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On the 28^th of June 1914, the Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife were murdered in Sarajevo (Serbia). The terrible murder echoed like a thunderclap across Europe. The Austrian government sent a strong ultimatum to Serbia with serious conditions and it appeared that there would be a war between Serbia and Austria and its allies, Germany and Italy.

However, everyone knew that behind small Serbia stood great Russia and its ally France – and that meant a European war.

For several unceasing weeks, hundreds of millions of people felt frantic, between war and peace. Opinions in the world press were divided: while several wrote that a war was unavoidable, others said that the dark clouds would disperse and nothing would happen.

My wife and child were then at a summer residence, Droskenik, and I decided to take them home. When we traveled back to the Ludmir train station, I noticed large groups of officers with their wives and children on the station platform, several of whom cried quietly. The colonel of the dragoon regiment and his wife stood a little to the side. She lay against his shoulder and cried with a heartbreaking lament. Three sounds were heard; everyone entered the train cars and the train began to move. Suddenly, the colonel's wife left the first class car and ran to her husband, who had not yet left the station platform. Grabbing him around his head with both her hands, crying hysterically, she shouted: I will not go; I want to be with you. The train chief ordered that the train be stopped and he and a few officers began to console the unfortunate woman telling her that she would certainly be able to return in a few days. However, no one was able to calm the woman. The colonel, deadly pale, laid his hand on his revolver, which he had by his side, and said something in his wife's ear. As if paralyzed, affected by tears, leaning on her husband's back, she returned to the railroad car. And the train began to move.

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This scene made a frightening impression on everyone who was at the train station. Everyone understood that the war was coming.

The war actually broke out on the same day.

On my way to the synagogue at night to recite Kines [lamentations], I noticed from afar that Jews with the Book of Lamentations in their hands, dressed in old, patched clothing, with sacks, according to Jewish law, were standing near a fence and reading something on a large, red poster.^[1] When I asked the first Jew what he was reading, he answered me, “Go, you will see for yourself.” However, I noticed in his pale face that something frightening had happened. Several minutes later, I myself read the big, large–type letters: “I, Aleksander II, Tsar of Russia, King of Poland, and so on, declare war on the Austrian Empire from today on and call for a general mobilization in the entire land.”

The news of a new destruction arrived when the Jews were going to Lamentations [synagogue services for Tisha B'Av] and, as every year, sat on turned–over lecterns holding tallow candles and reciting Lamentations. But this time, the sad Tisha B'Av melody spoke more strongly to the heart and a heart–breaking cry invaded from the woman's section of the house of prayer.

Several days later the residents of Lutsker Street were awakened in the middle of the night by gunfire and heaven–tearing cries for help. An advance group of Austrian Hussars had entered the city, which was located 20–25 kilometers from the Austrian border. The spies rode on their horses up to Szulman's mill and there they met the strong power of the Russian soldiers. After a short battle, murdered Austrian Hussars lay on the highway; 12 Austrians were taken prisoner. We did not count the Russian losses. On the same day, they held a ceremonial funeral for the hostile soldiers who had fallen with music from a military orchestra accompanied by an unarmed battalion of soldiers and headed by a priest.

There also was a Jew among the fallen Austrians. His funeral took place separately, also with

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military music and military accompaniment, but understandably, with rabbis at the head. Almost the entire Jewish population took part in the funeral; he was buried at the Jewish cemetery. When the Austrians occupied Ludmir, the soldier's parents came from Vienna. A well–known, rich family from Vienna, they took his body from Ludmir and brought it to their city for burial. They gave a large contribution for the Jewish institutions and for the poor population.

Thus, our city had the honor of absorbing in its soil the first blood spilled in the First World War and to give eternal rest to the first victims.

A short time after the start of the First World War, Ludmir was designated as the location of the main headquarters of the army that had penetrated into Galicia. Polks [regiments] of foot [soldiers], cavalry and artillery arrived. Large groups of reserve soldiers began to flow from the inner Russian gubernias [provinces], at which time the military regiments were quartered in the nearby villages: Ostralug, Zarech'ye and Zimneye. The reserve soldiers were spread in the tents at every empty spot in the city. The stores were packed with a new sort of customer: Russians who did not bargain and threw around their money. The tents were placed mainly at the empty spots on both sides of the highway that led to Vakzalne [train station] Street, which led to the train station. These places were close to the Jewish [neighborhood] Kilchizne, the poor alleys that were narrow, inhabited by destitute Jews, suffering from want, and this section of the Jewish population began to make use of the “richness” of their income. Every house became a kvas [fermented beverage made from bread] factory and a bakery of poppy seed strudel and apple palatschinkes [crepe–like pancakes]. A bit of cheap candies was added to the goods from one manufacturer and the women went among the divisions of soldiers with the cheap items and earned money.

When the Russians became soldiers after a short [period of] training, they left for the front. It became quiet in the city and life returned to its previous normal way.

After difficult battles, the Russian Army took large areas of Galicia and the capital city, Lemberg. Przemyśl, the fortress city, would not surrender and after great battles

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in which the Russians lost more than 100,000 men, General [Aleksei Alekseevich] Brusilov left a strong siege army and marched further “to Vienna.”

On a beautiful winter Shabbos night when the Jewish population was strolling as usual on Nevsky Prospect (that is what we called the strolling spot, which began at the Szeurowska's building to Bajaner's house) – near the Polish Catholic Church stood the old Natarius Dragan (an embittered Polish anti–Semite, who had become a pravoslavna [member of the Eastern Orthodox Church] because of his career) and he beat every Jew passing by with his heavy stick, saying in broken Yiddish: “A brakh dir, Przemyśl geshtorbn [woe to you, Przemyśl has died].” The terrible assault in the middle of the main street of the city and the bad news for the Jews made a terrible impression on all of the strollers and everyone ran home quickly in a dejected mood.

The Russian victories did not last long. When they were eight kilometers from the gates of Krakow and the situation became critical for the Austrians, the chief of the German general staff decided to move several corps of the German military from the French front and, after a heavy battle that lasted two successive weeks, he succeeded in making a strong, deep breakthrough at the Russian front of 20 kilometers at the shtetl [town] Gorlice.

The defeated Russian regiments began retreating. Their losses were terrible. Those remaining, dejected and tired from the long retreating march began to complain about their officers and war leaders. The latter, fearing a revolt, began to spread stories among the soldiers that the Galicianer Jews had spied and helped the enemy, and were responsible for the defeat. The soldiers, who for many years had been taught that the Jews were an enemy of Russia, understood the hint and began to rob and murder in every Jewish city and shtetl [town] that lay on the road of their retreat.

Rumors that something terrible was happening in Galicia reached our city, which became closer to the site of war every day. But we did not receive any correct information. We were afraid to ask the commander of the front officers and soldiers because suspicion had begun to fall on the Russian Jews and the smallest interest in what was happening at the front and the same Russian solider or officer would arrest [those asking] as a spy.

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Thus we began to sense that a dark cloud also would arrive over our heads and we began to live in fear of that coming day.

On the morning of one of those difficult days, a tall, slender man accompanied by a military medic came into my apothecary warehouse. I already was busy and asked him to sit. When I freed myself [from my work], he stood up, offered his hand and said in beautiful Yiddish: “I am Ansky. And I want to speak with you privately.” I closed the door and invited him into my laboratory, which was divided by a curtain from the salesroom. As we sat down, he said:

“I come now from the Russian front, which is not very far from your city. I work officially as the oldest medic in the medical mobile hospital, which is supported by the Russian local government union. And I am really a representative of the Petersburg Jewish Aid Committee for Jews suffering from the war. The retreating Russian Army will be going through the city very soon – after the events in Galicia, they have been going through places that have not been inhabited by Jews. However, a Cossack cavalry division will be with you. Who knows what kind of danger this could be for your possessions and, God forbid, your life. Only bribery can help. A large fund of money must be collected from your city's wealthy Jews. I am giving you 1,000 rubles” – a large sum of money at that time – “from the Petersburg Committee as a start. I was with your rabbi; he sent me to you. Please take the money and give me a receipt. And God almighty will give you mercy.”

I answered him that I was only a young man and did not want to be occupied with community matters, particularly in such an important matter. And I asked him to turn to the rich man and energetic community volunteer, Reb Moshe Szpira, of blessed memory, whom I later learned did receive the money [from the committee].

[Ansky continued:]

– I have a special plea for you: I am collecting material from the Council of the Four Lands, which at certain times would hold meetings in your city, and I would like to see your city pinkes [book of records]. Perhaps there is information there about this. I will also be at your cemeteries to photograph several old headstones and mainly the headstone of the Ludmirer Moyd [Ludmir Maid], who would, as has been said, put on tefilin [phylacteries] and had many Hasidim. Please give me the address of a person who will be able to assist me with this.

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I gave him a short letter to Yosele Dreher, the member of the Khevra Kadisha [burial society]. He thanked me and got up to leave.

Then I said to him:

– Sit a while longer. I also have a request of you. Tell me, I ask you, how are the Russian soldiers doing in Galicia?

He became pale, dejectedly sat down and answered me in a quiet voice:

– Do not speak to me about this. I was in Kishinev for several hours after the pogrom. Frightening things happened there, but what I have seen in recent weeks will remain in front of my eyes until my last breath.

He looked at the opposite wall, as if he wanted to see again in the distance, very far, the frightening, awful things, about which he could not speak. His refined, facial movements became distorted and he broke out into heart–rending sobs.

I sat deeply moved and thought: no, Ansky is not crying for me, the old revolutionary who was hardened in the constant struggle with the Russian police and gendarmes and saw no less need and human suffering in the worst Russian jails. Here, Rebbe Shlomo Zanwil Rapoport (his [Ansky's] Yiddish name), who was born in Jewish Vitebsk, studied at the house of prayer and wrote the hymn for the Jewish Bund – Di Shvue [The Oath] – and the hearty, humane poem, Slushai [Listen], which people would sing like a holy commandment, with much fervor and feeling, on the sad winter Shabbos [Sabbath] nights. The terrible pogroms in Galicia blew the fire of love for their poor brothers; only a son, who after long years of travel abroad, again remembers his old mother, cries like this and comes to help and console her in her heavy need.

But what kind of fear did these beautiful Jewish eyes see that his fine, pearly mouth could not speak the words?

Later, when I read his book in three parts, The Destruction of Galicia and Bukowina, I remembered that morning in my laboratory and his then bitter cry became intelligible to me.

In the morning, after Ansky's departure, an order was given that all residents of the city and the villages around it had to leave their places of residence within five days and go the area around Pinsk. Those in the city would be taken by truck and in open freight trains and a family could not take more than 50

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kilos of baggage. The village residents needed to go with their own horse and wagons. We understood that our city would be attacked and there was a terrible commotion. Part of the Jewish population, the well–to–do, locked their houses, sealed their doors and windows with boards and left. The destitute “common Jews” remained and waited for a miracle. Village wagons with long ladders began to arrive, in which wheat lay on the bottom and large packs of bed linen, furniture and household goods [were piled] on top and on the very top sat the fat peasant women with small children. And after the wagons, small children drove herds of cattle and pigs with the dogs at the side. All of the streets that led to Kovler Road were filled with the peasants' shouting and curses, with the mooing of the cattle, squealing of the pigs and crying from the children.

I sent away my family and I stayed to leave with the last train that was to leave with the Ludmir authorities. The station manager, an acquaintance of mine, promised me a place there [on the train] and he said that when I heard the strong whistle of the locomotive I should immediately run to the train station. I was very busy and being tired, I fell into a heavy sleep the night before the last day of the period of departure. Heavy explosions in the street woke me. Afraid, I went out into the street and I saw that the Ludmir train station was in flames and smoke. I understood that I had overslept and that I would have to remain with the “enemy.”

I went to look at what was happening at my apothecary warehouse that was in Basia Teper's building. It was very quiet in the street. The windows and doors were closed. The day began to dawn. When I was near my business I noticed that Shlomo Hanik, whom the Jews called “Shlomo Kastap” [Russian, pejorative] because of his strength and athletic build, was standing at the start of the businesses in the city, near Yankl Royter's soda shop. He was dressed like a Cossack (where did he get this [these clothes]?) with an automatic pistol in his hand and was shouting, pointing to the Vokzalne [train station] Street: “Do not go to that street!

I saw Christians, who were running near him with sacks, become afraid and they went further on Parna Street. Alas, he paid dearly for this heroic action. The first Austrian reconnaissance patrol arrested him as a Cossack and despite all proofs that he was not a Cossack, he was exiled to Hungary where he remained until the end of the war. However, he had rescued the entire Vokzalne Street from fire and looting

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and, therefore, may his name be remembered today for the good.

It became light on the street and I decided to go to the rabbi to see what he thought of the letter that Ansky had given him before his departure for the Cossack colonel who would be the last to leave Ludmir.

From a hiding place I saw the Christians break into the leather and boot businesses with iron crowbars. On the opposite side, Cossacks took out barrels of kerosene from the kerosene and resin businesses, lay them on a wagon and sticking hand pumps in the barrels, took the kerosene and sprinkled it on the doors and windows of shops and a Cossack with a torch ignited them.

I waited until they went further. I went past the burning shops on Warszawer Street to look at my second apothecary business that was located in Pesia Fridleche's two–story house. This house was undisturbed. I wanted to take a little of the expensive goods from my shop, but at that moment shooting began from Lutsker Street and I went into Shlomo Raset's house and went from there to the small Torma [jail] Street. I later heard nearby explosions and realized that the remainder of the benzene and ether in my cellar were burning and that my business was going up in flames.

I went further to the jail; the gates of the jail courtyard, at which an armed guard always stood, were open and I wanted to enter to look in the jail cells. Shooting from the jail hill began and I left through a back alley for Katedralna Street. I noticed that the house of my friend, Moshe Sztern, may the Lord avenge his blood, was on fire. I wanted to go to help save it, but suddenly a soldier – dressed bizarrely – came out of the church courtyard on Katedralna with a gun stretched out in front of him, on the point of which sat a wide, sharp knife, and he shouted at me: “Halt, halt!”

I understood what this meant and, frightened, I began to run. He shot from the courtyard and I stopped.

– He shouted: Wo ist hier ein fahrer [Where is the driver]? Geben zei mir ein fahrer [Give me a driver]! I thought that he wanted a “coachman,” so I took him to Nota Liszner, who lived not far away. When Nota began leading out his horse, he [the soldier], red with anger again, began to shout: “Stupid! I need a driver, give me a driver!”

Hearing the shouting, a German girl, who was a servant with a neighbor, came out. She

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spoke to him and told us: “ He needs a priest, a Russian priest. That is a pfarrer in German. An Austrian, a Ukranian, is mortally wounded and wants to confess to a priest before he dies.”

Liszner actually had hitched up his horse and we left to look for the priest in the large Russian Orthodox Church. There was no living soul there. Then we went to the small church that stood in an alley across Lutsker Street near the river where we would go to swim. There we found the old deacon who could not [walk] with us because of his weak state. With difficulty we seated him in the coach and we left.

The Austrian soldier – whom I already knew as my “enemy” – hit Liszner with his rifle to make him go faster and was very irritated the entire time. We went with the old deacon who did not cease his moaning as if to the devil. When we arrived I saw a severely wounded soldier laying in a pool of blood at the edge of the river, close to the village of Zarech'ye. His last request was not fulfilled; he was dead.

The Austrian soldier went somewhere and the old deacon sat down on the ground at the head of the deceased and sang a lamenting, monstrous melody, a prayer after prayer and often made a cross over the deceased. When he finished he asked me who would pay him. I pointed to heaven and said: God! Angry, he sat down in the horse drawn coach and went home.

Returning, I heard the mournful crying of a woman from an alley. I approached and saw that a fire was beginning to burn near a small house. Two men were standing, wrestling with a woman who tore herself from their hands, crying and shouting: “I have forgotten my small child in the house. Let me go in to save it.” The house stood in smoke and flames and they did not want the mother to go to a certain death. Suddenly we saw a man go in, wrapped in wet rags with a sack over his head, from which water ran. Everyone stood with eyes fixed with fear. The unfortunate mother also became quiet. Several minutes passed, which seemed like an eternity, and the man did not come out. When everyone already believed that everything was lost, he jumped out of a window,

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falling on the ground. The rags wrapped around him were smoking and burned. They quickly poured several pails of water over him and, when he was revived, he took out a small child of two to three months wrapped in wet rags from which two small beautiful, blue, carefree eyes were looking out and he gave it to the mother, who was astonished with joy.

The person was Wowsia (Wolf) Treger.

After the matter became known to the Austrian county commander, Wowsia received a silver medal sent by kultusgemeinde [Jewish community] in Vienna. However, he could not wear the medal because a cross was on the other side. Wowsia went to a goldsmith and he [the goldsmith] took off two of the corners of the cross and from then on he would walk around with great pride with the large silver medal on his wide porter's chest after his nap on Shabbos [Sabbath] and the holidays.

When I left the burned street there, I saw the Austrian firemen with water pumps and long rubber hoses, who had arrived right after the first military reinforcements, putting out the fire and keeping it from spreading. Thanks to them the remaining streets were saved from annihilation.

The day passed quickly in the panic of the fire and the turmoil and it began to get dark. Those who lost property in the fire, who last night had slept in their own beds and today remained without a roof, tired, depressed and broken by their great misfortune, began to leave, one to a relative, another to a friend. For those who did not have anywhere to go, the firemen set up tents, distributed bread with plum butter and glasses of coffee, as well as several quilts for women and children.

In the morning, early on Friday, I went to my other apothecary business that was located in Pesla Fridleche's two–story building, which had been burned the night before. I always had kept a large part of my goods in the deep, large cellar of the house and I thought that I would be able to approach the cellar, which certainly had remained intact. Passing by, I saw the great ruin that the fire had made. There remained only a vestige of the most beautiful streets as a mountain of ash and blackened, burned bricks and the tall chimneys that stuck out from under the ruins gave evidence that people had once lived here.

Fathers, mothers and children stood around that hill and pushed the ash with long sticks and searched for some sort of memory of their destroyed possessions. And the lucky ones actually found [something]: someone

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[found] a brass Shabbos candlestick, someone a copper saucepan and someone even a large, crushed brass samovar.

When I arrived at the spot at which my business had stood two days earlier, I saw that the highest floor had completely collapsed and, underneath, a high mountain of bricks and burned iron blocked the entry to the cellar. Had the warehouse there survived? (Two weeks later I saw that it had not.) I went back home in a downcast mood.

Walking on the main street (Farne) I saw a group of 50–60 cavalrymen, riding on large horses, coming from Ustiler Street. A tall and slender young man dressed in a short, fitted uniform, high leather boots, was holding a large, long lance at the top of which was a colored pennant. The cavalrymen went to the memorial that the city had erected the year before in honor of the 300th anniversary of the Romanov dynasty (the family of the former tsar). They dismounted from their horses.

A “group” of Jewish children surrounded them immediately and went among the soldiers and horses without any fear.

The leader of the group of officers walked among the children and distributed chocolate and biscuits and there was great joy.

When I as well as other passersby stopped to watch, we were approached by an officer who asked if we understood German. Everyone answered yes (what Jew does not know German!?). Then he asked me to tell him how many Cossacks had been here before they left the city and in which direction they had gone? He thanked us heartily when we told him everything we knew in “German” and he took out a silver cigarette case and treated each of us to a cigarette, which he lit for us with a cigarette lighter.

He said, “How foolish and bad the Russian government is when they order their Cossacks to burn and destroy the possessions that their citizens have acquired through heavy labor and effort. The Russians have lost the war. Today we have freed your city from the difficult Russian regime. Tomorrow we are going to free other cities. Russia will be finished in two to three months and the war will be over. We hope that her Jews will help us in every way and we will remain your permanent friend.” Again thanking us, he shook the hands of everyone present

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and left for his cavalrymen. A few minutes later they all left in an easy gallop on the road that led to Kovel.

The Ukrainian mieszczanes [middle class] as well as the Polish residents immediately disappeared, when the Cossacks left and the first Austrian patrols appeared. Their houses, which were at the ends of the city, were away from the danger of a fire. They did not want to go to help save the Jewish possessions. They were afraid of the Austrians, so they sat in their houses and hoped for better times. But Friday night, two Christians from Ostrowoka (the closest village to the city) suddenly appeared and went into a Jewish tavern. As they were having a drink and became drunk, they said that the Cossacks were here in the forests around the city. And that night, they said there would be a slaughter here of all of the Jews because they befriended the enemy. The tavern owner did not pay attention to their threats. Well, who [cares] what a drunk says!

At night, after blessing the Shabbos [Sabbath] candles, when everyone was getting ready to go to pray, they saw an Austrian horse rider standing and banging on a drum near the Jewish school and a large group gathered. He called out in Yiddish (he was a Jewish soldier): “I announce in the name of the military commander that we have to leave the city in one day. Anyone who wants to can come with us with his entire family. He cannot take more than a kilo of food and he must be at the marketplace in the next two hours.” He added, “Wagons will be provided for women and children,” and he rode off.

For the first few minutes the people were frozen with fear. Then they all began running home as if crazy.

Hearing the news, the women wrung their hands and began to shout hysterically not moving from their spots. The men immediately took out all of the children's clothing and dressed the children, one piece of clothing on top of another. The women did the same thing, putting on as much as they could. Everyone put their little bit of silver or gold jewelry in their pockets, or paper money and coins. When everything was done, the father closed the shutters, locked the door, took the packages of food in one hand (pious Jews took their talis un tefilin [prayer shawls and phylacteries]) and the youngest child in his other hand; the mother took the daughter with another package, and they left for the marketplace.

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Things were good for me. I was alone. (My wife and child previously had gone to a small shtetl [town] in the Pinsk area, which we thought was the safest place. In the end, they had barely survived.)

I also left for the marketplace. I saw Christians with long wagons and open–sided wagons with Austrian soldiers with revolvers in their hands riding around them on both sides of the road. These were the Christians from the nearest villages who had been driven out of their homes in order to take the Jewish women and children.

Further along, the road to the marketplace became much narrower in the distance. The people raced; they were afraid to be late and they pushed each other.

It was much further along on the sidewalk when I succeeded in turning up at the square. I saw a frightening scene by the light of the moon.

The large square – two square kilometers [almost .8 square miles] – was completely filled with frightened and agitated people with open mouths and fists. In order not to suffocate, the small children sat on the shoulders of their fathers, mothers and older brothers and sisters. Here and there, two hands that held very small children high over their heads appeared. A mother who had lost a child in the jostling ran like a wounded animal with large eyes, her bloody face an expression of fear and suffering, and she shoved with her hands, lunged and hit like a crazy one and screamed frighteningly. It appeared as if all of the Ludmir Jews had been transformed, facing the danger of a certain, painful death at the hands of the Cossacks into a wild, rebellious herd of cattle who sensed the smell of blood.

Near me stood a Jew with a boy of a few years of age on his shoulders. The boy, instinctively feeling some kind of frightening danger, grabbed his father's head with trembling hands. Like every child, he believed that his father was a very strong man and he snuggled up to him, silently asking his father for help and protection. The father, embittered and preoccupied, shouted at him: “Leave me alone, why are you bothering me?” The boy withdrew his hands in fear and bent his head to look at his father. Then the father, ashamed of his distress and helplessness to protect his own child, lowered his head on his chest. The boy watched for a while and began to cry intensely.

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What kind of thought went through the mind of the small boy? Why was he crying?

Forty years have passed since this cruel Friday night. I have experienced a great deal since then and have seen scenes of human need and suffering. However, I will never forget that evening until my last minute.

At two o'clock at night, when many already were tired and dozed from exhaustion on the shoulders of their neighbors, a drum was heard again and the same soldier shouted:

– We succeeded in driving away the Russians and we are going forward. We will not surrender your city. You call all go home.

Coming home I could not fall asleep because of my experiences. As I was falling asleep in the morning I heard a magnificent heavenly song from outside as if in a dream. I went outside and saw a Hungarian regiment marching, which was melodically singing an old Hungarian folksong, on the highway that was near my residence in the apartment of Alter Simeron, of blessed memory. I later learned the melody and [after a long time] when all of the wars had passed, I would sing it in the quiet spring evenings.

The next morning, early on Sunday, we received the news that the Germans had entered Turisk. The Ludmir Jews became completely calm.

Everyone was assured that an easier life awaited them in the future.

Long ranks of the military, foot soldiers, artillery and cavalry ceaselessly passed day and night. The Austrian war and civilian administration then arrived. We quickly experienced our first surprise.

After their [the Austrians'] arrival, Ukrainian soldiers arrived in the morning; they ran along the streets with rifles in their hands, on the point of which were wide, sharpened knives, and grabbed [people] for labor. There was great tumult in the streets and everyone ran somewhere to hide. Those who were caught were taken to the train station. They were told to unload train wagons, sacks and crates, and they carried them to Jewish and non–Jewish wagons, which were also grabbed for this purpose.

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The Delegation to Commandant Mazer

As the streets were empty the next day, the soldiers entered the houses and pulled people from the attics and cellars. This created a frantic situation and the city was as if dead. Then we, several communal activists, decided to turn to the new government with a request. A delegation, which consisted of the Rabbi, Reb Moshe Szpira, Lib Laks, Dovidi Rutensztajn, Hershl Lew and I, went to the local commandant, who was housed in Dr. Rapczewska's residence.

When we entered, a young, elegant soldier approached us and asked us in Yiddish if we wanted to see the Oberleutnant [First Lieutenant] Mazer [we then learned that this was Mazer's aide, a Viennese young man named Shpindel, who did many favors for us]. When we said yes, he entered the room in which the doctor's office was located and after a short time, he asked us to enter.

In the doctor's soft armchair, near his large table that now was covered with various gazettes and papers, from among which stood out a large, Russian whip, sat the man whose name every resident later remembered with a shiver, Oberleutnant Mazer.

[He had] an ugly, carved head, a red nose with a pair of inflated, swollen cheeks, full of pockmarks; in the middle of one cheek [there was] a long, healed, deep and large cut. His mouth was somewhat crooked. His eyes, “Mazer's eyes,” were not evenly cut; when one looked up, the other looked down. His eyes were bloodshot, with red veins, like a blood–thirsty animal. This was the face of the man who, for a long time, held the fate of thousands of Jews and non–Jews in his hands.

He asked us to sit and, with downcast eyes, asked us what we required. When we explained everything to him, he looked at us and asked if we were representatives of the Jewish population and if we were taking upon ourselves the responsibility to provide the number of workers that he would demand. When we acknowledged this, he gave us to his aide and told him to write an official report, which we signed.

Thus we got rid of the hardship of Jews being caught for labor and our worker committee fulfilled its task exactly until the last day.

In order to receive the necessary financial means we made a list of the well–to–do people and taxed them with a monthly payment for not going

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to work and with the money we paid the unemployed artisans who found new sources of nourishment and willingly did the not–difficult work.

A second hardship came just as we had been protected from the first hardship: an announcement was made that they were going to introduce a food and bread card. In addition, over the course of eight days, every family had to report how much food and flour they possessed over 10 kilos. It was mainly forbidden to use white flour and it had to be brought to the county commandant. A large monetary penalty and arrest were threatened for not fulfilling the order.

When time passed and very few people turned over food articles from their usual supplies, Mazer's secret agents entered the houses accompanied by soldiers and searched every corner, room and attic. Whomever was found with [illegal] food was immediately led away to the Oberleutnant [first lieutenant], who punished them [with the payment of] a large sum of money and instead of arrest, were sentenced to be “hung” for 10 to 20 minutes.

At the entry to his administrative office stood a wooden post on which there was an iron axe. [The condemned one] was sentenced to hang with a wide, strong leather strip, firmly drawn and bound under his arms and thus he was hung, as he remained supporting himself with the tips of his toes. After such an execution, the hanged one had to be carried away – he could not walk – and he lay for weeks with swollen toes and feet.

A “Jewish Cultural Affairs Community Council” was created according to the designation of the county commandant under the chairmanship of the owner of a crockery shop, Mr. Sifard, who was the Jewish representative in regard to the local regime; he also was occupied with the religious education of the Jewish population.

The economic situation was bad. The trade of wheat and many other products that were necessary for military use were completely forbidden. The regime also designated obligatory prices for other goods and [where the income] from the shops would go. The main income of the city had completely ceased.

The need became very great and Jewish families, mainly ‘the common people,” began to suffer from hunger. A group of young Jews decided to create a Jewish folks–

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kikh [people's kitchen]. They went to the houses and shops and made a list of the people who pledged to pay monthly to support the kitchen.

Thanks to the influence of the dentist, Meir Nowak, they received from Oberleutnant Mazer a large house of several rooms, the former residence of a rich engineer who had escaped with the Russians. The dentist later became the chairman of the people's kitchen committee.

The needed utensils and dishes were obtained from the shops that sold them, as well as from good–hearted middleclass people of means. A small quantity of meat and food items were given by the county commandant and the kitchen began to function.

In time the voluntary, pure humane work drew in all of the Jewish Ludmir young people and the kitchen was one of the best help institutions that we then possessed.

From time to time there were amateur performances and tea evenings in order to have enough money to cover the expenditures, which grew larger and larger.

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All of the officers from the district command and the district commander, as well as Oberleutnant Mazer, were invited to a special tea evening. The evening's program consisted of song, recitations and dance carried out by the children who were being fed in the folks–kikh. The evening was very successful. All of the invited officers came with their wives and a happy, intimate mood was created.

A beautiful girl, an orphan, recited the famous poem, Die Lorelei, by Heinrich Heine, with pathos and feeling. When she finished, Mazer sent 50 krone and gave her a kiss.

I looked at him and I thought that a spark of compassion and love of children emanated from his dark eyes and I thought, he, too, was a child and loved a mother! Who knows, perhaps this tyrant also possessed a little human feeling. But no one knew how to touch his deeply buried heartstrings.

One thing was certain: the person possessed great intelligence, a phenomenal memory and extraordinary administrative ability. He hated

Jewish folks–kikh created in 1916 for the refugees and poor children during the First World War Sitting: Shmuel Erlich, Liber Libers, Beril Fishl, Dovidi Rosensztajn, Nakhum Nismol, Dr. Meir Nowak, Hirsh Lew, Pinkhas Szajnkestel, Yakov Ylin, Tzvi Hornsztajn, Eliezer Szajnkestel, Mordekhai Grinburg Standing: Borukh Szpira, Avraham Ejzenberg, Yehosha Frankl, Moshe Bukser, Borukh Narczka, Efroim Tarna, Yitzhak Zinger, Ayzyk Grin, Yakov Brat, Lib Luks

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not only Jews; he also – God know why – hated all people. However, he was a devoted protector of law and order and severely punished in his way criminals without regard for their nationality and religion.

And when on a dark night three gentiles attacked a wagon of three Jews and they murdered them, he [Mazer] accompanied by field gendarmes rode around for several days and night in the surrounding villages and investigated and searched until they succeeded in bringing the murderers to the gallows. One morning a soldier with a drum walked around the Jewish quarter and announced in Yiddish that the murderers who had killed the three Jews would be hanged the next morning at 10 o'clock. Anyone who wished to could come to attend the execution.

Early the next morning all of the shopkeepers closed their shops, the artisans left their workshops and everyone left for the square (which was opposite Yitzhak Bukhe's house), where three darkly painted gallows had been erected the night before. Part of the area around the gallows was fenced with barbed wire and armed soldiers with machine guns were inside. We saw a group of officers with Oberleutnant Mazer.

A while later 10 gendarmes with bared swords along with the murderers with hands and feet manacled in heavy iron chains in the middle came out of the alley that led from the jail. This was a father and two sons. The father was a strong and tall Christian of 55 to 60 years of age and the sons somewhat shorter but strong young gentiles. They walked with wooden boards on their breasts, painted black and their crime and the verdict was written in white letters. The old gentile stood on firm feet and looked at the assembled crowd with large expressionless eyes. However, the young gentiles tottered back and forth as if drunk, with their heads down. As he neared the gallows, the old gentile became deathly pale and looked around him with dead eyes as if he were looking to someone for salvation.

A Russian priest with a large silver cross on his chest approached as they were led in and placed on the gallows; he said something to them and gave his cross to each one to kiss. The old man kissed it. The sons stood as if frozen and

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moved toward the cross. A soldier brought a bench with three steps on one side and a place to stand on the other side. Then he blindfolded the eyes and bound the mouth of each murderer and left. Suddenly, a man in a black hat and a pair of dark glasses and carrying a small box in his hand came out from the group of people who had been standing at the wire fencing.

We heard shouts and curses and abuse of them for the entire time that the murderers stood at the square. All of the voices became quiet at the moment when the black–clad hangman pointed his finger at the old gentile and the gendarmes began taking him up the stairs. The many thousand members of the crowd remained standing with their mouths open, with pale faces and bulging eyes, and a trembling mixed with eagerness and fear went through each body like the wind.

It seemed that the human masses that had barely a few minutes earlier shown anger and revenge, now looking at the criminals and hangman, felt the arrival of the angel of death at the gallows spot. They became frozen and silent from fear and horror.

When the gendarmes stood on the top board holding the murderer on each side, the hangman went up on the second side, quickly threw the noose of the rope on the iron hook that was on the gallows and the second noose over the head of the old gentile and strongly tightened it.

All of the people caught their breathe with difficulty as if after a very frightening dream. Here and there hysterical crying was heard. A number of women fainted and most of the crowd left for home as if ashamed. Only a very small number of “strong men” remained to see the sad end of the other two murderers.

The death of the murderers, who remained hanging for three days and three nights, made an astonishing impression on the entire non–Jewish population and there were no more attacks on Jews around our city for the entire time that the Austrians were in Ludmir.

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The Austrians Leave Ludmir

The end of the war on all fronts was quickly sensed in our city. The masters of war had somewhat lost their previous self–confidence and pride, and their relationship to the population became as sweet as honey.

On a Sunday, when everyone already knew that the Austrians were leaving Ludmir, I received an order from the city commandant, a Jewish lieutenant, to come for an important, urgent consultation. (A year and a half earlier, Mazer had been sent to the front because of his barbaric behavior toward the population.)

Arriving, I saw that several Jewish, Ukrainians and Polish representatives, also had received such orders.

Several minutes later the city commandant entered and reported in three languages that before the regime left the city he wanted to create a city council of five Jews, three Ukrainians and three Poles who would take over the Austrian supply of weapons and food that were located in the military storehouses and that could not be taken because of a lack of wagons. The city council also would manage all municipal matters and maintain calm and legal order.

After a large gathering in the synagogue, Hershl Lew, Yisroel Iser Tseilingold, of blessed memory, Nakhum Gitmal, Yakov Jelin and I (all later emigrated to Israel, except Hershl Lew who was exiled in Russia) were elected.

Early the next morning we, those elected, went to the house of the local command. The elected Poles and Ukrainians were also there and we all elected a chairman, a Ukrainian, a friend of the Jews, and as vice chairman, Hershl Lew (founder and leader of the Zionist organization, a capable communal worker and a man of high intelligence, who was sent to Siberia a long time after by the Bolsheviks for Zionist activity and he and his wife perished there from hunger and the cold).

Litzkendorf, a Pole, a great anti–Semite was elected as treasurer.

The lieutenant said that last night the entire county command and the local military and field gendarmerie had left the city. Only 20 soldier–guards remained, who would leave with the wives the next day.

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200 Jewish Policemen

In order to help maintain order in the city, it was decided to create a volunteer armed municipal militia, which would consist of 200 Jews, 100 Ukrainians and 100 Poles.

Then the chairman left with the city commandant accompanied by a Polish and Jewish councilman to take over as city property the Austrian military storehouses and warehouses of food and weapons that remained.

We Jewish councilmen made a list of men who would be considered as policemen. These were veteran Jewish soldiers from the Russian military, mainly butchers, porters and wagon drivers (middle class children at that time were almost never soldiers).

Wagons with rifles and crates of revolvers and hand grenades from the military warehouses began to arrive, which became the property of the city. That same evening, a number of policemen carried out their first exercises with guns by moonlight. An Austrian sergeant who remained in Ludmir for of some kind of romantic reason was designated as chief of the militia with a salary. His assistant was Nusen Sztern, a photographer who had served in the first Russian grenadier regiment. [He was] tall, slender, with a nice military appearance.

The other two Jewish “Soviet commanders” were Avraham Yales, a young, healthy and capable butcher who had served in the Russian military and [earned two stripes] and Moshe Szajnkestel, a smart, energetic young man who had some knowledge of military matters.

Tuesday, early in the morning, the entire militia, all former Russian soldiers, stood along the street from the city council building to the gate of the Jewish cemetery, with rifles in their hands and exercised under the command of the chief.

Later some left for the warehouses and storehouses that the city council had taken over the day before in order to free the Austrian soldier who still stood there on guard; some went out to the streets as keepers of order and some remained as reserves in the large courtyard of the city council building.

The shops were closed. And the artisans could not sit at their workshops. All of the Jews, women and children were outside for the entire day, standing in larger and smaller circles and discussed politics.

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Several “Ukrainians” argued that the Ukrainian military that fought successfully with the Poles in Lemberg would arrive through Sokal and take the city. The other “Poles” pointed to all the signs that the Polish legions from the other side of the Bug [River] were expected at any hour.

Jewish and Polish militiamen brought two Ukrainian policemen, who were very drunk and were bothering the Jewish residents, to their chief and, as it was forbidden to sell all alcoholic beverages, it could not be known what they had had to drink. But as they smelled of rum, the mystery was clarified. It was learned that they had stood guard at the cellar in which there was rum. The cellar was locked, but they could not resist, broke the lock and drank a great deal.

After this case, no Ukrainian policemen were sent to guard places where there was wine or spirits and, in general, they were not sent anywhere alone, only with Polish or Jewish policemen.

Early on Wednesday the policemen who stood at the large flour storehouse that was near the train station reported that a large crowd of Jews and gentiles attacked them at night and took their rifles and looted the storehouse.

The policemen who entered service were mixed, Jews and Christians, but as the Christians would not all appear, the result was that there were more Jews. They carried rifles, but because of the insurance system, they did not receive any bullets. Therefore, they could not show any strong resistance. After the attack the night before, each policeman received a certain number of bullets for which he was responsible.

On the same day, there was a repeat of the attack on the train storehouses; the policemen fired several shots into the legs of the crowd and they [the crowd] scattered, but a young man from Yoska Shraga, who was hit in the leg by a bullet, was a cripple for his entire life.

It was then decided to take the goods from the train storehouses to the stalls and the barracks that were located in the large courtyard of the city council managing committee.

On Thursday, male and female peasants from the nearby villages began to arrive in the city with sacks and baskets. They had heard about the looted

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flour storehouses and they also wanted to benefit in some way from this. Meanwhile, a number of them got drunk and began causing scenes and cursing the Jews, who all had stolen everything for themselves and had left nothing for them [the peasants].

As the situation began to get serious, we decided with the help of the Polish councilmen – only Ukrainians inhabited the villages around us – that we would drive all of the village guests out of the city and place heavy patrols at all of its corners and not permit the village residents to enter the city.

The Ukrainian councilmen began to frown on us and, every morning, there were fewer of their policemen. Our strongholds were on the other side of the bridge that lay across the river near the courtyard of the barracks on Lutsker Street and on the shore of the Ludmir Bug River that led to the village of Zarech'ye.

All day Friday the village gentiles were not seen and we thought that they would not dare come after the blows that they had received from the Jewish policemen. But we were wrong.

At around 2 o'clock on Friday night [into Saturday morning], after a day of various troubles with my work at the city council, when I had heartily fallen asleep, I was awakened by heavy gunfire in the courtyard under my window. I got dressed quickly and went outside. Menashe Szajnkestel, the commandant of the Jewish second company, stood in front of me and in a shaking voice told me that the situation at the Lutsker bridge was critical. Hundreds of Ukrainians were standing around the bridge with iron crowbars, scythes and axes in their hands and insistent about crossing [the bridge] and entering the city. The policemen shot several times as ordered and there were dead and wounded there. He had been to his commandant, Nusen Sztern, and he had ordered him to shoot and to drive out the attackers. However, he could not make a decision and had come to consult with me. I understood the seriousness of the situation and I decided to go to Mr. Lew to have him call an urgent meeting of various Jewish representatives to consult with them. I advised Menashe Szjankestel to go to the bridge and shoot only at the moment of greatest danger. Mr. Lew already had left for the city council and I met a few Jewish councilmen and Litzkendorf, the Pole, who thought that heavy fire without stop would chase the Ukrainian peasants. He hated the Ukrainians as much as the Jews did. We sent out the Jewish policemen,

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who were in reserve, and ordered that the rabbis and the elite Jews and community workers be brought quickly.

Half an hour later there already were 50 people with stunned eyes and pale faces.

We told them everything and asked their opinion. Several of them said that we should not risk the lives of the entire Jewish population and to stop shooting at the gentiles. Let them enter the city and if they begin to steal, then shoot. The others said the opposite, if they were allowed to come in they certainly would begin to steal and who knew if shooting would help then. Therefore, they must shoot now to save themselves. When everyone had spoken and shouted and had not come to any suitable decision, one of the old Jewish miracles occurred. Avraham Szmulene's son came riding on a horse – on Shabbos [Sabbath] – and brought the news that they had been successful in ousting and driving away the peasants. Several minutes later everyone left to sleep at home, joyful and satisfied.

In the morning we ordered the burning of the bridge and the day and night passed quietly.

Rumors spread early on Sunday that Polish legionnaires had crossed the Bug [River] near Ustila [Ustyluh] early on Sunday. Despite the resistance of the local Jewish–Ukrainian militia, they looted the shtetl and killed several Jews.

A few hours later the Jewish militia reported that 200 legionnaires armed with rifles and hand grenades were standing and waiting for an order to enter the city.

By night they did enter the city and lined up near the Polish church, having several machine guns (we did not have them).

When we, all of the Jewish and two Ukrainian councilmen (the Poles did not come at all) were sitting and consulting about the difficult situation, a Polish legionnaire dressed as an officer with an Austrian Hussar's sword in his hand entered, accompanied by another legionnaire with a rifle and hand grenades circling [his chest], and stood in a Napoleonic pose and said in a solemn voice:

– In the name of General Pilsudski, the chief of the Lublin government, I order you to turn over the city to us in the next three hours. Otherwise, blood will flow.

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We were not very frightened. Looking at him and smiling, I said that he should not think that this was Ustila. And Nusen Sztern said to him that if it came to a fight, we also would pay for the Ustila Jews. The officer left angry. The Jewish councilmen all remained quiet. Everyone felt a heavy responsibility for the lives of thousands of Jewish men, women and children and this paralyzed their thoughts. Mr. Lew, who led the meeting as vice chairman, was the first to speak. The Ukrainian chairman had not been at the city council for the past two days and, as we later heard, he had left for Lutsk to bring military aid. Lew clarified the current situation. On that day we had up to 300 armed Jewish policemen in addition to 50 to 60 Ukrainians. We had enough ammunition and grenades and he asked everyone to express their opinion on what we should do.

The first to speak were the two Ukrainian councilmen. The said that there were eastern Galician Ukrainian soldiers in Lutsk and the chairman had gone to ask them to occupy our city and at any hour they could be expected to march in.

The opinions of our councilmen were divided among the followers of the Ukrainian orientation and the followers of the Polish orientation. Then, Mr. Lew proposed that we should request an extension of the ultimatum term until 10 in the morning. Perhaps by then we would know what was happening with the Ukrainian military and if the Polish legionnaires did not agree we would fight. The proposal was adopted unanimously.

Suddenly, Litzkendorft, a manager, entered perspiring strongly and asked Mr. Lew to go with him. He told him something important.

Lew returned several minutes later, pale, and looked at me with a strange look. I sensed something very frightening in his look, which was of concern to me. Troubled, I asked him what Litzkendorf told him. He began to shake and taking me aside, he quietly stammered:

– Comrade Szajnbaum! I advise you that you not be at home tonight. An order about you and Nusen Sztern arrived here today with some kind of charge and they could come to arrest you.

Thus, he told me in Litzkendorf's name that another commando of legionnaires had arrived with many machine guns and he was afraid that we would fall into the hands of

A Section of the Cemetery in Ludmir

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of the Poles. At that moment Nusen Sztern entered and reported that the Jewish and Ukrainian legionnaires had been placed around the city in various positions and were ready to fight. When Lew left I told him the “news.” It did not scare him and he said that he would not hide and that he would fight against the Poles if he were needed. As we went over to the table where our councilmen were sitting and speaking quietly, they suddenly grew silent and everyone dispersed. Only Reb Yisrole Meir Tseilingal came to us and said, “Your life is in danger and you need to hide, but I hope to God that the danger will pass and that you will again be fathers to your children.” He finished talking and cried.

Then I understood that it was not a matter of an arrest, as Mr. Lew had said, but about my staying alive and I decided to hide somewhere.

Nusen also was moved by the good patriarchal Jewish tears. He became serious and asked me, “Where do you want to hide?” I answered that I did not know yet. Then he said, “The safest place of the living is always among the dead. Go to the cemetery and so it will not be lonely for you there I will go with you. Wait for me here. I will come right back. He returned several minutes later and we went over the fence and onto a small path. Then [over] another fence and into the garden. There we went through a low, old brick fence and we ran into the cemetery.

We entered the room where the bodies were brought. It was dark there, but by the light coming in through the open door, we saw a wide table used for purifying the bodies and a bench on which there were wooden buckets. Nusen climbed onto the table, took a bottle of whiskey out of his pocket – drank it all at once, said good night to me and immediately fell asleep.

I remained alone in the dark house of death, in which there was a terrible smell. I was tired and dejected and I also wanted to sleep. I tapped on the bench. It was wet and slippery. I felt like I had to vomit and I went outside.

I lay down near a headstone. A full moon shone in the starry sky and illuminated the entire forest of headstones with a dull light, the only remembrances of a person. Somewhere here, not far from me, my mother, of blessed memory, lay buried. Did she know; did she feel how much I was suffering now?

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I fell asleep. When I woke up, the sun already was rising. I saw Shapsn, Pinkhas Chaveses' son, in the distance with a long white pack under his arm and, limping on his crippled foot, he was going to the purification room. When I ran to him, he asked me in fear what I was doing here. I told him everything and I asked him to give Hershl Lew a letter from me and said that he would receive a bottle of 90 proof whiskey for doing so. He gave me the pack to lay on the table of the room where the dead were brought and quickly limped away.

He came back quickly. Mr. Lew had written a short note:

– Come home. The judgment has been nullified.

It did not take long for me to awaken Sztern. Afterwards we emerged from the cemetery like living corpses.

When I arrived in my house, my wife had just awakened. I noticed that she knew nothing. When she asked me why I had not come home to sleep, I answered that I had been very busy.

I went to bed and slept until it got dark. Mr. Lew came during the evening and said that Litzkendorf had come two hours after we had left and said that thanks to the heavy pressure from Ksiondz, Dr. Rapszewski and from him, the Polish officers annulled their verdict to hang Sztern and me. He could not inform us of this because he did not know where we were hiding.

He also told me that the Poles entered the city at night with heavy power and he had to turn the city and all of the weapons and food supplies that the Austrians had left over to them.

Life in Ludmir began to return to normal in about three or four days. However, new trouble came unexpectedly. One night several hundred Polish riders under the leadership of Major [Feliks] Jaworski, may his name be erased, arrived through Lutsker Street and early in the morning they began to grab Jews [and] lay them in the middle of the highway. One held the hands and the other the feet and the third one sat on the stomach and cut the peyes [side curls] and beard with a long knife. When the unfortunate one trembled, they [the Poles] would cut out the hair with the skin on the cheek. They would beat and kill the Jews who did not have beards. In

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a few hours all of the shops were closed and everyone ran home to hide somewhere.

At night they ostensibly went to look for weapons in the houses and stole money, jewelry, furniture and bed linens and whatever of value appealed to them.

On a cursed morning, several Polish Jaworszcizkes (that is what we called them) entered a Jewish bakery and started to pack bread and white baked goods in large sacks and they wanted to leave without paying. The baker began to shout loudly and call for help. The neighboring Jews were afraid to go outside and he shouted even louder until the military police arrived. They asked the Jaworszcizkes why they should not pay. They said that the Jews should go with them to the commandant, who was located at the train station where they would be paid. The Jew left with them and he was murderously killed. A Christian who saw him lying dead came to the rabbi and told him. Not the khevre kadishe [burial society], nor any other Jews wanted to go to get him because going to those murderers meant going to a certain death. A young man named Mendl Tenenbaum, a member of a youth Zionist organization, learned of this and he went there with a large sack, [took the body of the murdered Jew] and carried him two kilometers to the cemetery. The self–sacrifice and heroism of the young man made a great impression

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on the entire city and we talked about this for a long time, about an extraordinarily rare action of khesed shel emes [the mitzvah – commandment – of accompanying a body to its eternal rest].

Shortly after this, the young man left for Israel, was involved with work in the fields in a Jewish colony and suffered from hunger and cold. After several years of hard work he became an expert in the area of fruit trees. He married and took the name Menakhem Moshiakh. He joined a group of field workers who went up to empty land and earth in the village of Kfar Vitkin, one of the most beautiful and richest moshavim [settlements] in the country to the present.

Also here, in Kfar Vitkin, he worked hard like all of his comrades continuously for two years and sometimes also suffered from need and as he achieved a beautiful house and was well established with a fruitful orchard, he suddenly became ill and the illness did not leave him until he was buried in his grave. His wife, his son and his daughter did everything to ease his terrible suffering and treated him with rare patience and devotion. May the dear earth of Israel be easy for him.

The Jaworszcizkes were among us for only a few days, but the Ludmir Jews remembered their deeds for a long time.

It became calmer for us and life with the Poles normalized still more.

And thus we went through the First World War, from gulas [exile] in Russia to gulas in Poland.

Translator's footnotes:

1. The First World War broke out on erev Tisha B'Av, the eve of the 9^th of Av, 5674 – the 1st of August 1914. The Book of Lamentations is read on Tisha B'Av, mourning the destruction of the Temples in Jerusalem. Return
2. Jaworszcizkes were the members of a cavalry group led by Major Feliks Jaworski. Return

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