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Report by M. Dornfeld, secretary of the Jewish community in Tishevits, delivered to Dr. Itzchak Shiffer, Sejm deputy (translated from Polish):

On August 23, the Bolsheviks retreated towards the river Bug. On the same day, 10 Balachowtses^[1] entered the city and aimed a Kolemjat at the Jewish houses, demanded 30,000 Marks, and ran riot through the city.

Moishe Itzchak Dornfeld, z”l

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In the span of half an hour, they stole money, jewelry, and other goods worth half a million Marks. It wasn't until their senior officer received 5,000 Marks from the community that they left the city, and warned that they would be back at midnight for 20 wagonloads of clothing, 16 pairs of boots, and two wagonloads of hay. The Jewish community prepared everything. The Jewish community was awake all night waiting in fear for the “guests.” They never arrived. At the same time, the local priest, Adolf Naczinski, and Dr. Waclaw Miller displayed some compassion for the Jews, and together with other Christians, they guarded the Jewish houses every night.

On August 27 the second regiment of Don Cossaks, the Cossacks of General Balachowicz, and 3 artillery pieces arrived in town. They brought with them two barrels of whiskey. The commanding officers got together at Reuven Bicher's residence, and invited the Jewish musicians to attend. They drank, played and danced. The officers forgot about what was going on, and in the meantime, Budyonny^[2]'s cavalry was sitting on the outskirts. When a patrol informed the drunken general staff that the Bolsheviks were already on the outskirts at Dabrowa, the Cossacks hurried to hitch the horses to the artillery, and went off after the cavalry. The commander, completely drunk, fell off his horse. In such a disordered fashion the two regiments set out against the Bolsheviks. It was, however, too late. The Bolsheviks attacked the Cossacks from several sides with koljemats and hand grenades to such an extent that the Cossacks had nowhere to flee to. The battles took place in the city. The Cossacks left behind some tens of dead, and 50 wounded at the “Rinek,^[3]” and fled in great disorder as far as Komorow, some 14 versts from Tishevits. They left their artillery behind at the “Rinek” as well. Arriving in Komarow, they took out all their anger on the local Jews, and perpetrated a terrible slaughter. Sixteen Jews were murdered, and over 100 wounded. They robbed and raped. The Balachowtses, not being able to explain their defeat to the army heads, and wanting to wipe way their shame, leveled the well-known libel against the Tishevits Jews, accusing them of shooting at them from windows and balconies, and throwing grenades.

They told these kinds of lies in every city in which they did their devil's work, saying, “This is for Tishevits. When we return to Tishevits, we will slaughter every Jew.” This was related to us by the returning hostages.

On the 29^th, the Bolsheviks left the city again, and wanted

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to take with them the local priest, Adolf Naczinski and the writer of this letter, along with another Jew, Noah Taub. When I found out about this, we immediately warned the Christians—Catholics, and Jews. The latter immediately went off with me, and the Christians supported us. With great effort, tears, and a lot of pleading, we succeeded in keeping the priest from leaving. We, the Jews, later the Christians, signed a protocol which contained a warning that if they wanted the priest, and he was not in Tishevits, the “Wojenkom”^[4] would shoot 100 Jews and 50 Christians. We were not frightened by this, and signed the report, and saved the priest in this manner. With great joy, he pressed my hands and kissed them.

On August 31, our shtetl was captured by the Bolsheviks for the third time. The Polish army neared the city on September 1^st. During the shooting, which lasted 2 days, almost all the houses were damaged. Miraculously, only 10 people died and a similar number wounded. The following Jews were killed: both Richter sisters, the 65 year-old Dovid Kiperstock, and the 16 year-old Akiva Oifer. Two women lost their legs. The Bolsheviks quickly retreated, and the city was occupied by the “Hallerczikes.”^[5] Two hours later about 100 Balachowicz “heroes” showed up, and began to remove the men from their homes threatening to shoot them. When the number of Jews reached 50, I, along with Noah Taub, went to see the priest where the chief of the 10^th Polish Division—a colonel—happened to be staying. With tears in our eyes, and kissing the hands of the priest, we finally convinced them to go to the Cossack “sotnyk^[6],” and they convinced him that the libel against the Jews in Tishevits was an empty one. The following Christians corroborated it under oath: Antony Dudzinski, Gustav Maslowski, Antony Szikarski, Jan Meliszewski, Winarski, Ksaveri Zukawski, Franczisek Miller. Thanks to their attestation, the colonel categorically ordered the sotnyk to immediately send the Cossacks out of the city. That's how the Tishevits Jews were saved from slaughter at the hands of the Balachowtses. After leaving our city, the Balachowtses went to Laszczow, 8 verst from Tishevits, and carried out there what they were not able to do in Tishevits. The entire shtetl of Laszczow was plundered in the span of 3 days, from September 3^rd to the 6^th. All the women, from 12 to 50 years of age, were raped. One who resisted was shot.

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Nevertheless, in all the nearby villages (possibly also in the Polish press), the rumor went around that Tishevits Jews, using hand grenades, fought on the side of the Bolsheviks against the Polish soldiers.

I will not, Herr deputy, point out what has to be done in order to remove this suspicion from Tishevits Jews.

The Jewish community expresses its heartfelt thanks to the priest, Adolf Naczinski, and the head of the 10^th Polish Division, as well as the other Christians for their testimony on our behalf in avoiding a slaughter of the Jews.

A special thanks goes to the commander of the 2^nd Lublin detachment for maintaining order in our city from the 14^th to the 18^th of August.

Respectfully, secretary of the Jewish community—M. Dornfeld

Sholem Bicher, 27, a merchant from Tishevits, reports:

Monday, probably August 23, a patrol of 10 people entered Tishevits. They entered my father Ozer's dwelling, and asked where they could get leather. They took the opportunity to steal several hundred Marks from my father. After leaving our house, they accosted Pinchas Ginsburg in the street, and took 3,000 Marks in cash off him. It's quite likely that they also robbed the passerby, Motl Zuker from Laszczow, from whom they took, as he reported, 15,000 Marks. Not far from us, they grabbed Perl Kraut, and stole the rings off her fingers. They continued to rob a bunch of people like that. Finally, they asked for the Jewish soltis^[7], Shieh Katz, and ordered him to prepare, before evening, 20 shirts, 12 pairs of shoes, 3 bushels of oats, a wagonload of hay, and 100,000 Marks. Aside from the hay, the Jews got together all the items demanded as well as 5000 Marks. The Balachowtses got the money in the evening. As for all the other items, they did not get any of them, having been forced to leave that very night.

Thursday, August 26, a new patrol of about 8-10 Balachowtses appeared. They went around stealing all day.

The following day, Friday August 27, two regiments of Cossacks from Balachowicz's army entered, with officers at the head. The general staff took over the home of Reb Bicher (my father), and they drank alcohol all day that they had brought with them from pillaged “Gozelnie”

in Labunie (Zamosc powiat). At the same time, the Cossacks were robbing the town. The officers demanded that Jewish musicians be brought, and when they arrived, the officers went out onto the balcony and watched as groups of Cossacks danced on the “Rinek.” Around three o'clock, the colonel demanded 4 cows from the Jews. The Balachowtses did not manage to take them with them or to slaughter them, because around six o'clock in the evening, the Bolsheviks entered the town, and the Cossacks, most of them drunk, fled in great confusion toward Komarow. The Bolsheviks stayed in the shtetl until Thursday, September 2^nd. Thursday, Tishevits was shot up by the Polish army. The sisters, Nechama, and Feige N., and a boy, N. Oifer were hit. Many people, Jews and Christians were wounded. That same day, at noon, the Polish army entered the shtetl, followed by the Balachowicz Cossacks. They captured 40-50 Jews, brought them to the Rinek, threatening to shoot them, because the Jews of Tishevits had thrown bombs at them, and poured boiling water on them. At the request of the Jews, the priest intervened on their behalf with the colonel of the 44^th Regiment of the Polish army, and the Jews were freed.

For fear of the Cossacks, the Jews hid with Christians, and the abandoned Jewish houses were plundered by the Cossacks, and people in Polish uniforms. The plundering took all of Thursday. In the evening, Polish patrols were set up, and the plundering ceased. For a period of several days, until Tuesday September 7, bands of Cossacks entered and carried out robberies. That week, Polish police arrived, and then things calmed down.

About 800 Jewish families lived in Tishevits, and there were barely any that were not robbed. The damages were huge, reaching several million Marks. Most afflicted were Leib-Ber Rotenberg (textile store), Miriam Crystal (restaurant), Ozer Bicher (iron work and household utensils), Tsalke Zweig, and others. It is said in the shtetl that there were many cases of sexual assault against Jewish women, but their names were kept secret for obvious reasons.

Sh. Bicher

Moishe Blonder, municipal council representative in Tomaszow, 28, reports:

Sunday August 29, I went on private business to

Tuczapy. That same day I left Tuczapy for Tishevits, 6 verst from there, and stayed for several days.

During the robbing in Tishevits, the Balachowtses argued that they were exacting revenge for the losses they suffered from the Jews who had thrown bombs at them. I was present when the priest intervened with the Balachowtses not to carry out any pogroms against the Jews.

I myself was robbed by the Balachowtses. They stole a silver cigarette case, a leather briefcase with documents, 125 Russian rubles, and 220 Polish Marks. I received, as well, a sword cut on my arm, and a torn coat, smock, vest, and clothing. I was not wounded. [Sic]

M. Blonder

The picture shows how we hosted the Catholic bishop. He greeted us warmly for our reception.

Our little shteteleh, Tishevits, lying between the regional-cities of Zamosc, Tomszow-Lubelski and Hrubieszow, was not even marked on the map. Connection to the bigger cities was primitive, largely via horse and carriage. The carriage drivers would bring merchandise to the city, and at the same time carry passengers back and forth. The roads were unpaved. Only in later years was the road to Zamosc paved. The “little train” station was also not in town but several kilometers away in the village of Tuczop.

Naturally, the difficult communication conditions had some influence on the evolution of the Jewish population, and particularly on the youth. That is not to imply that they were less advanced than in the bigger cities. On the contrary, as far as social and cultural areas are concerned, it is possible that the youth of Tishevits were even more developed and diversified.

Our shtetl was an old one, with a history going back hundreds of years that young and old took pride in. The old legends, like the story about Moshiach ben Yosef, brought a lot of prestige to the rich past. The Polish population took pride in their “ Konfederacja Tyszowiecka,” and in the various big battles in the time of Poland's grandeur. In particular, they were proud of the things they produced in the shtetl: boots of hide, hand sewn, which extended above the knee. In winter, the farmers would wrap straw and rags around their feet, and draw their boots over them which warmed the whole body in the cold and snow. From this the name Tishevits derives–that is, “Tu szewcow,” “Here are showmakers.” One can infer from that that the population

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expressed a certain independence, not looking for some prestigious name from the aristocracy, or the gentry.

The city was built in the form of a square. The streets were diverse, the one-story houses built mostly of wood. The roofs were shingled, later also of tin. In the middle of the shtetl there was a large building built of bricks, called the “Rinek.” It was in the center, and divided the square into two separate halves.

On the north-east side of the square, a street, which we called the “Greblie,” stretched all the way to the river, and went on further to the suburb called Majdanek, and from there to the nearby villages. On the southwest side, there was a similar street called “Zamlinie” that led to the Zamosc road.

Aside from that, there were streets and alleys on all sides. On the west side, there was a little street that led to the besmedresh and the shul, as well as to various Chasidic shtiblach. Below them there was the bathhouse and the mikvah. The streets were given special names like “bath street,” and so on.

Seen from above, the city looked like a beautiful garden with many green “lawns.” Due to the crowded conditions, and the lack of a sewer system, spring and fall were very muddy. “Kladkes,” narrow boards, led from one street to another. For toilets, people mostly went to the “Pasheh”^[1] on the other side of the river, behind the bath, and also in the darkened alleys.

The Huczwa River flowed by the city and stretched far beyond Hrubieszow, all the way to the Bug River. The population consisted of three nationalities: Poles, Ukrainians, and Jews. The Christians mostly lived in the suburbs. The churches for Catholics and Orthodox were located there. That is where they had their fields and businesses. The previously mentioned “Rinek,” was the site for stores and shops of all manner of goods. The pharmacy and several taverns were also located there.

The Jewish population provided all the necessary goods for the surrounding villages. The market was held once a week on Wednesday. Preparations for the market went on all week. The farmers and the Jews awaited the Wednesday. The farmers used to bring their wheat, horses, cows, and other animals, as well as fruits, vegetables, butter, cheese, eggs and flax.

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The whole shtetl would be full of wagons coming to the market. Here, the Jews displayed their goods. Stalls and tables displayed merchandise in a certain arrangement: clothing, manufactured goods, haberdashery, shoes, etc. Jewish merchants with their goods also came from the nearby towns of Laszczow, and Komarow. The market was an important contributor to the economic life of the shtetl.

With time, some big and small merchants made names for themselves. There were thoughts of expanding sales to other cities; they began to look for external markets. Artisan work also developed, especially tannery, and rope making. It really took off after WWI. Ways of thinking also changed. Different ideas and interests developed.

Social and cultural life in the shtetl was varied. It can be viewed from two aspects. On one side–the foundation of the past with its deeply rooted traditions. On the other side–a more progressive development among the young who were beginning to look for other ways of living. The past had its spiritual center in the shul, the besmedreshes and the shtiblach. These places served not only to study Torah and to pray, but also as houses of meeting and celebration. A center of Torah, and wisdom, and a full life, in one. The big shul was renowned throughout the whole region for its beauty. The shul was used for davening on Shabbes and holidays only. The congregation of the shul was mostly the businessmen, as in the besmedresh, and also, so to say, the more common “worldly,” dressed in modern clothes with hats and short jackets. They davened in the Ashkenazi style.

The shul was artfully painted with various artistic-historical works: the twelve tribes of Israel; the Leviathan with the Shorabor^[2], objects from the Beis Hamikdash, and other historical paintings, always bright and neat, instilling respect and honor.

The besmedresh near the shul was built simply, in the folk tradition, always open to all and anyone. Large windows, and long tables with sturdy long benches. Near the doors, was a large, wide oven that, in winter, used to warm the whole building, and everyone would warm themselves near it. The poor would be positively revived by it. Jews who arrived from other cities, would make the besmedresh their first stop.

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Cantors, prayer leaders, preachers, and others, would also visit the besmedresh first. The besmedresh was the backbone of the poor. Here they could find their place and some peace. Men would also come here to “get in” a chapter of psalms, or a section of mishnayes, or a kiddush or yorzeit. The city rabbi prayed here as well as other notables. It was also the site for various gatherings like Moes Khitin^[3], Hachnoses Kallah^[4], fixing the fence at the cemetery, mikvah, etc. Gatherings of a more general nature took place there–voting for the Sejm, or local congregation affairs.

Child rearing was the same as in other shtetls. It was understood that a three-year-old child would start cheder. Twenty to thirty children would sit in a room all day, the rebbe at the head with a pointer. There were teachers for the littlest, Chumash teachers, and Gemara teachers. And that's how they were taught until the age of thirteen, and then they went on to study either alone at the besmedresh, or at a shtibl, or travelled to a yeshiva. Others had to interrupt their studies and learn a trade, or help their father in the store. The very poorest, not being able to pay for tuition, left school before reaching 13 years of age.

Thus the population's way of life was somewhat insular. No sign of anything new. Everything according to the old standards, according to the traditions and ideas of the past. Everything in a Jewish way, even the clothing. It was not until WWI that change began to arrive in educational methods. The “Powszechne szkole”^[5] –elementary government school–was compulsory for all children, and the cheder had to adapt to becoming an afternoon school. New schools of our own also were established, like “cheder metukan” (the pious spelled it with a samach, “msukan”), “Tarbut.” The old educational ways struggled and managed to keep the upper hand for years, but in the end had to accommodate themselves.

The years following WWI brought major changes to Jewish society in the shtetl. The October Revolution in Russia, and many other events and changes in the world brought new ideas and problems to shtetl society. Our own economic situation changed as well, and we had to take a stand on all these changes.

Understandably, the youth were very aware of these issues. Their lives were at stake. Studying and learning about the historical changes became the main focus. Many of the adults and especially the youth undertook to deepen

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their understanding, and study on their own. They read everything: books, brochures. Clubs and groups were formed, and in time, parties were established with all kinds of ideas and world-views, and thus, more opportunities to express the differences in opinions, and at the same time, to improve their understanding of world problems. There were many parties that were established later, but among the first were Poalei Zion, the Bund, and the Communists.

The young, and the adults as well, yearned for a new society, and many abandoned the above-mentioned education and behavior. They clung to the party believing the party would provide them with wider opportunities in the future. The honor of being the first in this must be given to the Poalei Zion party that brought new energy to the young in the task of rebuilding life. The library, organized by the party, became an important center for the thirsting youth. Frequent meetings, literary, political-historical, and other issues were held there. Poalei Zion was the first to elucidate and establish the Zionist idea. The party later organized the youth in pioneer spirit, and prepared the Hachshara in order to be the avant-garde in immigration to Israel. The youth organizations, Freiheit, Scout, were renowned in the shtetl. The leaders of the party: Moishe Motl Shaler, Itzchak and Pinchas Landau, Shloime Shtengel, Itzchak Kalinberg, Moishe Barg and others, worked hard for the movement. The Bund was not especially popular as a political party with us, but was more a part of social life thanks to the Peretz library whose founders were Bundists.

The Peretz library was one of the most important cultural institutions providing the opportunity to read books, and was a source of knowledge for all those who were interested in Haskala^[6], and wanted to gain more knowledge. There were many classic Jewish books as well as translations from Polish literature, and scientific books about philosophy foundational concepts, etc., as well as journals and newspapers.

The library also was the site of the drama club under the leadership of Mendl Singer, z”l, who achieved a lot putting on plays with great success from time to time. Discussions of a political nature often took place there because it was free for all politically inclined to be members.

In time, the Peretz library became the cultural center of the shtetl.

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It was the place from which the ramifications of political maturity originated, later diversifying into all the parties and groupings that developed in the shtetl.

The Communist party and the needle union also attracted a lot of the young who were in trade. More and more trades organized: tailors, shoemakers, carpenters, millers, boot makers, and others. The most popular trade in shtetl was the needle trade. The workers in all these trades were not organized. They worked for very low wages with no defined work hours. There were of course some adults and youth who were well off, and did not work. Although there was no particular antagonism between the two naturally opposite groups, the clear differences between them, social and spiritual, were noticeable. In time, the workers began to look for ways so as not to be so exploited by the bosses. Then the professional union was formed. The needle union became the guide and defender for all workers in the shtetl. An 8-hour workday was instituted, and better wages; they fought against laying off workers, and against strike-breakers. In addition, the union carried out political-cultural education.

This kind of work was naturally not favored by the Polish authorities, knowing who the leaders were. In fact, the needle union was under the influence of the Communists. Under those conditions it was no small thing to organize and influence politics, spiritual matters, and economic matters: teaching the workers and the youth to celebrate workers' holidays, stopping work and parading on May 1st. Under the conditions of harassment and violence, it was heroic!

There were times when the police terrorized the leaders, imprisoning them even without any valid evidence against them.

The Communist Party was not satisfied with its links only to the Jewish community. It had contacts with Polish and Ukrainian workers, and farmers. Clubs and cells were organized. Illegal assemblies often took place in the forests. They demonstrated at all the political events, and took a stand on all the actual problems. The wave of arrests did not deter the leading cadres. In 1926,

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arrests of communists occurred, and again in 1932, and in 1935. The fearless leaders of the movement spent their best years in jail, among them: Itzchak Zwillich, Israel Eitel, Abraham Eisen, Moishe Krempil, Yehoshua Shtengel, and others.

In particular, we should mention here the first party leaders and activists: Favish Alboim, Yosl Shtengel, Wolf Messer, Ephraim Itzchak Shoichet's son, and many others who were not even well known in the shtetl.

There were other parties and organizations that played a big role such as: the Left Poale Zion, the General Zionists, Mizrachi, Agudat Israel, Folks-Partei, handworkers union, savings and loan bank, and almost all of them had a youth wing. Most of the youth, however, grouped themselves around the three aforementioned parties with which I was more familiar.

The lively youth, unfortunately, is no more. The shtetl is in ruins.

Footnotes:

1. Pasture Return
2. Legendary giant ox whose flesh will be eaten by the righteous in paradise Return
3. Contributions to the poor for Passover Return
4. Communal help for young girls without resources to marry Return
5. Primary school Return
6. Jewish Enlightenment Return

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It is necessary to write about your death with tears and blood. There was once a shtetl, we would have to tell our grandchildren, a shtetl that lived without commotion, without clamor. Everyone worked hard to earn enough for bread and challah for Shabbes. With their last pennies, they sent their children to cheder, yeshivah, and did hard physical labor to be able to marry their children off with proper respect. There were Jews like oaks in the Lipowic Forest, with wool tallises and silver crowns. There were Jewish business owners who worked very hard to make a living; there were Jewish merchants and store-keepers who waited for customers in order to be able to earn enough for a pair of shoes, and clothes for their children. There were the Jewish youth who left the besmedreshes and filled the culture unions, and swallowed whole chapters of Tolstoy, Mendeleh, Sholem Aleichem, and Peretz with the same enthusiasm with which they consumed the yellowed pages of the Gemara. There were quiet love affairs, and Saturday dusky evenings somewhere among the mountains. There were children, with torn shoes and patched trousers singing the “V'Ani” by the light of tallow candles, exactly as if they were living in Bethlehem by mother Rachel's tomb. There were dorfgeyers^[1] who dragged themselves around for weeks in the

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villages, and came home for Shabbes with a sack of potatoes on their shoulders, a little barley kasheh, and beans.

But everything was annihilated all at once, killed off violently, and from the whole shtetl, nothing was left but a mass grave somewhere in the forests around the shtetl.

I stand orphaned on the ruins of my shtetl, and say Kaddish for you, my shtetl!

All along my wandering ways, you stand before me. I see the besmedresh with its long tables covered with religious books. I even see the barrel of water by the door where the men would wash their hands before saying, “Asher Yatzar.” I see Yasheh Shammes warming his back at the stove; I see the proud shul with its symbolic paintings, and my grandfather, Chaimtche, shoichet and chazzen, standing at the lectern in his white smock on Yom Kippur evening during Kol Nidrei. I see the Husiatyn shtibl from which you could always hear the monotonous melody of oi, oi, amar Raba. I see the Belzer shtibl where Hershl Velliyes sang the “Yaalot” with such sweetness. I see the Trisker chasidim going around the shtetl on Simchat Torah singing Shishu v'Simchu, and the tall Leibish shouting out, “Tzon Kidoshim,” and the children running after screaming, “Meh, meh.” I see Nathan-Dovid Zuker standing in his little store, his wife the breadwinner, and he only paying attention during the Wednesday market, his shortsighted eyes always buried in a religious book. I see Yechiel Asher with his wide tallit-katan wandering around the market looking for bargains. I see Leibish Shtuden, always worried, standing by the door of his store, dragging on a cigarette butt in his stained yellow fingers. I see Hersh Braun with his groomed beard hurrying Friday night to daven, and telling the tardy Jews to close their stores in order to prevent a desecration of the Sabbath. I see Moishe Motl Shaler chewing his nails, always lost in thought, Shloime Kreiner, the maskil, with a buttoned up collar, always smiling. More than once, I see in my dreams my rabbi, R' Abraham Shochet, who lived on a narrow street, a Jew a great scholar, always with his snuff, peering into a religious book, and when he finds the proper interpretation, his face breaks out in a smile, and he asks his wife to bring him a bowl of hot potatoes with the peels that he peels with his long nails which he also uses to slaughter fowl. We, his students, also enjoyed the hot potatoes, as well as the verse “kol habassar” in Holin^[2]. I can see before me Leibish Wassertreiger, a Jew with a broad beard, bent over, carrying two large pails of water from the river dangling from his shoulder yokes. Somewhere on a prisbe, Feige-Leah the Meshugene used to break out in a song

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with a sad melody, “Gold and silver are left alone, and if you are called, you must come.” I can see standing before my eyes the nobleman, Krant, the Tishevits aristocrat with the groomed beard, a vinkl advocat^[3], as he looks down from the balcony of his aristocratic dwelling on the dyke. I see the Tishevits bathhouse, a half-ruin, and I hear the men shouting from the highest bench, “Hot, another scoopful,” and the steam creeps up to the highest bank where they whip themselves with little brooms. I see my grandfather, Moishe-Nachman Yosef's, with his long white beard, reciting every Shabbes at the Melave Malkah, Tikon Eliyahu, in order to be certain of a place in the world to come. I see the old cemetery with the legendary tombstones from Meshiach Ben Yosef, and the two merchants from Lublin, and Jewish women praying fervently at the graves pleading for health and prosperity. I see Leah Henye's, the stout woman, who leads women services in shul. I see Shmuel Sofer, with his wide, blonde beard, scratching a goose quill across a sheet of parchment, and I hear the baritone voice of White Aharon reciting the parsha of the week in the Torah in the big besmedresh. I see Cheneh Melamed, a Bontche Schweig,^[4] who is delighted with the little bit of grits his wife gives him for dinner. I see Leib Ber Kolenberg, the Chasidic aristocrat, who, alas, has trouble from his children, who are beginning to hang around the unions. I see Nechemiah Hitlmacher, the little well-dressed man who was very musical. I see Nachman Yidl, dressed-up, carrying the newspaper Heint on the sidewalk of the dyke. His son, Shmuel Saver, is yelling at him for getting his trousers muddy. I see Nachman Spodik wearing his tefillin, rocking back and forth with an old torn siddur. I see Simcha Shtuden with his white bushy beard, his hands in his belt, his head turning from side to side. I see so many children carrying flags with red apples on Simchat Torah at night in the besmedresh. I see Black Riva going home from the library with a book, sneaking a peek at the first page while walking.

I see before me how we performed theater at Dotche Zhibivitser's attic. We are performing, I think, Motke Ganif, by Sholem Asch, or The Ganovim by Bimko, or Die Shchite by Gordon, and Sureleh Nachman Yidl's is our primadonna.

It's Saturday morning in the shtetl. Everyone's asleep after the cholent. Groups of young people are promenading on the krinitza. Moishe Zalman is standing with his yarmulke and big tallit katan near his door, yawning in the direction of the market towards the pump. Near the pump, a pair of Jews stand refreshing themselves with a drink of cold water. Kopl Kellenberg is walking slowly, in his Shabbes clothes, listening to Abraham Shoichet. From Moishe Liebe's house a voice is heard studying a chapter of Mishnah by Itzye Rov. Malkah Dvore and Gitl are sitting on the sidewalk.

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Avrumtche Eitl, dressed-up, goes by, and winks at Malkah, and continues on to the water mill. A little while later, Malkah Rov gets up and goes into the house to change. Raizel Nachman Yidl's goes arm-in-arm with Yenkeleh Nuster on a short walk by the klentwes. Shabbes is spread over the shtetl in all its beauty. Near the administrative office a couple of Jews are groaning while reading a Polish notice about a new tax.

I see the shtetl where Leib Steinshreiber sits in his cramped store on the dyke, and sews visors onto caps, and gets in a chat with Leib Eitel about Bucharin's ABC of Communism. And Moishe Motl Shaler explains the paradoxes of Max Nordau to me. I see Chantsieh-Dotche Ozer's read, with tears in his eyes, Der Schwartzer Yungerman by Dinezon, and I can still hear Shloime Goldman giving a talk in the Tzeirei Zion group about workers and labor. So long and so far away from my shtetl, yet while writing, everything comes to life in my memory, as if I were right there. I even see the pigs that wallowed in the mud near the bathhouse, and the children throwing stones at them. I see Abish Czuma harnessing his horse and wagon to drive to the kolejka,^[5] and Basheh chatting with Velye Tsap's wife about how the challah came out for Shabbes. I see the market women sitting and selling frozen apples, warming themselves by the firepot, and waving sticks at the city Billy goat with his two dried-out horns and goatee, trying to eat the apples in the stall.

It is Yom Kippur eve. The cries and voices of women reciting blessings over the candles issue from the houses. The sun goes down somewhere in the Tishevits Forest. Men are rushing from the mikvah with wet beards. The shtetl is quiet and in holiday mood. The tall wax candles cast their light through the windows. Children snuggle up to parents. The melody of Kol Nidrei is heard from the shuls. At every turn the spirit of the Days of Awe is felt.

I also see Chaveh Chaim-Yosl's standing at the post office waiting for a letter from her husband, Chaim-Yosl from Cuba. Maybe there will also be a small check with a few dollars for winter clothes for the kids. I see my brother, Yehoshua, gluing paper purses for sale, in order to save my mother who lies paralyzed in bed begging for death. It's Wednesday—market day. Hundreds of Christian wagons with pigs, sacks of potatoes, corn. The city is noisy. Bnimeleh is bargaining with a goy over a horse sale. He opens its mouth and looks at its teeth, while nearby a young colt is prancing, kids plucking hairs from its tail. Stalls with “Tishavyanes,” boots with wide bootlegs, hanging.

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Jewish men are slapping hands with the goyim negotiating prices like that. A resounding slap is the sign the sale is done. A goyeh takes out the money from a filthy knotted kerchief, and the goy walks away with new boots on his shoulder. Leizer Gantcher is examining a hen, blowing into the feathers to see how fat she is, a rooster crows, and somewhere a goyeh drops a basket of eggs, and the yolks get mixed into the mud.

In Dotche Zhibivitzer's teahouse, farmers sit at long wooden tables sipping boiling hot tea, eating black bread with lard.

The holidays are over. The autumn rains fill the gutters. People gather round the wagons of wood, every log stored for the winter like a piece of gold. Wood chips are collected and kindling is chopped for heating the ovens. Children start to go to cheder at night, and study chumash and Rashi by the light of smoky lamps. They go home in lantern light. Later, the cold, frozen winter comes with snow knee-high. The windowpanes become steamed up and covered with frosted flowers. The river freezes over. Youngsters with warm scarves slide on the ice. The besmedresh is warm. Men sit by the stoves and tell stories about the Baal Shem. My grandfather, Chaimtche, tells, for the hundredth time, how the Radziner found the snail.^[6] Sometimes a magid^[7] comes and delivers a sermon in the traditional magid melody, and the people groan when he describes hell so that you can almost see the flickers of flames, and the audience gives him some groschen by the light of a tallow candle. Moishe Dutche, the town's rich man, drives out to the forests in a new hooded fur cape. Black crows fight over fat pieces of intestine a Jewish woman threw out onto the snow, making a chicken kosher for Shabbes. Aharon-Berish Laks comes riding back from the forest in a thick scarf, his beard and moustache sprouting pieces of ice, his breath misting in the air. Fishl-Leibish Shtuden's opens his shop and sweeps the piles of snow away from his door, and Getzl Kuperstein comes from davening in his skunk fur, his tallis and tefillin under his arm.

Winter passes. The snow melts and fills the ditches with water. At Shimon Nadel's they are beginning to make matzes for Pesach. Lilacs are beginning to bloom in the gentile gardens. Soon the Rosh Chodesh radishes will appear. The Jews start to whitewash their houses. Sheets with matzes are carried through the shtetl in honor of Pesach, and children are wearing their new shoes for the holiday. Spring rushes in from the klentwes.

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Eggs are available from Abraham Glatter. Schmaltz for Pesach is taken out of the cellars. People are running around with wrapped-up spoons, burning the chometz. Passover wine is pressed from raisins for the four cups. The shtetl acquires a new soul. Wagonloads of lime to cover the floors are brought in from Koczer Mountain. Birds begin to build nests under the roofs, and the first stork stands on one leg on Peretz Krant's roof. After Pesach, Getzl Kuperstein and Moishe Shtuden travel to Warsaw to buy flowers for summer. Gentile women start to be seen in the streets with their kerchiefs, selling tsiprinkes, and radishes, and trees begin to bloom in the orchards. People are beginning to eat tsiprinkes and sour cream for breakfast, the poor, radishes with soured milk, and frugal wives use even the buttermilk.

The beloved summer comes, women begin to bake knishes with blueberries. Canaries sing in the summer dawn. The Jews begin to move out to the orchards with wagons full of bedding, benches, tables, plates and kettles. Meshugener Yani runs around the streets singing, “The holiday times are beginning to appear,” accompanying himself on the mandolin, and groups of youngsters follow him to the “long bridge.” Yakov-David Shoichet, and Yitzchak Shoichet meet at the kontzeleria,^[8] share a pinch of snuff from one snuffbox, and quickly run back home, because the women are already waiting there with chickens to slaughter for Shabbes.

I see you, Tishevits, with all your streets and alleys, from the watermill to Pinye Landau's house where pots and pans were manufactured. I can still smell the smell of the orchard in the court, and the mud. I still see the ruin where according to legend, Meshiach Ben Yosef lived. I see the cellar room where old Zelikl lay paralyzed for years, and hear his constant groaning, and where Peretz Parach gave him a little grits to eat that some housewife donated to sustain the soul of the sick man.

I still see Gershon Melamed's cheder opposite the besmedresh, where he taught children. He also chiseled the letters on tombstones. I remember when Yosef Meirtsie's went around buying dollars and loaning to Gemiles-Chasidim. He used to hide the dollars in his tefillin sac when he saw a policeman in the distance.

I remember when Hershl Moishe-Liebe's son in law, Moishe Itzchak Zuker's son, a young man, a Torah scholar who used to daven Shabbes in his shtreiml, was murdered in a village, and was brought to town Friday during the day in a wagon. The shtetl mourned, and Herzke Garber from the Chevra Kadisha carried the burial board,

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and wept bitter tears, and when they were carrying the stretcher, the whole city followed in the funeral procession. At the cemetery, Krimmer Dovid was standing with his gnarled stick keeping people from stepping on the graves. Youngsters took advantage of the moment when Krimmer Dovid was preoccupied protecting the graves to fill their pockets with apples from the cemetery. I see Deaf Shieh who was “soltis” for years running around the city with his long goatee carrying notifications concerning taxes, and in the days of Russian conscription, Deaf Shieh was the carrier of the sad news that so and so had to report.

I left my shtetl in 1927, said good-bye to my friends and family. I said goodbye to my grandfather, Chaimtche, already an old man in his nineties, in the Radziner shtibl. Half blind, he was still telling his tales of the Radziner court. The only thing my grandfather told me, with tears in his eyes, was to make sure to enter the new land on the right foot. I parted from my sick mother who covered me in tears, from my brother, Yehoshua, who was choked-up with tears, and one Sunday at dawn I was already seated on Abish Czuta's wagon travelling to the kolejka^[1], and from there on trains and ships to Cuba, to start a new life on this exotic island.

When I returned in 1930, I saw for the first time how poor and lonely our shtetl was, the houses more sunken in age. Even Yankl Paniche's brick building in the middle of the market, that workers especially brought in from Russia had built, had lost its charm. Peeling paint, the roof covered with patches, the doors screeching. Peretz Krank's house on the dyke had lost the color on its walls, doors and windows. The shtetl looked old. Chaim Rubele's hobbled along bent over, Artsheleh, the city rabbi, still a young man in his forties, already had grey hair under his worn-out shtreiml. The stores were half empty. In the new cemetery, new rows of tombstones. A lot of my friends had left the shtetl, some to the kibbutzim of Palestine as it was known then, some to Argentina, others to America and Canada.

From then to now, after years of wandering, I still have not left my shtetl. I see it in dreams, I see it when I close my eyes. Not New York, not London, not Paris, not Buenos Aires, and not years

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in beautiful Lima, Peru have been able to erase my shtetl from memory.

May these words be a Kaddish, and may the winds carry them to my shtetl Tishevits, and to the ruins of my shtetl, to the mass graves of our martyrs. May my Kaddish be heard and may the trees answer, amen!

Lima, October 10, 1965

Footnotes:

1. Literally, “village-goers,”l people who made their living going to and trading in villages Return
2. Talmudic tractate Return
3. An unlicensed lawyer Return
4. Bontche Schweig is a character of great meekness in a story by I. L. Peretz. Return
5. Narrow gauge railway Return
6. Snail believed to be the source of purple dye Return
7. Itinerant preacher Return
8. Administrative office Return

I will shut my eyes, and go back in my mind to my little shtetl, Tishevits.

How alive it all seems before me. Little wonder, because the most beautiful, carefree years of our lives, years that will never return, were left there, along with our nearest and dearest.

A shtetl like all the other shtetls, with a shul, a besmedresh, and many chasidim, shtibls as well as synagogues. There was a Jewish community, and a Polish community, a gemiles chesed bank in the handworkers union, a bath and poorhouse, a cinema, a Catholic and Russian Orthodox church, and a courthouse.

There were four Polish schools, and many cheders. There were many organizations, both of the left and right, and a Y. L. Peretz library which served all classes of society. Physically, our shtetl distinguished itself from others. Nature had imbued it with a special charm. The center of the city was the market, and around it all the side streets.

The river Huczwa encircled the town and separated us from the suburbs. The center of the shtetl was where the Jews lived with some Christian families here and there. They mostly lived in the suburbs where there were a few Jewish families too who drew their livelihood there. Bridges connected us to the suburbs. North of the market stretched the so-called Ostrowa. To the south, a bridge separated us from the so-called klentves. To the west, we were separated by a small bridge and a long bridge.

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Beyond the small bridge was the so-called “court” where only Jews lived. After that came the long bridge, and the outskirts of Zamlynie. To the east, there was a bridge near the water mill, and then came the suburb that was divided in three. One way, stretched through a bridge and a meadow where the slaughterhouse lay. The second way led to the “bursn” where the old cemetery was, and opposite it was the “court” orchard. After that came the school and the Russian church. The third way led to the so-called Debina. There was another school here, a Polish church, and the pretty, so-called krynica—where, climbing up to the highest hill, you could see a mixture of green colors which really caught the eye—beginning with dark green grasses to light yellow flowers. From a distance, it looked like a beautiful carpet laid out as if a painter had arranged the appropriate pretty colors.

Hard by the bottom of the hill there was a well with spring water that had a special fresh taste.

Those beautiful childhood years that everyone longs for, we spent there. Those were memorable, but in other cases Tishevits can be mentioned in less positive terms, because, in every corner, you could find backwardness, and frequent antisemitism that humiliated us. The houses were built of wood. There were very few brick buildings. The houses were pressed so close to each other that you might think they were unable to support themselves, and that may indeed have been the case. The market and several streets were paved, and that gave it a little bit of a big-city feel. There were two pumps in the middle of the market, and they provided water for the city. The city was lit with a few gas lamps that did not always function.

The houses used naphtha lamps and some gas lamps, and near the mill there was electricity.

They heated with wood, coal or peat. You were lucky if there was enough fuel, because in some houses there was not enough. There were different classes of people. A few rich families; a small number of middle class; the greatest part, poor, and very poor. People lived together peacefully, in spite of the fact that most were large families with sharply delimited comforts. There were about 300-400 families. There were merchants of forest products and wheat, and smaller stores, and businessmen who were good tradesmen: cobblers, tailors, tanners, carpenters, and masons.

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The only good day to make money was market day, Wednesday, and on all other days of the week, the shtetl was quiet. Storekeepers yawned, and tradesmen left their apprentices to do the work, and wandered out to the street where you could run into someone, or a child even. Market day was especially happy. Early in the morning, wagonloads of farmers would come in from around the city, as well as merchants from nearby. The hog butchers occupied quite a respected place, and stunk up the shtetl with their cooking and roasting pig meat. It was really suffocating when you got near the place. Near them, the shoemakers set up their shops with their regular boots, as well as the special boots with the long white bootlegs called Tishevianess. On the other side were the old-clothes dealers, and other stands with various merchandise like, glassware, knitwear, toys, locks and keys, and so on. In the midst of all this, farmer women pushed through the crowds selling chickens, beans, onions, garlic, and other greens. Jewish women were out looking for bargains. Everyone in their own way lauded their goods. There was such a crowd that you could barely hear yourself talking, and in among the horses neighing, the pigs squealing, the ducks quacking, the hens crowing, and just the general racket, a pair of male and female singers with a harmonica set themselves up in the crowd. They both thought they would be heard over the noise, but their echoing songs did not succeed in overcoming the din.

For us, still young at the time, it was a special satisfaction to push yourself into the whole crush, and inspect the new merchandise brought in from abroad, and to listen as one tried to shout over another touting his wares in a not-very-good Polish. Women with nice smiles put on their faces, invited you into their stores. Everyone tried to earn a few zlotys.

Toward evening, everyone dispersed, and it was quiet again, and very dirty, as they barely cleaned up.

We didn't have much to brag about regarding transportation. Mostly people travelled by horse and buggy. For longer distances, the train was used, but you had to get there by horse. The train station was far from the city. The last year, there was also a bus from Tishevits to Zamosc, leaving at 8:00 AM with few passengers, and returning in the evening. The bus was greeted by a gang of kids with shouting and noise that echoed through the shtetl.

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The roads, it can be said, were quite quiet. Nevertheless, we heard of bad accidents from time to time. Mostly it happened in broad daylight, when a goy wanted to have some fun, and raced through the market with his horse and wagon, and hit a child or an adult. People would come running from all over the city, quickly grab the victim, pour water on him, gave him some to drink too, and everything would return to normal.

We also experienced plenty of fear every summer while bathing. Every year something had to happen. The Jews would interpret it as the water required a person. I never understood this, and I was too shy to ask. I knew that a person could not live without water, but water not being able to exist without a person, I still don't understand.

We also suffered from frequent fires that occurred in the summer nights in the suburbs. The whole shtetl would be illuminated by the fires.

The holidays and Sabbaths had their own special charm. Friday evening, as soon as Mecheleh the shammes banged on the doors of the stores with his hammer telling everyone that Shabbes was arriving, all the storekeepers shut their stores, and the street was empty of stalls, and everyone started to get ready for Shabbes. There was a special homey atmosphere. After the candle lighting, the shtetl looked like a Sabbath queen. There was a ring of lights shining from windows around the whole market. The streets were neatly swept. The children, hair washed and dressed in Shabbes clothes, hurried with their fathers either to the beautiful big shul, or to the besmedresh, or to the Chasidic shtibls. There was such a sort of holiday atmosphere that it seemed in those moments that all the problems of the Jews had ended. The goyim looked on at this holy atmosphere with respect. And also we, the so-called free thinkers, regarded the religious part of the city with tolerance.

I remember that we, the youth, had little patience for the drawn-out ritual of the Shabbes table with the kiddush and the zmires, and the serving of food. We wanted to get the meal over with quickly so we could go out and join our friends, some to an organization, others just to have a good time, others to go listen to a political discussion. We had a beautiful youth that was cultural as well. We didn't have a high school, nor did we have any

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opportunities to study. Nevertheless, we had young people stuffed with knowledge like a pomegranate, and achieving it by themselves. The library was always full of searchers. Everyone came to hear something, to absorb something, a little news, a little knowledge. We were many, but few survived.

Oh, how alive you all appear to me, you beautiful, sweet young girls, and goodhearted boys. You are as dear to me as my own life. As long as we are alive we will remember you. All of you live on in us!

You are with us everywhere, in every joyful moment, and in sorrow. But why do I always see your eyes filled with tears and longing, your arms outstretched? Why do I see the small children, weary, languishing, with tears running down their emaciated faces? Why do I see you, fathers and mothers, grandfathers, and grandmothers, and aunts, with defeated faces, with eyes full of despair. You give me no rest. I always see you as if you are begging for help, for mercy from us. It was a time when we too were sentenced to death, escaping by the skin of our teeth. We could not have helped you. Our conscience is clear. We, the survivors, will never forget you. The spilled blood of innocents will not rest until the murderers are annihilated.

You know of course that it is a tradition in our city that the Messiah the son of Joseph is resting in our cemetery. You have been there many times and seen with your own eyes the wonder of the bent monument over his grave. There is a tree growing beneath it that is just as bent as the monument,

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which is holding it up. You also know that with us in the city, as well as in the entire region, this grave was regarded with great holiness. Every Jew goes there to pray. One does not approach within four ells, and there are no other graves in a large surrounding area. You will be wondering what type of news I am telling you? I will answer you, for your younger brother, Mr. Shalom Stern, may his light shine, showed me in the Der Lodzer Tagesblatt newspaper where a writer gathered together some sort of legend regarding the Tyszowcer Messiah, full of lies, with a bit of truth that also got

Rabbi Avraham Stern of blessed memory, a shochet and teacher of righteousness

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twisted around, with its head down and its feet up. Therefore, I found it necessary to give over to you, also for the future generations, that which I have heard here, from older people who received it from their parents and grandparents, going back to the generation of our Messiah about whom we are discussing here. My childhood melamed Reb Chaim Hirsch Harpen, the father-in-law of your childhood melamed Reb Gershon Lerech, peace be upon him, also told me such. (He died at over the age of 80 when I was 15-16 years old.) When he was young, his father-in-law, also a melamed of young children, described what he had seen with his own eyes in the city pinkas. The pinkas was burnt in the house of the rabbi of that time, Rabbi Avraham Yaakov, peace be upon him, the father of Rabbi David, peace be upon him, the father-in-law of Rabbi Shimshon Mordechai Yaakov, peace be upon him, the father of the current [i.e. most recent] rabbi, Rabbi Aryeh Glancz, may G-d avenge his blood.

As a preface to the story, I wish to mention to you the Gemara of Sukka, 52, who are the four craftsmen^[3]? Who are the four craftsmen who will, G-d willing, speedily in our days Amen, cast off the horns of the evil nations who specifically oppress the Jews? The Gemara answers there, the Messiah the son of Joseph, the Messiah the son of David, Elijah, and the righteous priest – Shem the son of Noah. In Sanhedrin 98b, one finds that every student believes that his rabbi is fitting to be the Messiah, and hopes, and also searches for, hints in the Bible that this is the case. It states there that Rabbi Shilo's students said, “His name is Shilo, and found a hint, ‘until Shilo comes’ [Genesis 49:10]. Rabbi Yannai's students stated that his name is Yannai, and found a hint, ‘Before the sun his name is Yinon’” [Psalms 72:17]. Similar to Yannai was Chanina Chizkia, as it states there, Rav, from Rebbe's numbered students who gave their opinions, as is said in Gittin 59a – if he is from Chiya, he is from our holy rabbi [Rabbi Yehuda Hanasi], and if from Matia, such as Daniel the man of pleasantness^[4]. This means, it was clear to him that the Messiah could be one of the living Tzadikim in the generation, who is fit to host the soul of the Messiah (The Admor of Husyatin, may he live long, once said in the middle of a discussion, “The Messiah will not necessarily come down from heaven. It is possible that a Tzadik may be sitting at the table, take a nap, place his head in his hands, and began to say that he is the Messiah, saying the last words as he is resting his head in his hands.”) He could also be from the deceased Tzadikim, who will be the first to rise at the Resurrection of the Dead, and will become the Messiah to lead the Jews to the redemption. Therefore, Rav chose his rabbi from amongst the living – for he was also the rabbi of all the Jews as he was the compiler of the six orders of the Mishnah, and was called “Our Holy Rabbi” [Rabbeinu Hakadosh] due to his great holiness. And from amongst the dead? He chose Daniel the man of pleasantness, for the last verse in the Book of Daniel, chapter 12, is “And now Daniel… And you will arise^[5] – i.e., he will rise during the Resurrection of the Dead, to his destiny at the end of days

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(see Rashi Pesachim 56a, starting ‘End of Days’). It can be derived from all this that in every generation, there are two living Tzadikim, one of whom is fitting to become the Messiah son of Joseph, and the other the Messiah son of David.

Now, to the story. On the gravestone, it is etched, “Here is buried a righteous, faithful man, Reb Elyakim the son of Reb Shmuel, in the year 5319 [1559] or 5332 [1572] – i.e. from the generation of the Ariza'l [Rabbi Yitzchak Luria], who was already living in Safed in the Land of Israel. It was told that on a specific Friday, a rumor spread forth in Tyszowce that a poor Latnik – that is a tailor who fixes and patches all garments – died, and so that he will not remain [unburied] over the Sabbath, the Chevra Kadisha quickly gathered together with Chevra Nosim to perform his rites. To their surprise, they found two unknown guests in his poor house. They were honorable people, suffering from severe tribulations, who did not want to leave the deceased, as he was a holy Jew. They summoned the rabbi of Tyszowce of that time, who made a compromise that they were to prepare the shrouds with the casket, bring them to the cemetery, and then the usual people who conduct the funeral arrangements would do what they do, under the condition that each of those involved would first purify himself and immerse himself in a kosher mikveh. However, the tahara [preparation of the body for burial] and dressing of the body would be done by the guests who had stated that the deceased was a holy person.

At the request of the rabbi of Tyszowce, they explained what was happening, that from Heaven they had been informed by their rabbi, the Ariza'l, that the Lubliner rabbi from that time, the Gaon the Maharsha'l of blessed memory, along with the rabbi of Krakow, the Rem'a of blessed memory, were conversing between themselves, that on a certain Sunday they would blow the shofar in Lublin and also in Krakow, and – Heaven forbid – place he Ariza'l under a ban of excommunication, for he established a new method of study of the wisdom of Kabbalah. In order to prevent this plan from taking place, the Ariza'l sent them to the elderly Gaon, the Maharsha'l of blessed memory, as well as to the younger Gaon, the Rem'a of blessed memory.

When the rabbi of Tyszowce had invited the guests to his place for the Sabbath, they answered that they must get to the Maharsha'l in Lublin for the Sabbath. The rabbi asked whether this was possible? The distance between Tyszowce and Lublin was almost 200 kilometers. The elder of the two guests, Rabbi Chaim Vital of blessed memory, responded that their rabbi , the Ariza'l had designated a cloud to bring them here. We left Safed first thing this morning, and, G-d willing, with the same cloud, we will soon be in Lublin. Now, we are travelling,

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G-d willing. We will write to you from Lublin about all the details from there and here.

That is what took place. They wrote to the rabbi of Tyszowce of that time from Lublin. He wrote in the city ledger: Rabbi Chaim Vital had once asked the rabbi, the Ariza'l, to state where is the Tzadik from amongst the living who is worthy to be the Messiah the son of Joseph (he did not ask about the Messiah the son of David, for he believed that his rabbi, the Ariza'l was himself suitable for this). He responded, “I have received an announcement from Heaven to fulfil all your requests. I ask you to revoke your request, for the Tzadik is a hidden one, and it is a great danger to reveal him.” (Regarding this, there is a note in Sefer Shivchei Ha'Ari, also in Sefer Shivchei Rabbi Chaim Vital). When Rabbi Chaim agreed that the rabbi should reveal it to him, the Ariza'l promised him to inform him at the appropriate time, when the opportunity arose to send the emissaries to the Maharsha'l – and Rabbi Chaim Vital was to be one of them – the Ariza'l fulfilled his promise. He informed them that the Messiah the son of Joseph of that generation lives in Tyszowce, a town in the Lublin Gubernia. He gave them a sign that if they wish to find him in the house, nobody would be harmed, stating: (with that sign, one can well understand the Gemara in Yoma 71a: When he finds the High Priest in the marketplace, they say to him, my master the High Priest, we have fulfilled your mission. If he finds him in the house, they say to him, the One Who Grants Life to the Living, we have fulfilled His mission^[6]. Various books quote the Chizkuni^[7], that the Torah refers to the messenger from Azazel as Ish Iti [the appointed man] because, although the High Priest was an expert in astrology, he required the Holy Spirit to choose a person who would certainly die that year^[8], i.e., the Ish Iti, for his time had come to leave the world. During the time of the Second Temple, it was also uncertain whether the High Priest himself would survive the year, for it says earlier on page 8 in Rashi, that the sign is that if the emissary found the High Priest in his house, he and the emissary would survive, and he would be able to state that the mission was faithful in the name of G-d, and for the good, as it says “The Giver of Life, we have fulfilled Your mission.” That means that we have fulfilled the mission of the Blessed G-d in accordance with the request of the Torah – that influences the living that they may remain alive. However, if they find him on the street, it is not a good sign for himself, and perhaps not for the High Priest. Given that it is bad, one must not mention the name of the Blessed G-d. Therefore, he refers to the mission in the name of the High Priest, granting the honor to him. He says, “My master the High Priest, we have fulfilled your mission. However, unfortunately when they arrived at the house, he was in the mikveh in honor of the Sabbath. When he came home

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he did not say one word. He just washed his hands, greeted the guests, took a bit of straw from the bed, spread it on the ground, lay down upon it with his feet toward the door, and immediately died. Thus it was, and it remains the custom in Poland to place a bit of straw on the ground beneath a deceased person, and to position him with his feet toward the door.)

When they arrived at the synagogue of the Maharsha'l in Lublin, they entered as the people were standing for the silent Shmone Esrei of Mincha, prior to Kabbalat Shabbat [the service that welcomes the Sabbath]. They entered the synagogue and remained standing at the door. One of them said to the other, “The local rabbi is riding on a wheel in the middle of Shmone Esrei.” People from that time heard this, and interpreted these words as a violation of the honor of the rabbi. However, they saw that the guests were of fine form, with a splendid countenance, so those who heard did not dare to hurt them. They passed the words of the guests on from bench to bench, until they reached the monthly administrator [Parnas] who stood near the Maharsha'l. The Parnas alerted the prayer leader that he should wait to begin the repetition of the Shmone Esrei even after the Maharsha'l had concluded the silent Shmone Esrei, until he could tell him the words of the guests who had impinged upon the honor of the rabbi.

When the Maharsha'l finished, the Parnas told him everything. The Maharsha'l immediately ordered that the Shmone Esrei be started, and that Kabbalat Shabbat be recited immediately thereafter. After the services, the Parnas presented his complaints to the rabbi, asking why he did not react to the insult to the honor of the Torah? The Maharsha'l responded, “It is my custom every Friday to take account as to how the week went. I did so today, but in the middle of the silent Shmone Esrei, I recalled that a Torah judgment between two wagon drivers regarding a wheel came my way this past week. I thought about whether I had given a correct verdict in accordance with the claims of both sides. Since the guests sensed this, they must have the holy spirit, so how can one punish them?”

The Maharsha'l invited them to his house for the Sabbath. He made kiddush himself, and fulfilled the obligation of the guests regarding kiddush. After washing the hands in preparation for eating, the Maharsha'l passed the knife over the challos and wanted to recite the Hamotzie blessing. Rabbi Chaim Vital took out a cloth and swished it over the eyes of the Maharsha'l. Then the thought in his mind increased a thousandfold that from the mite that he had cut when he passed the knife over ‘the bread’, it seemed that he had killed the largest living creature, and he remained in a fright. Rabbi Chaim took out his 12 challos that he had brought with him from Safed and placed them before the Maharsha'l. The Maharsha'l

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recited the Hamotzie blessing upon them. Seeing that the challos were fresh and still warm, he felt hurt. Rabbi Chaim summoned up the rabbi's challos, giving them the special charm of the shewbread [Lechem Hapanim], that remain fresh to be used on the day they are divided up. In I Samuel 21, and in the Gemara Chagiga 26b, it is taught that they were baked on Friday, and removed from the table of purity on the second Sabbath thereafter. They remained as fresh and warm as when they had first been removed from the oven.

After Havdalah, the Maharsha'l asked what they wanted from him. They answered, “We were sent to you from the Ariza'l. Together with the Rem'a, you will prevent the excommunication from taking place, so that nobody will be harmed, Heaven forbid. The Maharsha'l then proposed to debate with them on Kabbalistic wisdom. They agreed on the condition that the debate be held in the cellar. During the debate, the Maharsha'l recited a statement of the Kabbalah to them. They responded with the verse, In the beginning, the L-rd created the heavens and the earth [Genesis 1:1]. The cellar became like the heavens and new earth. They stated, “This is how our rabbi learns Kabbalah.” The Maharsha'l promised that he and the Rem'a will hold back from controversy.

After that, in Tyszowce, they asked regarding the wife of the Messiah, whether she had seen wonders from her holy husband. She responded that every day, when her husband went to the synagogue for the Mincha and Maariv services, it was not light for her in the house, for they did not have the possibility to purchase candles or oil due to their great poverty. However, when her husband returned home, he always brought with him many very fine guests, and it again became light in the house. Thus did they study an entire night. They asked her, why did she not tell this earlier? She responded innocently that, because she believed that this is what happens in the home of every Jew.

There is an interpretation in Rashi on Shabbat 118a that the birth pangs of the Messiah is an accusation against the scholars. That means that the Tzadikim and wise men of the generation fight amongst themselves, thereby delaying the arrival of the Messiah. That is what the birth pangs of the Messiah mean. The pain of the Messiah! The Rizhiner, may his memory be a blessing for life in the World To Come, once said that the Rambam of blessed memory was fitting to be the Messiah of that generation. However, on account of the great disputes surrounding him, even in his time, such as one sees in the strength of the glosses of the Raava'd of blessed memory against him^[9], the redemption was deferred until later. In later times, there was a dispute between Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, may his memory be a blessing for life in the World To Come, and Rabbi Yehonatan Eybeschutz of blessed memory. After that, [there was a dispute] between the Baal Shem Tov, and of Rabbi Ber with their students. In recent times, there was the great dispute between Sanz and the Rizhiner descendants, may their memory be a blessing for life in the World To Come.

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Let us hope that our prayer of “He Who makes peace in His heights, may He grant peace to us and to all of Israel” be fulfilled in the near future. The prophesy of “And they shall seek God… and David their king” [Hosea 3:5], and “A redeemer shall come to Zion” [Isaiah 59:20] shall be fulfilled speedily in our days. Amen, as the prayer of your father, Av Br'y^[10].

The family of Rabbi Avraham and Gittel Stern of blessed memory From right to left, sitting: Daughter-in-law, Sara Stern of blessed memory (Yechiel's wife), Gittel Stern holding granddaughter Esther, Rabbi Avraham Stern, Yechiel Stern, his daughter Hene Marder-Stern, son – Dr. Yisrael Stern, daughter Shifra Krishtalka-Stern, Elka Danziker-Neiman. Absent – Yaakov Zipper-Stern and Shalom Stern, who were already in Canada at that time

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My Rabbi, Yankeleh Moteleh's, came from a family of melamdim^[1], and sons of melamdim. Teaching in this family was transmitted by inheritance from generation to generation, from father to son, or father-in-law to son-in-law.

My rabbi therefore had all the qualities of generations-long tradition that regarded teaching as holy work, and looked down on the newer melamdim who took to teaching because they weren't fit to do anything else.

My rabbi did not mix into mundane matters. That he left to his wife. His rebbetsin even collected the tuition from the balebatim. She managed the whole house. All the family's worries were her responsibility. The rabbi devoted himself entirely to teaching. He was one of those Jews who was a stranger to money matters.

In spite of his complete ineptitude, he was really shrewd and could very well understand worldly matters, and his sayings were well known in the surrounding shtetls, not only by us in Tishevits. His little expressions were really well-wrought aphorisms with a deep meaning, and they always elicited laughter. He had a strong flair for humor. Especially profound were his sayings about study, teachers and students.

He used to say that there was no student who was not good at least at something, especially if it served himself as he understood it. His phrase for this was: “Yeder shmoiger tzu zeinem toig er.”^[2] (Shmoiger is a simple soul, not the smartest).

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For a too clever student who shows off until he trips because of his own cleverness, he used to say, “Klug un klug un banarisht sich.^[3]”

A local maskil^[4] tried to catch him once, “Rebbe, you lecture us for being consumed with desire, but you yourself are so obsessed with snuff, truly like a real addict.” My rebbe answered, “Devil, you are involved in all the lusts of the world, and that's okay, but if I have a little vice, as big as a sniff of tobacco, you can't begrudge me it?” This little joke of his later circulated through our whole region.

Although it was true that my rebbe was a passionate snuff consumer, he was at the same time a well-dressed person. His coat, tied with a camel hair belt, lay on his small frame perfectly. His velvet hat with its raffish little brim always fit him just right, his black little beard glistened with a festive nobility, and in general he gave off an air of a kind of spirituality.

He always began his classes in a happy mood, always saying, “Oola hava patach bivdichut^[5],” accompanied by a strong sniff of tobacco.

Good-natured, he used to tell a joke, or sometimes even a funny story. The material for his stories he always took from daily life. He particularly made fun of the shlimazl in his jokes and anecdotes. Someone who “Ken kein katz kein ek nisht tsubindn,^[6]” and brags about his family heritage, and won't do a certain work because it doesn't suit him. “A Yid darf tzu alles toign,^[7]” he taught his students, one should not be ashamed to do any kind of work. “Peshot neveilta bshuka ushkeil agera.”^[8] As long as you practice your faith, every job is good. He would always laugh at the impractical speculative thinkers who always wanted to find out “mah l'malah v'mah l'matah”^[9] but what's going on under their noses, they don't see. These philosophers, he used to say, always understand things literally, but the meaning of the thing, they don't get. At the same time, even though they want to figure everything out by themselves, they are always ready to believe the wildest stories anyone comes up with out of the blue. “Petti yamin l'chol davar,”^[10] he used to always say whenever he came upon the topic of these thinkers. “These losers can destroy a world,” he never tired of teaching his students.

As an example, he used to often tell the story of his father-in-law, Leibish Mayer, who was famous for his particular reasoning. This Leibish Mayer once went up to the attic to determine why people say, “Boidem, boidem ois boidem^[11],”

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So he, Leibish Mayer that is, covered his eyes with his hand, and proceeded to walk backwards while repeating the words, “boidem, boidem”, until he suddenly fell down the stairs, and then he shouted, “Oy, ois boidem!”[No more attic] He really discovered the secret of “ois boidem” when he broke his arm.

After telling a funny story, the rebbe used to take a sniff of tobacco, and with a Gemara melody, he would begin the lesson: “The partner who wanted to make a partition…” etc.

His little stories and jokes would also silence his wife who used to quite often–may she forgive me–respond with a sharp tongue. When Dineleh, the rebbetsin, would get carried away, the rebbe would say to us, “Zie redt den, ihreh tsouris redn^[12].” Our rabbi was right. Great good fortune the vivacious Dineleh–who was known as a stalwart wife and was once considered a beauty–did not have with the rebbe. His entire home consisted of one room that served both as a bedroom and a kitchen, and a dining room, and a classroom for about ten students. Nevertheless, the room was always as clean as for the holidays. The rebbetsin was always busy, never idle for a minute, cooking, baking, cleaning, washing the floor, or the door and windows. If not, she was sewing, repairing or darning, knitting socks, and so on. In addition, she had the entire burden of earning a living on her head, because my rebbe did not mix into worldly things. His strength lay only in teaching. So she was embittered, the rebbe's earning not bringing in enough.

“Groiser fardiner meiner, goldshpinner meiner^[13],” she used to say of the rabbi. “May you have an afterlife like the life I have with you here.” Nevertheless, when the rebbe told a joke or an anecdote, she would listen and laugh along, and jokingly say, “You have a saying for everything. Maybe you have a saying so we can afford to make a Shabbes out of it, my big earner?”

To celebrate a proper Shabbes his little aphorisms were of no use, but to bond the students to him, so they would feel at home, and as adults, many years later, to remember him with affection, the rebbe's little witticisms did succeed in doing.

The entire skill however of Yankeleh Moteleh's was grounded in his power of persuasion. He was known as an expert interpreter even among the best melamdim in shtetl.

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He always explained things with an example, with a story, and the most difficult notions became easy and simple. How a teacher should introduce a student to an idea, my rebbe explained with an example like this: A melamed was teaching Hebrew to a yeshuvnik^[14]'s son, but the boy could not grasp the material. So the melamed asked the boy, “Tell me now, Moishe, what's the deal with you knowing every goy in the village by name, you can even recognize him from a distance, but what a kometz^[15] is, you don't know!” The boy replied, “Rebbe, that's not the same thing. The goy is so big, and the kometz is so small, and the goy is from my village, but the kometz is from an unfamiliar siddur.” A melamed, my rebbe Yankeleh Moteleh's explained, must make the kometz in the siddur as familiar as the goy from his own village.

“First of all,” my rebbe used to say, “you must first understand the matter well yourself. Then you can explain it to someone else. Whatever you're studying, you must see it with your eyes closed. If you can understand the matter with your head, and see it in your mind, it is a sign that you have understood it, otherwise you're just flapping your tongue, and it's all just words.” He gave us these rules so that we could explain things to each other while going over the class, or while preparing a class reading, two or three to a class.

“Learning,” the rebbe taught us, “is exactly like swimming, which can't be learned other than by swimming, and by always going deeper into the water. As long as you don't learn for yourself, you won't be able. A melamed who constantly teaches the children does them a disservice. He teaches them to not be able to study by themselves, and what will they do when they leave the cheder? A melamed, he further explained, just needs to be at the side, and be ready to give a nudge forward. When he sees that his student who is studying by himself has become confused and can't go any further, he must give him a push forward, explain things to him, make the matter easier to understand exactly like a father does when teaching a child to swim in the river. And when he sees the child stop in the middle, he gives him a push, but the child swims by himself.” “Eem ein ani li, mi li?”^[16] was his constant warning to his students. “If you don't study by yourself, you'll never learn.”

“A rebbe,” he would add, “must gradually make the material more difficult, but not all at once. Sometimes he must stop at a passage from Rashi, some tosafot, but slowly, increasing the difficulty.

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The rebbe must always remember that the goal is to make the children able to study on their own, and he is no more than an assistant. He is teaching swimming.”

“Dligmar insh v'hader lisbir, translates as: First a student must teach himself to study the simpler Gemara, and afterwards he should get used to delving deeper into the contents. The way to do this should be taught to him by the melamed.”

“The rebbe must see that he sharpens the minds of his students so that the good students, the capable ones, can later be better swimmers than he. The student on the rebbe's shoulders must be taller than the rebbe.”

My rebbe would good-naturedly boast that he had students who later became rabbis, distinguished scholars, and some even became authors of religious books. He tried to influence our ambition so that we would try to be like these students. He used to tell us about his previous students, who we knew as well-known besmedresh young men with a reputation as scholars, and how they would get up very early and come to wake him up to study, and he used to go with them to the besmedresh to study with them at dawn. Many of us actually tried to copy those students.

While we were studying by ourselves, the rebbe would also be reading, or studying, in order to set an example. “Kashot atsmecha techila,”^[17] was his constant refrain. “If you want someone to study, you must first study yourself.” His eyes and ears were, however, directed at us. This way, he surreptitiously kept an eye on all those studying at the table so that no one would try to fool themselves.

If a group would start singing, “Amar Rabi Yochanan: Shema manah telat–from here three things follow,” he would suddenly turn to this group, “What three things are implied?” First he asked the most capable student in the group, then the weaker one, and if someone didn't understand something, he would sit down with him and explain it over and over. Meanwhile, he tried to bring in all the students who were studying the same portion. Every one of the students had the opportunity to express his opinion, and the rabbi listened to everyone with great patience. Once he was certain that everyone had a good understanding of the matter, he returned to his work–reading for himself or helping another class that came asking for help. His extraordinary patience he exhibited not only by explaining something

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but also by tolerating his students and not punishing them excessively. Some parents used to come to the cheder to punish their children for past sins.

Our rebbe used to say,” If the rebbe is a ba'al zoiche, the children do not sin, and there is no need for punishment. But you know,” he would add, “today's generation, weak generation.” But if my rebbe was forced to punish someone, he used to take the offending boy to a corner of the room near the door, and tear out a twig from the broom, and give a few lashes to the boy. He used to always sigh, “Choshech shevto, soneh beno,” and angrily straighten the belt of his pants. After a situation like this, the rest of the class was without joy, somewhat depressed. The rebbe himself was downcast and tried to placate the punished child, paying him a lot of attention. And if the punished child did not want to make up, he would sigh, straightening the belt on his pants, “Choshech shevto, soneh beno,” as if to say what can I do, it's written that you have to use punishment sometimes too. After the class, he would beg forgiveness from the punished child.

One thing scared him more than anything, that he was not up to “Ma ani b'chinam, aff ata b'hinam.” He would always defend himself before us that he is paid tuition only as a worker, because while teaching us he can't do anything else. But not being satisfied with this, he used to try to teach some students before classes started or afterwards. “For this,” he used to say, “I certainly don't get paid.” This saintly man, and loyal father to his students, was never sure if he was good enough in his holy work. For that reason, he was worthy that his students should always be satisfied with him, and that the rebbe should have no complaints against them, and as adults, revere him as a holy man. I can describe my rebbe with one word–he was a yoreh-chet^[18] in the best sense of the word. May his merits be credited to us.

Thinking about all the little sayings and expressions of my rebbe, Yankeleh Moteleh's, I am convinced that there is a kind of oral Mishnah education that passed from generation to generation in the melamed families in the form of short aphorisms and anecdotes. As evidence that my rebbe was not an isolated case, it is worth mentioning another such melamed in our shtetl.

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We called him Pesach Melamed. He was an iberzetz melamed. This profession was passed on by inheritance in his family from generation to generation. When I knew him, he was already an old scholar, but he continued to carry on his teaching, and among his students, he gave the impression of being an older friend of theirs. Great respect for him his students did not have, but for this reason however, they loved him with sincere and devoted love. Pesach Melamed used to make sure that his students ate the breakfast that their mothers prepared for them to take with to cheder before classes. Every boy is required to eat every morning a bagel with butter, he used to say, so he should be able to study Torah, which smells like fresh baking. With his own hands, he used to whittle knipkelach (little knives with wooden handles) and flags for his students. Every Thursday when he would examine the class, he would pass out presents to the children who knew their Gemara, the abovementioned knives and flags. In summer, he would take his students downhill to the city river to bathe and he himself would teach them to swim in order to fulfill the quotation, “Chayev adam lilmod et beno lischok b'nahar.”^[19] In the winter, he would stand at the edge of the frozen little river and watch as his nimble students flew across the ice.

While teaching the children the journeys of the Jews in the desert, he had a kind of paper sheet on which the names of the places where the Jews wandered, as well as the arrangement and forms where they rested according to the flags, were drawn. The whole drawing was called The Journeys. In studying the borders of Eretz Israel in the bible, he showed the students a sheet that was called The Borders–the border cities as well as the lands bordering Eretz Israel. The Mediterranean Sea was drawn in blue on the west side of Eretz Israel. It was a kind of map. The students had to copy it and color in these borders and journeys.

He also had a large model made of paper of the clothes of the High Priest; the breastplate and vest with the names of the twelve tribes written in boxes, and drawn in another color, the coat of arms of a given tribe. For Yehuda–a lion, for Dan–a snake, and so on. This was a way of representing the urim-vetummim^[20]. Also a bonnet with a tsits of paper he showed to his students who used to copy and wear the garments of the High Priest.

He used to let his students fool around without restraint. “Let Jewish children have fun,” he used to say, “They have plenty of time before they have to bear

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the yoke of the diaspora.” If they got carried away, and he could not control them, he would wave his kantchik in the air over their heads. “Washing” their hair, he called it. His students were hardly frightened, because they knew he was pretending. Then he would fall upon his old proven method–telling a story. With this he was at home. The students would gather around him like lambs around a shepherd, and he would go on, and the children would listen with rapt attention. He would tell of lamed-vovniks who rescued Jews in need, about the Crusades, Spain, Chmelnitsky's times, about Rabeinu Gershom, Rashi, and the Maharam of Rotenburg, rabbi Amnon Chasid, and other great saints. “A melamed,” Pesach used to say, “needs to know how to tell a lot of stories, because Jewish children love stories.“ His whole conduct as a melamed was only to please his Jewish children. It is no surprise that his students clung to him and loved him.

To the oral Mishnah we must add these general well-known melamdish sayings: “A good “zits” (meaning rear-end in plain language) is better than a good head,” “A wanter is better than a knower,” “All beginnings are difficult.”

Footnotes:

1. Teachers Return
2. Every shmoiger is good at something Return
3. Smart, smart, yet makes a fool of himself Return
4. Adherer of the enlightenment Return
5. Oola began with a joke Return
6. Can't tie the tail of a cat Return
7. A Jew must be good at everything Return
8. Skin a carcass in the market and take payment Return
9. What's on top and what's on the bottom Return
10. The gullible will believe anything Return
11. Attic, attic, no more attic Return
12. Is it her talking? Her troubles are talking. Return
13. My big earner, my big money maker Return
14. Jew who lives in a rural Christian setting Return
15. A diacritic indicating a certain vowel sound Return
16. Pirkei Avot 1:14 He (Rabbi Hillel) used to say, “If I am not for myself, who will be? And if I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?” Return
17. Harden yourself first Return
18. One who fears sin Return
19. A man must teach his son to swim in a river Return
20. Urim and Thummim, 12 precious stones with the names of the tribes on the breastplate worn by the High Priest Return

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