[Page 129]

The warmhearted – Z. Igeret. Grandfather and I – H. Shachar z”l. From the notebook of an emissary – Y. Skvirskey. Two visits in Sokyryan– B.Y. Michaeli. The rule of Goga–Cuza – Z. Igeret. How my town – Z. Braunstein. Memories – S. Zamir. The first kindergarten in Sokyryan – M. Spector. Fragments of memories – S. Zaltzman. Gordonia in Sokyryany – Z. Butnick. Man of war – Z.Igeret.

[Page 130]

It was a cold and dreary winter day. After shaking the snow off his feet and a loud clearing of the throat, R' Yitzchak Safra burst into my home and a man, wrapped a fur coat, dragged behind him. His head was lowered and his entire body was shaking. I was very surprised by the visit of R' Yitzchak Safra because he wasn't one of the frequent visitors to my home. What an orthodox Jew and a secular Zionist, like me, have in common? From that, I concluded, that, without doubt, a very necessary matter had brought him to me. I invited him to sit down, but he grabbed my sleeve and hinted me to come with him to another room – he had a secret to tell me.

We entered the second room and he started to reveal in full the reason of his visit. Jews, refugees of the Nazi sword, arrived to us in great poverty and we must help them. One of them is this visitor who escaped, together with his friend, from the Nazi inferno in Salzburg, Austria. They fled for their lives just wearing a shirt. Their families remained in Chernivtsi and they, the two men, left for their brothers in Bessarabia to ask for their support for the travel expenses to Eretz–Yisrael. The letter, that the refugees brought from HaRav HaGaon, Y.B. Tsirelson z”l, from Kishinev, reinforced the truth of the matter. The rabbi confirmed their words with his signature and the stamp of the Chief Rabbinate of Bessarabia. He asked me to go to my local Zionist friends and raise funds for them. In his opinion, this matter is a Zionist matter, the matter of immigration to Eretz–Yisrael, and who must fulfill this mitzvah if not the Zionists?

I tried to investigate the meaning of the matter, why these refugees didn't go to the Zionist center in Chernivtsi or in Kishinev if they were heading to Eretz–Yisrael, and if so, why didn't they also bring a recommendation from these centers. But, R' Yitzchak Safra didn't let me ask a lot of questions.

–– Don't ask questions beyond your comprehension. This is a fact, and the rabbi's letter and his signature testify like a hundred Zionist witnesses. Is a certain Zionist more loyal to you than the Chief Rabbi? For sure, someone referred them to the rabbi, and for that reason their sin is unbearable? Don't ask a lot of questions. Time to act – to yield fruit! We must fulfill, without further investigations,

[Page 131]

the triple mitzvah: the redemption of captives, the preservation of human life and the settlement of Eretz–Yisrael. He, himself, wouldn't have given up on this mitzvah, which came upon him by chance, if it were not for another mitzvah for which he visited almost every home in town. He knows, that a second visit wouldn't bring the desired benefit for this matter and these unfortunate will lose because of him.

I tried to hesitate and postpone the matter with “we need to review,” on the ground of private and public nuisance, but you cannot turn down a Jews like R' Yitzchak Safra with “go and come back again.” If R' Yitzchak Safra is watching you, you cannot evade him. He had seventy concepts of persuasion in his remarks: “Don't miss a mitzvah coming to you,” and “you may not decline an offer from a person more important than yourself,” and “who is greater than a poor Jew, and in addition to that, a war refugee.”

I couldn't stand up to the attack – the lightning attack – and gave up. We left for the second room. The guest sat in the corner with his eyes lowered. I tried to start a conversation with him about what was happening there and the faith of those who remained, and he was as if a demon seized him. He was hunched and shivering, gave fragmented answers, and sometimes settled with a nod of the head. He tried not to talk, as if he was afraid to have a slip of the tongue. But, R' Yitzchak Safra hurried to rescue him from his embarrassment, and as he pointed at him he whispered in my ear “look and see what mental depression and anguish can cause to a person.”

At the end we agreed, that on the next day, after my work at school, I would take care of the matter. When we parted at the door I told him: “You convinced me!” and while talking I realized that R' Yitzchak Safra left my home without his winter coat. I thought that he had forgotten it in the room and remarked it to him, but he pointed again at the guest. I looked, and here, the matter is true. The guest was wearing R' Yitzchak Safra's coat. Later I learned that when he saw the refugee freezing from the cold, he took off his coat and gave it to him. And when he was asked what he would wear, he answered: “I'm not a refugee – I live among my people and they would not let me freeze. The case is not so for a refugee!”

The next day we fulfilled the act with great success. The fact, that the refugee was one of Hitler's victims, has done the act and Jews contributed generously. About 1500 Lei was collected on that day, within a few hours, and in the evening, when we handed the money to the refugee in the presence of R' Yitzchak Safra, the latter jumped for joy and hugged me. “You fulfilled a great mitzvah,” he said, but I was also a partner to it. He was in high spirits all evening, as if he married off his only daughter and succeeded in matchmaking. We sat to process the plan for the next day. R' Yitzchak Safra made a long list of people that we

[Page 132]

still had to visit, but the refugee insisted that he must return to Chernivtsi on the next day, a place where he had left the members of his family. All the persuasions of R' Yitzchak Safra didn't help. The refugee insisted. The money collected would be enough for him and there's no need to take advantage of others.

R' Yitzchak Safra gave him food for the road and on the next day accompanied him to the nearest station. The refugee promised to write and to return his coat when he got to Chernivtsi. Days have passed and no letter came from him. Instead, a message appeared in the newspaper “Unzer Tsayt,” with the signature of HaRav Y.B. Tsirelson, in this language: “I learned that a Jew, disguised as a refugee, is wandering around the cities of Bessarabia with a letter of recommendation from me. I hereby give a notice that the entire letter is forged. I didn't give a letter to anyone.”

The message shocked me, I rushed to R' Yitzchak Safra with the paper in my hand. At the first moment he was also surprised, but he immediately recovered and began to comfort me and probably also himself: You understand: “God seeks the person's heart.” “The main thing is the intention,” after all, our intention was desirable. Let this Jew enjoy it, he probably needed it, maybe he had to marry off a daughter or smoothing similar to that.

When I met him a few days later, in a difficult winter day, he hurried down the street without a winter coat. His frozen hands were tucked inside his summer clothes and he was shaking and freezing from the cold. He didn't stop next to me, but was satisfied by throwing a few words in my direction: In spite of it, I have no regrets. Apparently, it was derived from the heavens, and I accept everything with love. Then, I thought, this Jew has such internal warmth that he can easily overcomes the outer cold.

Such was R' Yitzchak Safra z”k, a Sokyryan man.

[Page 133]

And I'm still a little boy waiting every day for the coming of the Redeemer …

In dreams, in visions of the night, I see his holy face, the hair of his white beard and his magical eyes. All say respect. He's dressed in a blue and purple fabric coat, riding on a white horse on top of the mountain of our little town…

And with the passing of the night, when the sun rises on the earth, the image disappears and only its impression remains etched deep in my mind and my soul is full with difficult longings for him… the Redeemer.

And every day I'll go to grandfather, I'll tell him my dreams, and he – will take me in his arms. He will sit me on his knees, caress me, kiss me, and in his low–husky voice will starts to tell me his stories about the Redeemer. And how many stories grandfather has? – Woe! There are many. And how beautiful grandfather's stories – how charming! He tells a lot about the past, what was in ancient times, and more – about the future – about what would be at the end of days. And how I loved grandfather's stories, especially his stories about the Redeemer! I'll lie on his knees. My little hands entangled in the curls of his beard. My ears tend to listen. My mouth agape, and with great passion I swallow every word, every sound that comes out from grandfather's mouth. At times, while doing so, I fall asleep in grandfather's arms and in my sleep I continue to weave the fabric of my thoughts – the impressions of the visions of the night…

Days pass, years pass. I'm growing and grandfather is getting older… and both of us, grandfather and I, continue to wait, waiting every day for the coming of the Redeemer …

Over time, the number of grandfather's stories increased and I also know to tell stories…

One day, the two of us, grandfather and I, are busy with the “secret of redemption” and grandfather tells his stories about the end of days. About the “rolling of the dead,” about the soil of the Holy Land, about

[Page 134]

Zion and the Redeemer. Grandfather emphasizes the words, “A Redeemer will come to Zion,” and tells me that soon he'll travel to grace the soil of the Holy Land and find rest in its earth…

And I will also tell grandfather my stories and express my great desire to travel there. Grandfather listens to my story, understands and doesn't understand, believes and doesn't believe …

One clear day grandfather and I are making our way to Eretz–Yisrael. Both of us are fascinated by the idea of redemption, by the hidden secret, each one of us knows, in the sacred land…

Grandfather is very old, weak and feeble, and I am young in days, strong and full of youthful vigor. Grandfather is dreaming about death, about a grave and about redemption, and I dream about life and also about a grave and redemption…

On a mother's grave

…and every year, when the days of the month of Elul arrive, the feelings of longing to her awaken in me… and these longings bother me and press on my heart – I cannot find peace!

And when my heart bothered me, I used to get up early in the morning, in one of the days of Elul, left the town in secret, went down to the valley and headed to the cemetery, to the place where my mother's grave was…

And there, in the cemetery, among hundreds of old stones, half submerged in the ground and drown in moss, I found her grave.

Big rocks arranged in a square and in front of them – one upright stone with an inscription on it – this is my mother's grave.

And I fall before my mother's grave, throw myself on it, and shed a lot of tears on the rocks. My tears rolled down and sunk very deep into the earth.

I was relieved after I stood before the grave for a long time and the heavy burden, which oppressed my heart for a year – was removed.

I separated from her with a peaceful soul and returned home as a pleasant sun of late summer meets me, silvered the shared of tears, which hung from my eyes, like dew on flowers…

And a wind carried me and brought me to my homeland…

[Page 135]

And I'll leave my home, my father, my relatives, my brother and my sister and will come to my precious land.

And the land, in which I fell, became my mother, its valleys – my relatives, its hills – my friends, and its flowers and roses became my brothers and sisters…

Elul…

The same emotions awaken in me with the first blowing of Shofar. The same longings attacked me: to visit my mother's grave. The distress in me grew by the hour and I didn't know rest.

And one morning, when anguish grew in my heart, I left the city's limit and came to the fields of Bethlehem and there, on the road to Efrat – I headed to her grave – the grave – of the mother of my nation…

Selichot

Knock–knock, Knock–knock!

The sound of a knock sounded on our door, and after it, the sound of a hoarse melody: “rise for Selichot!” – the Shamash, who knocks with his thick stick, is there – waking us for Selichot!

The last knock, the Shamash left and the echo of his footsteps on the pavement sounded in sleeping street.

Silence and darkness rule everything. I lie in my bed and my heart is pounding. Father wakes up and gets dressed. My mother also gets off quietly from her bed. Quiet movement begins at home. A glimmer of light shine: father lights a candle, paste it of a matchbook, and black shadows dancing and moving, to and fro, across the walls.

I'm awake. I lie curled up like a ball, and from under the blanket I look at what was going on.

Father: I call – take me to the synagogue.

Father turns his head, here and there, and asks surprised:

[Page 136]

– Is that you?… Why don't you sleep?

– Please, father, take me with your, I also want to say Selichot!

Smile of affection on father's lips.

– Hurry, my son, get dressed! He calls towards me.

One jump and I'm already on my feet and get dressed quickly.

Several moments pass and the three of us are out. We walk quietly under the pure blue sky to Synagogue Street…

Glowing stars shining in the sky, hinting to each other as if saying: Look! A little Jew is walking accompanied by his parents to the synagogue for Selichot. And I understand their hint. Gripped with lofty holiness I'm carried on the wings of my imagination, a toddler's imagination, in one hand – the Selichot and the other is holding my father's hand…

Synagogue Street. Many lighted candles peeping through the windows of the houses of worship, talking to each other in a secret language. Moans and cries are heard from the women's section. The river spills on all sides. The whole area looks like a world of holiness and glamour that only holy creatures would rule it and those, who are still lying on their beds, aren't entitled to it…

My mother climbed the stairs to the women's section and father and I enter the synagogue. The prayer begins. I'm also among those calling to “El Melech Yoshev al kise Rachamim.”

Year after year passes, and I get up every year for Selichot. Once more – imagination, once more – superior worlds – again, holy among holy…

– Wake up, son, wake up for Selichot.

I open my eye and see my father standing before me, his tallit in his hand and he's ready to go to the synagogue. Mother is also standing wrapped in her scarf and sighing quietly.

Father, let me rest! – father, I want to sleep!

Father left, mother also left, I'm sprawling on my bed and hear their sigh as they close the door behind them…

Glamorous stars sparkle in the sky. Sacred worlds rule in Synagogue Street, holy creatures in it, and only one is missing…

  Sokyryany, Ukraine     Yizkor Book Project     JewishGen Home Page

Copyright © 1999-2024 by JewishGen, Inc.
Updated 26 Jan 2017 by MHH