalman Einkoper – he and his family already walked in those days in the alleys of Neve–Shalom. Nachum Diamand sent our friend, Zev, to the agricultural school in Petah Tikva… Yakov, son of Shalom Steinberg, also came to be among the students of “Herzlia.” Leah and Ester Presel came. Chaim Swartz came, and the teacher, Yadlin ,also came. Letters, brimming with longings began to stream here from those who remained. All of them also wanted: Yoheved and Tzvi Glezer, Yakov Lerner, Benny Shamshin and many many more. It's a shame, a great shame, that the war of 1914 broke out and put an end to their aspiration.

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