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I hope that I will be able to highlight, with my pen, the most beautiful and revered in every topic I mention. I pray for my success. I am not a writer and do not always follow literary rules. Please forgive me if I should offend those with refined taste. In any case, I will try to draw a faithful picture of our town, its way of life, and its people.

When I began to write on Tammuz 5,707 [June/July 1947], it had been 6 years since the massacre in Zborow. My heart is full of bitterness. The Jewry of the idealistic, activist, and high-spirited Poland fell at the hands of a malicious and evil enemy, and we were left with only our memories.

I wish to tell you about a different world, a better world, more enlightening and humane–the world of Zborow's Jews, whose memory will never fade from our midst.

At the end of the 19th century, the Beit HaMidrash HaGadol reached the peak of its prosperity and the golden age in its history. During that period, the institution excelled in the number of prominent student scholars and people of the modern world. I considered the Beit HaMidrash HaGadol as the most valuable pearl in the crown called the Zborow community and, in my estimation, contributed its crucial part in nurturing the prominent figures of our city. Indeed, it would not be an exaggeration to say that that institution would glorify even larger cities than Zborow.

I remember a picture of those who studied, their heads bowed over their books, young and old, boys whose voices not changed yet, and older men with hoarse voices, a symphony of voices, sparkles of the eyes, a feast of intellectual enthusiasm.

The Beit HaMidrash was rich in the diversity of its people both in terms of the age range and the multitude of opinions they represented. Virtuous Jews who live according to their faith, sharp-minded wise students; the pious to the core and the free-minded; Hassidim and Enlightened–literally all shades of Jewish thought and soul.

Over there, on the eastern wall, was the place of the honored members of the community, headed by the head of the community R' Yakov Katz. He wore the community president's cloak proudly but did not patronize his people. He was respected by all–Jews and Christians alike, but he was not an honor seeker. He did not climb to the top because of his firmness but because of his attributes as a person and a Jew, his pleasant manners, and cheerful face. There were Jews in our town who were wealthier than he, but he topped them all with his generosity and open hand. R' Yankel, as he was called, was the true archetype of a Jewish “parnas” [activist, administrator], both in his awe-inspiring appearance and his lofty attributes.

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Here, I would mention one of the scholars of the Beit HaMidrash, unique-mannered R' Michel Brisches. He was a unique melamed [religious teacher] of young children. He taught the Bible using a German translation, and in other studies, he taught using various commentaries. He played an important role in opening a window to the thinking of the wide world for the youths in our city. Among the Zionists active in the Beit HaMidrash, I should also mention Asher Tahler and Mordechai Marder. From among the craftsmen, I would name the tailor, R' Joel Weinstein, who was considered a local Herschelle Ostropoller [Chassidic comic in the 18th century]. He knew how to fashion a joke that hit the mark for every event or personality. I would also mention his rival, Israel Leitner, whose antics and jokes acquired him the name “Srul Paiatz” [Srul Mischief]. He was an expert in diverting a prayer leader from his way leaving him straying in front of the Holy Ark.

R' Shimshon Halpern excelled among the group of learners. He was a sharp-witted Jew and a great scholar. R' Eliezer Polak was sharp-witted. Along with them, we should mention Israel Redler, the father of Yehoshua and Bunim, who would eventually acquire names for themselves, R' Yitzchak Lipsker, old Gliker, Gershon Bogner, who excelled in his melodies, old Schwebel, and lastly, the two cousins, Chaim and Israel Isserles, direct descendants of the REMA [Rabbi Moshe son of Israel Isserles]. More great learners glorified the Beit HaMidrash HaGadol, but I do not remember their names.

Aron Czapnik, the distinguished son-in-law of R' Yakov Katz, and Yehuda Labiner were among the educated people of the time with modern views. They were both scholars in the Torah and ethics but also knowledgeable of general literature and secular ideas. I am still puzzled today about how these two people, having free and enlightened views, could get accustomed to the narrow format of a small town. They both adopted the customs of the community and its way of life, including wearing traditional Shabbat clothing despite their enlightened views.

Indeed, our Beit HaMidrash was a whole world, in multi-color and fascinating. It was impossible to find two figures there who were similar. Every Jew had his own character, and every one of them was a whole world into itself. The Beit HaMidrash in Zborow also served as a shelter for poor and sheepish passersby and the rag-tag and bobtails–the wandering beggars begging from door to door. The latter added their own hues to the multicolored picture of the Beit HaMidrash.

R' Meir Halmutah [?] supplied tobacco to the synagogue praying people. He brought the fine tobacco from the land of the Fonye [a derogatory name for Russians]. He offered it in a nicely decorated box to young and old, accompanied by a smile. Alexander Sigal, who also visited beyond the border, brought the exciting news from there and the fine Russian rubber boots.

In parallel to the group of figures, some of whom I mentioned above, a long line of unique characters populated the Beit HaMidrash. Here, in front of my eyes, stands skinny Shaul, the owner of the eternal smile and the central pillar of the Simchat Torah festivities. Despite being a prominent beggar, he likened himself to Rothschild and used to say: “Rothschild eats with one mouth, so do I. The only difference is that Rothschild eats delicacies and Shaul eats potatoes…” I also recall David Praeger, a Mitnaged [somebody who opposes Chassidism but with that—an enthusiastic follower; however, his Rabbi was not among the Admorim [prominent Chassidic rebbes], but Moshe Mendelssohn, the father of the Enlightenment. Praeger preached his teachings and quoted his sayings to the Beit HaMidrash attendees.

I go farther from the eastern wall and mix with the simple praying crowd. Here, on the right side, near the furnace.

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Here is the kingdom of Hersch (Hersch Rofeh), the old caretaker, the erect and hardy oak, whose tall stature was not bent by the years and life of hardship. He was liked by the youth due to his good-heartedness and his friendly attitude toward them. They considered him a friend despite the difference in years. In the corner near the furnace, they gathered and drank thirstily histories from the Prussia-Austrian war and his hardships in America, where he stayed for a certain period. He was a talented storyteller and charmed his listeners with his stories. He liked the company of young people not less than their liking of him, and his pockets were always filled with sweets for them.

The left side of the furnace was the place of another Jew, an amazing and unique character. Unfortunately, I never knew his surname, only his nickname: Moshe Bobrik. That man's character can be defined by a single word: “seclusive.” He was not like those seclusive people who escaped the places where other people lived and instead lived in forests and caves. He secluded himself within a swarming public. Among the praying people of the Beit HaMidrash, the man sat, but secluded and separated, like with an invisible but impenetrable screen between him and them. For many years, he was studious in his studies and only rarely got in touch with or talked to anybody. His corner was, for him, a different planet separated from Planet Earth, where other people were busy and noisy. The whole world could have collapsed, the city burnt–it did not concern him. Nevertheless, maybe the man was right when he abandoned the world and people?

In late 1912, when Austro-Hungary conquered Bosnia-Herzegovina, a general recruitment was announced throughout the empire. Fathers and sons were taken to the army. World peace was at stake, and millions of people faced great dangers. In addition to the harsh economic situation, which weighed heavily on the Jews of the city, everyone was anxious about the upcoming war and the Russian attack. The whole atmosphere was somber.

I remember the evenings after the Maariv [evening] prayers when group after group of scared Jews gathered and debated the latest news in which the truth and imagination were mixed. There were wrinkles in the brows and fearful eyes, but Moshe Bobrik was not involved. He sat as usual in his corner, his long pipe in his mouth. Under the candlelight, he drank thirstily from the Gemara water, which would probably never quench his thirst. The nature and essence of that man will always remain an unsolved mystery for me. He never told anybody about himself, and a veil of mystery covered him. Was he just a seclusive person and a monk, or perhaps he was one of the Lamed Vav Tzadikim [the minimal number (36) of anonymous righteous men living in the world in every generation]?

Among the young learners who studied in the Beit HaMidrash, I remember the brothers Yehoshua and Bunim Redler, z”l, who died in Eretz Yisrael. In New York, we had Moshe Yitzchak Heller, his brother Simcha (Zigmond), and Baruch (Benu) Schwab. All three have passed away by now. Others stayed in Zborow. Some died naturally, but the fate of most of the others was the same as the fate of all other Zborow Jews–murder and extermination.

The Beit HaMidrash HaGadol encompassed a glorious Jewish world, abundant in Jewish tradition, pleasing cantor's prayers, and pleasant preachers' sermons. Fresh in my memory is the first lesson of Jewish history that my father, may he rest in peace, taught around one of the tables. It was the evening before Yom Kippur. My father sat me near him on the bench and told me the bloody and heroic story of “The Ten Royal Martyrs^[1]” from an old Machzor. I was young then, and it was

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the first time I was introduced to the scroll of sufferings of our nation that continued from its creation. My young heart sank with sorrow hearing the story. My father seemed to have guessed that most of my young friends sitting around me would be included in that scroll of the sufferings, in the crematoriums of Treblinka and Belzec or the mass graves in Zborow.

The influence of the Beit HaMidrash works on all of us to this day. It still lights our way and guides us. I must thank the Beit HaMidrash HaGadol in Zborow for the Jewish spark in me. In the struggles that occurred between the Jew in me and the citizen of the world that attracted me, the power of the Beit HaMidrash always prevailed, keeping bad ideas and foreign thoughts away from me.

Like a super-rich person who loses money continuously but never becomes poor, so was the Beit HaMidrash, which lost some of its learners but was always full of them. The Angel of Death used to visit it occasionally and pick from the magnificent flowers of the colorful garden but never left the garden void of flowers.

Of all the nice things that the Beit HaMidrash was blessed with, the extent of tolerance exhibited by the prayers was closest to my heart. It was a home not only for the talmidim chachamim [student scholars]–the Torah faithful and learners, but served as a meeting place for the Mitnagdim [people who opposed Chassidism], the Chassidim, and enlightened people.

The wintertime was the season of visits by prominent Admorim. They were invited to the Beit HaMidrash for the Shabbat Prayer. On those Shabbats, the congestion increased from the crowds of Hassidim who came to the town from the surrounding areas. The prayers lasted forever, but none of the regular prayer goers left the Beit HaMidrash, even though some were among the Mitnagdim who could easily find an excuse for their leaving. May we have some of that tolerance in our modern generation, particularly among the radical Jewish orthodoxies. These radicals cannot pray under the same roof as other Jews whose views are somewhat different from theirs.

The Beit HaMidrash HaGadol in Zborow was destroyed during the First World War. That was one of the most painful blows that befell our town's Jews in that war, from which they never recovered. Attempts were made to rebuild it, and people made great efforts, but all was in vain. Perhaps if it was just material, mortar, and bricks, they would have been successful. However, they lacked the spiritual leadership to carry the burden of such an endeavor. And so, the building remained in ruins.

With the destruction of the Beit HaMidrash HaGadol, it was as if a unique historical period in our town had ended. That spiritual period made our physically small town into a Jewish mother city. The only thing that remained from that old Beit HaMidrash was its name. It was transferred to a small prayer house in the apartment of Rabbi Shlomo Kleinhandler. It was a small Beit Midrash, small physically and spiritually. Nothing remained from the greatness of the old Beit HaMidrash.

I did not know how to properly appreciate phenomena and people as I do today. I was an inexperienced youth who did not treasure the value of the Beit HaMidrash and the people who prayed in it as I do today. Nevertheless, that belongs to my other youthful sins. Today, at a distance of time and thousands of miles, I better understand that period and its people. That is probably the way of the world: We know to appreciate things only after we lose them.

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Shabbat Eve in Zborow

The town begins preparing itself for the arrival of a dear guest, about to arrive in the evening–Shabbat Malkah [Shabbat Queen] from the early morning hours on Friday. The women in town are busy today. They cook, bake, clean their apartments, scrub the pots and dishes, and do their best to glorify the Shabbat–the day of rest.

But the Shabbat that remained in my memory is the Shabbat benefiting all Jews in the town, much more than just a day for rest. It awarded them their self-esteem as human beings and served as restitution for the gloomy days of the week. The Shabbat was everyone's aspiration–poor or rich, the Torah learner, or the simple Jew. It was a life gift that returned and was given to them every seventh day, unifying them into a single nation with one soul.

Time is of the essence. Time does not stop. The clock hands are moving continually. Hours pass. The Shabbat is coming soon, and the sand in the hour glass is diminishing. The Shabbat is on the threshold.

But a lot of the work remains. Two righteous women appear on the street: The little Cheila and Yenta, the bath attendant. They are going from door to door to collect challahs for the needy. They are also Jewish, but a challah is a delicacy they cannot afford. Because the distress among the poor is much more intense than any estimate, these two Jewish women run around from one apartment to another, collecting food for the wretched people so that they feel like all other Jews on that day.

In my youth, I did not know how to appreciate how valuable these two women's activities were. We considered that a self-understood act, like a duty imposed on them to go around the town and collect challahs for the needy. I even felt a sense of contempt toward those pitiful “beggars.” Today, I consider these two women, the old-generation daughters of the town, who were, so to speak, backward in their cultural development, standing on a much higher level in terms of their Jewish faithfulness and humane dedication than that of the ultra-modern sophisticated Jewish woman, who speaks high-flown words and who alienates her poor brothers…

Being poor, they did not forget those who were poorer than they. Every Friday, they woke up early in the morning, arranged and cleaned their impoverished home, prepared the modest Shabbat dishes, and then went on the road—to the holy work, without expecting any reward. Not always did they receive thanks and blessings. They did expect to get their reward, but not in this world. For their running around the town, carrying bread and challahs in their aprons, they hoped to get their own corner in Paradise. If indeed, Paradise exists, Yenta, the bath attendant, and little Cheila deserve it even just because nothing prevented them from executing their act–not the rain, snow, cold, or heat prevented them from following their charitable hearts bringing food for the hungry people. May they be bundled in the bundle of my memory pages.

With the beginning of the second half of Friday, hurrying Jews appeared. They ran toward the bathhouse. Your nation, Israel, wants to purify the body in honor of the Shabbat. The Shabbat is a gift for the body and the soul. Therefore, both need to prepare themselves for her coming.

Another hour passes, and then another, and in the street appears R' Amnon, the old caretaker, holding the stick with the heavy handle, which was specially assembled. He knocks on the shops' doors to remind the owners that the time for closing has arrived. They need to forget the trading and money for a whole day. Both are deeply rooted in man. But Shabbat is towering over them.

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The evening falls slowly, the light darkens, and the darkness thickens. Jewish women bless over the candles. It is the time of mercy, time for a confessional prayer. Jewish mothers are standing and turning to their Father in Heaven in supplication and telling Him all their worries in a heart-to-heart discussion. The supplicatory prayer has ended, and a relief comes to the heart. The light is showing in the Jewish homes, and outside—a crowd is walking to the houses of prayer. Shabbat descends on the town. The shops are closed and anybody who tries to buy anything his effort will be in vain. Only two Christian shops, taverns, and cigarette shops are open, disrupting the uniformity of the appearance. However, merchandise is sold on credit, or prepaid for the sake of not handling money on Shabbat.

I accompany my father, may he rest in peace, to pray at the Beit HaMidrash HaGadol. The interior of the Beit HaMidrash is bathed in light. The large Menorah is lit with all its lights, illuminating the shiny faces of the people who were praying. A symphony of voices fills the space of the Beit HaMidrash–the rustle of the silky kapoteh [frock coat worn by Chassidic men] mixes with the rumbling of the praying people and the singing of the cantor, Eli Gutfleisch, creating a sweet melody that penetrates the soul.

The prayer has ended. A good spirit prevails over the praying people. Their hearts are open, and everybody blesses his friends with a “Gut Shabbes” [Good Shabbat]. All seem carefree and complacent. The day-to-day worries of one or two hours ago disappear. Now, the people are all children of kings. If a wandering poor man shows up in the Beit HaMidrash, his place is obviously at the table of R' Yakov Katz. He is “assured” to be the first to host a passerby. Not to worry if the number of the poor increases. There are always people who would take them home and would not let them be hungry on Shabbat Eve, G-d forbid.

Woe to us. Shabbat Eve is no longer celebrated in Polish towns. There aren't any lit candles anymore. The women lighting those candles have been exterminated. The Shabbat prayers and their melodies have been quieted forever. The Shabbat Queen is weeping over her children who have gone up in flames, and there is no consoler.

Life was hard in our town during the week. Indeed, Zborow was far from being a town of industry, and its Jews did not work in hard manual labor jobs. Despite that, life was hard, gray, and tiring in the city. Most Jews in Zborow were merchants who made a living from bargaining and selling. Their way of life involved many worries. The poor small merchant needed a loan daily to buy his merchandise, and the larger merchant had to continually worry about paying his debts. A craftsman worked from early morning until late at night, following the verse “By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food [Genesis 3:19]” but hardly made enough money to sustain his family.

Except for a lucky few, most of the Jews in Zborow struggled to make a living. But those things had to do with the six weekdays. When Shabbat arrived, things changed dramatically. On Shabbat morning, their appearance was completely different from the other six days. The worries were set aside for that day, and they seemed to be encouraged and lifted up from the daily fluctuations. The body is covered with nice clothes, the stomach has gotten its food, and the day is dedicated to thanksgiving and pleasure–the pleasure of both body and soul,

The hour is still early for prayers. Some are still lying in beds, student scholars browse a book, and simple Jews sneak in some sayings from Psalms. The modern youths, whose hearts are not into G-d books of fearing people nor the verses of the Psalms, do not waste time either. Before the prayer time, they beat the “traffic” of Mushka Schwadron to take with them

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the newspaper that has just arrived. They swallow hungrily the Zionist newspaper–the Lemberger Tagblat. They collect material for the debate in the House of Prayer.

The prayer time is approaching, and in the alleys, Jews are seen flocking to the various houses of prayers. There is something different in the way a Jew walks today, which is unlike his walk on a regular day. His back is straighter, his head is less bowed and the nervousness and haste of yesterday and the day before are not evident. Nevertheless, it is not a march of a proud man despite being a king today or at least a prince. Indeed, there were other times in the past. The Jew marches in the streets of Zborow. He knows he is in the Diaspora, but considers that the town belongs to him, too, as a citizen of the city and country.

It is ridiculous to conclude from that that there were no Jews-haters at that time. Some threatened openly to “settle the account” with the Jews when the Moskal [an ethnic slur in Poland for a Russian] would come. This is an old story. We find it even in the Torah. Esau is waiting for his father's death to take revenge on his brother. Here Esau was waiting for the death of the lawful government to settle the account with descendants of Jacob, whom he hates. It was like that in Zborow of yesterday, and it exists in New York today. You can find Jacob and Esau in all times and places… But on Shabbat morning, Jacob is not bothered by the revenge plots of Esau. He is marching leisurely to the house of prayer.

I would skip over the Shabbat prayer, which is a separate story. The commandment embedded in public prayer is sacred; however, the Congregation here in the Beit HaMidrash HaGadol, and all other houses of prayer, pray for more than just fulfilling the commandment. They do it for the pleasure associated with it. It is not a future pleasure slated for the next world that is all good but a pleasure of this world. That pleasure is apparent in the appearance and enthusiasm of the praying people. One would notice that they worship their G-d because of their love of Him and not because of fear. Fear of G-d and the worries are reserved for the weekdays.

One pleasure follows another on this day. The prayer is done. A colorful parade of the prayer goers, returning home from the houses of prayer, passes through the street. Leisurely steps. “Gut Shabbes,” “Gut Shabbes.”

The Jew sits down for the Shabbat meal. One has to glorify the Shabbat by preparing a respectful meal, and everybody tries to do their best to do it. But the Jews know their limit. He does not, G-d forbid, gorge or get drunk. Even though he does not abstain from eating and drinking, these acts are only a part of the Shabbat meal. Equally important are the melodies and singing that sweeten the meal and turn it from just a meal to satisfy the hunger to a celebratory and pleasant ceremony that unifies the Jewish family, adding life values to the family. The singing voices burst through the walls and filled the Jewish streets in Zborow. The meal is getting longer and ending with the Birkat HaMazon [Grace After Meals], and a praise of the Creator for the good things and the gift of Shabbat He gave to his people.

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Shabbat Between Mincha and Maariv^[2]

The city during that time is beautiful. The streets are crowded with old and young. The homeowners woke up from their sleep and are making their way to Mincha prayers, and the young are going for a Shabbat stroll, dressed in nice clothes, washed and combed.

I recall that hour now when I accompanied my father, may he rest in peace, on his short stroll to the Beit HaMidrash, and I still feel the wonderful taste of that Shabbat late afternoon

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of late summer, when the air is somewhat cooler and scented. The colorful Jewish Zborow is so tranquil as if the Shabbat is spread over it.

The Beit HaMidrash is still half empty. Here and there, Jews bowing over their books are seen, and some are immersed in a secular discussion. The atmosphere is carefree, and people are waiting for the start of prayers.

The sun is setting slowly and turns the windows of the Beit HaMidrash golden. R' Azriel Schwab approaches the ark and opens the prayer with the verse “And G-d talks to Moshe.” He has a “first refusal” rights over the Mincha prayers on Shabbat. He opens with an amazingly sweet voice: “But I pray to you, Lord, in the time of your favor [Psalms 69:13]” and he begs: “In your great love, O God, answer me with your sure salvation!” Rabbi David Kleinhandler stands near the eastern wall, swaying adherently. His hands are tucked in the broad sleeves of the silk kapoteh. The darkness is gradually taking over the space of the Beit HaMidrash, and the reading of the Torah, also done by R' Azriel Schwab, is done from the Torah book placed on the table near the window opposite the kloiz [the place where scholars would assemble.] The faces of the people who are praying become darker and darker with the descending darkness. The signs of the Shabbat joy on the faces of the Jews are slowly diminishing. The Holy day of Shabbat is gradually disappearing, and the heart is saddened with every passing minute.

The reading of the Torah has ended. It is followed by the Shemoneh Esrei prayer whispered by the prayer goers. The sweet singing voice of R' Azriel Schwab is heard again praying: “You are one, and your name is one,” ending with a strong chord and exaltation: “Tzidkatcha…Your righteousness is everlasting, and Your Torah is truth.” [Psalms 119:142].

The version in our Beit HaMidrash is dry, too dry—it is the version of the Mitnagdim. The “Third Meal^[3]” did not take place. Only during the summer, when the days are long, there is time between Mincha and Maariv to go home and taste the delicacies of the “Third Meal.” During the short winter days, the prayer goers stay in the Beit HaMidrash and wait for the evening prayers.

That hour is a special characteristic of the Shabbat pleasure for the prayer goers in the Beit HaMidrash. They gather circle after circle, headed by the circle of the quartet of the regular prominent people consisting of the Town's Rabbi, Aron Czapnik, Yehuda'le Labiner, and Eliezer Pollak. Around them are other prominent listeners such as Meir Unger, Izik Rappoport, Hersch Shtoltzenberg, Yitzchak Lisker, Alexander Sigal, and others. Discussions start, and other Jews from among the congregation's honorable people join the circle: Yeshaya Bank, the “round” David Praeger, and others. Everybody listens to the talkers, and indeed, there is something to hear since these people are not just anybody. Their knowledge is vast, they know the Torah well, are versed in world affairs, and how the higher policies determine the course of world events. But the speech here is not limited to virtuous individuals. Any person standing in the circle can say whatever comes to mind and whatever the heart desires. There is no shortage of subjects for such a discussion. The stormy world provides them in abundance and never runs out. The Town Rabbi listens to every word and rarely comments or sometimes asks a question. The leaders of these discussions are usually Aron Czapnik and Yehuda Labiner. Both are educated and enlightened, and read the newspapers daily and also books in foreign languages. They know plenty about the big world and its pains and achievements.

The Russo-Japanese War of 1904-5 provides plenty of material for these discussions. The Jews enjoy the defeats of the Fonye [The Russian]. Some youths from Russia have arrived in our city by then. They do not want to give their lives away for a country that treats them as second-rate citizens. Zborow's Jews accept them with open arms, and their arrival becomes a subject for discussion in the Beit HaMidrash. That is where we hear about a series of pogroms, and the people in the Beit HaMidrash are shocked. That discussion bears fruit.

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Wealthy people, and even those who cannot afford it, will contribute to the fundraising campaign organized a day later by the Baron Hirsch School's students. Now, at the discussion, the sadness is great to hear what the rioters are doing to our brothers in Russia. People talk about ways to rescue the Russian Jews, pouring out their rage at rioters and their inciters, may their names be blotted out.

In 1910, the news arrived about the death of Edward the 7th, the king of England. What an excellent topic for a discussion at the circle in the Beit HaMidrash. The death of a king is no small thing, especially where England and Queen Victoria's son are concerned. Everything known about the country of Moshe Montefiore has been told in length and detail. Mendel Bien jumps up and speaks of the king with praise. He knows him from Marienbad and Franzensbad where the king used to walk around freely. He used to talk to Galicia's Jews as equals among equals, sitting together on the park benches.

In another somewhat slightly inferior circle, Yoskeh Klahr tells the audience about the “miracles and wonders” of London and the Austrian consulate there. He used to live there for a certain time and still has not forgotten it.

The darkness is now almost complete. The elder youths, such as Yaakov and Shlomo, the sons of the Town Rabbi, Yakov Yoshi Golfleisch, Yosef Schwab, Avigdor-Berish Shapira, and others gathered in their corner. The community youths roll up towels and hit others left and right. They are not trying to be accurate in hitting their targets. A mischievous mistake is allowed. If a towel hits a respectable Jew, so what; one has to put up with that. In the dark, who can distinguish? But there, where the respectable circle is gathered, nobody dares to hit. After all, the youths know what is allowed and what is not.

There is now a complete darkness in the Beit HaMidrash. The first stars appear in the sky, signaling the end of Shabbat. A knock is heard in the Beit Hamidrash, and immediately after that, the prayer Vehu Rachum.

Maariv prayers are prayed in the dark. It fits the anguish associated with the ending of Shabbat and the return of the gray and weekdays filled with worries. With the end of the Shemoneh Esrei prayer, the first candle is lit, and as if the prayer goers are accepting the beginning of the new week with the prayer Vayiten–“May G-d give you from the dew of the sky, and the fat of the earth.” The prayer is recited hurriedly. People are swallowing the words. Then, one person is in a hurry to get to their store to settle the account with the wheat merchants, another to prepare a list of merchandise that had to be brought from Złoczow, and yet another to some other business.

The words “Vayiten—May G-d give you” do not fit the place nor the time, as what is the connection between the dew of the sky or fat of the earth and the Jews from the Beit HaMidrash? What is the connection between Zborow's merchants and grains and must and calving offspring of sheep? Nevertheless, they recite the prayer fervently and vivaciously. The prayer expresses their longing for their homeland that their ancestors were forced to exile from, as mentioned in other prayers. It brings about the pain of the Jew for being far from his land. It is part of every holiday because it is mentioned in the prayer Umipnei–“But because of our sins, we have been exiled from our land,” written by a great author and patriot.

In the meantime, the things mentioned in the prayer Vayiten, including the nations that populate Eretz Yisrael—no hint of them in Zborow. The city is without vegetation, trees, flowers, or even weeds. I only remember two Jews from the town's Jewish quarter who knew the value of a flower and how to treat a tree. They were two cousins with the same name—

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Moshe Hakhoiz [?]. Only a few out of the Jews residing on the wealthy street, mixed with the Christians, knew to benefit from nature's beauty.

Zborow itself was located in a beautiful place, surrounded by spectacular views. The beautiful river, mountains, and valleys had plenty to delight anybody. The Jews who wanted to breathe fresh air could do it, but outside of their quarter. The town's surroundings contained plenty of air. There was not a shortage of air for Zborow's Jews (or any Jewish community), just as there was no shortage of people who built castles in the air, or those who had “air businesses´^[4].

But we return to the Maariv prayers of Motzi-Shabbat [Saturday night, immediately following the end of Shabbat]. The praying concludes and the Beit HaMidrash has emptied out. Many went to deal with their businesses except the “regular quartet.” These people have time; the shop is not waiting for them, and neither is any other business. The world's problems have not been solved yet, and it is better to invest some additional time in that…

Motzi-Shabbat nights when they sanctified the moon produced an unforgettable impressive picture. It was like a theatrical show directed by an artistic director. The scenery is spectacular in its beauty–dark blue sky, bright stars, and moon above, and down there, within the view enveloped by the dark night, Jews dressed in Shabbat clothes, wearing bushy[?] shtreimels. Young and old praise the Creator, are reciting the Blessing of the Moon: “Praised are You, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who created (bara) the skies with his word, and all heaven's host with the breath of his mouth.” The Jews are dancing, and saying verses of the “Song of Songs.”

The Shabbat order has been concluded. Jewish mothers have already poured their hearts in begging “Gott fun Avraham” [G-d of Avraham]^[5] and Jews recite Havdalah. The change from sanctity to profane is now complete.

We return from the Beit HaMidrash and pass through the market. Only some of the stores are open and the buyers are few. We pass by the cigarette shop of Shalom Schwadron. Sounds of arguing emanate from the store. Shalom blames the Sheigetz [derogatory name for a Gentile man], who takes his place during the Shabbat, for cheating. The Gentile, Pedko Vartig answers him loudly: “You are the thief—Zhid zlodziej [thief].” That scene repeats itself every Saturday night, and as usual, they will reconcile until the next fight…

Shalom Schwadron's Shop in the 'Traffic”–the Second Building on the Right

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We continue and pass by the house of the notary. His black dog smells that the passersby are Jewish and honors them with a dose of barking. It seems that it is the tradition of the four-legged and their two-legged relatives to bark at Jews the moment they smell them…

Officially, the Shabbat is over, but do not be in haste. Jews would not just let an important guest such as the Shabbat Princess leave. Is it possible to allow the princess or the queen to retire alone, just like that? It is customary for the Jews to conduct a farewell ceremony called Melaveh Malka [Accompany the Queen], and they accompany her with songs and dances. That is a celebratory meal to accompany the Queen. Not everybody can afford to hold such a pleasant custom. Not everybody has the time to do so; livelihood worries get in the way. That pleasure was reserved for the long nights of winter. These meals were mostly held in private homes, but some Melaveh Malka meals were held in public. An example of such a feast is the one held by the [Chassidic Rabbi] R' Meir'l, z”l.

The expert for the Chassidic style of the Melaveh Malka is our known “jester,” R' Yehoshua Heschel Meisels, who was more known by his professional occupational name “Kuliver Melamed.” He prepared the feast at the apartment of the town teacher and invested all his enthusiasm in the preparations. He even cooked the dishes himself on the “triangular stove.” When Yehoshua Heschel cooked, not only the stove burned but also the earth, which danced under the feet…

I do not have good information about the economic situation of Zborow's Jews under the double-headed eagle (the Kingdom of Austria). However, based on the people who knew the history of the city, the economic situation of the Jews worsened under the white eagle of the Polish Republic.

In my time, only a few wealthy Jews were in our city, and a wealthy Jew was a rarity. Most of the Jews in our town were very poor, and the so-called middle class was far from being rich. Our townspeople of 50 years ago did not chase after luxuries. Even the affluent Jews were far from it. A person was happy if he had bread to eat and clothes to wear. But not everybody had even that. The standard of living, which was generally low, kept coming down due to the economic boycott of the Jewish trade by the Poles.

Against that, while only a few Jews had savings accounts in the bank, most had cabinets full of books, mainly holy books but also secular ones. Many valued books more than savings accounts. The wives of Zborow's Jews did not dress ostentatiously and did not adorn with jewels or diamonds. Who the hell needed that? The extent of coquetry was the houvenatichel–a kind of brow veil with a few pearls preserved in the family by inheritance.

Trade and artisanship, the only occupations allowed for Jews, did not produce a fulsome income. The wholesale and retail trade, once held solely by Jews, was taken away from them in the years following the First World War. However, even during good times, the Jewish economy was unsound. Everybody chased the Gentile customers, and the competition often led to quarrels.

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The truth can be said that the Jew from 40-50 years ago preferred to stand by his stall, containing a few bars of soap, half a dozen matchboxes, half a dozen cheap pocket knives, etc., freeze from the cold weather from morning to evening or wander around in fairs in all sorts weathers than work in another type of occupation. The generational habit of addiction to trade silenced not only the will to cause a change in choosing an occupation but also a lifestyle change. Only a few dared to immigrate to other countries or travel to Eretz Yisrael.

Against that, the few silver coins in the hands of the Jew blindsided the Gentiles, invoking feelings of jealousy and hatred, as they were sure the Jew was getting rich from its occupation.

During my period, it was still possible to escape the economic suffocation that prevailed in the city. The world was still open, and a youth who wanted it, could travel to Lwow or Vienna and find his way to make a living there. The gates of the United States were wide open, and they called: “Come children and have fun!” that situation changed after the First World War. On the one hand, a new generation rose—a generation of resourceful and skilled youths owning idealistic aspirations, a fighting generation with modern views and national pride. On the other hand, the possibilities for that generation were more limited than the ones of the previous generation. All the gates were closed for that generation, and even the United States closed its gates, hermetically. Only a few managed to escape, some to the US and the others to Eretz Yisrael.

The “fair” Jewish population–the merchants and shopkeepers–considered the artisan, who made an honest living from his work, inferior. There were those, during certain times of history, who boasted about their family pedigree despite not having any artisan in their lineage.

Nevertheless, we did have Jewish artisans in our city. I recall one of them. Hersch Zimerman was his name. I used to come to his carpentry workshop in my youth to collect wood chips to feed the heater at home. I saw how hard he worked to make a living for his family.

Some Jews earned their living as porters. These were pauper Jews who did not have even the tiny amount needed to acquire a hand cart and perhaps did not even know that one existed. They carried the heavy flour and wheat sacks and toiled until they exhausted their strengths. The problem was that heavy sacks were not always available, and they did not have enough food at home to avoid hunger.

These Jews, who were among the most loyal visitors to the Beit HaMidrash, did not earn an honorable place in it. They stood in the back corners near the furnace or even behind it; however, they “owned” the Torah portion—“Chastisement Parsha” [Ki Tavo Torah Portion—Deuteronomy 26:1]. That Torah portion that frightened the best of the congregation was given as a gift to a porter. He did not always know what was awarded to him since he did not understand the meaning of the curses and boycotts mentioned in the parshah, and even if the porter knew–what did he have to lose? He did not have any assets, and therefore, the porter did not worry about them. What he did have was poverty, a sickly woman, hungry children, and a rickety hat.

That was the bitter truth, and I cannot ignore it. I cannot be like that photographer who chooses the side immersed in light for his photographs. That is the way of the world, and our town was not outside it. Like everywhere else, we had the two sides, light and shade, wealth and poverty.

“It is difficult to be a Jew–said Shalom Aleichem, but it is seven-fold more difficult to be a Jewish beggar.” However, the poverty in our town was not the kind that degenerates, distorts the soul, and depresses the human to the lowest moral and mental level. The Jewish workers in Zborow lived a life of poverty but also

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a life of honesty and respect. They did not see themselves as outsiders in the community's society and were not indifferent toward its values. The Beit HaMidrash was also theirs, even though they were allocated its back corners. The Torah was also theirs, and they ensured it was not foreign to their children. They made the sacrifice to send the children to the cheders [schools for Hebrew studies], and paid the teacher wages like the rest of the Jews. Shabbats and holidays were also theirs, and they derived pleasure from them like, or perhaps even more than, the most privileged members.

Even though the privileged treated them contemptuously, they received respect from their children, who took it on themselves to help their parents and worked in any job. The children were sincere, diligent, and disciplined. The boys and the girls awarded their parents plenty of satisfaction, and they not only did not fall into bad ways, but they often became a supreme human resource.

Poverty was not only prevalent in Zborow. Although it was difficult to measure its magnitude in Galicia's towns by people of our time, the unique and wonderous thing about it is that from that poverty came people who are healthy in their bodies and souls, something that not every society can boast about.

Like a stream of water, flowing slowly and fed by distant sources, so was the flowing life of our city fed from ancient sources and formed based on rooted customs of many generations. The community council served as the highest institution of the Jewish community. That institution had the highest authority among the Jews. It was also recognized by the authorities and protected by state law.

The community council usually operated appropriately. Many times, I asked myself—how could a small and poor community bear its many roles, raise its budget, and support a rabbi, teachers, two ritual slaughterers, caretakers, and a secretary?

The Jew did not acquire his Jewishness cheaply. In addition to the community tax, he had to pay for the bit of meat or chicken wing he wanted to taste. Nevertheless, the community council balanced its budget and covered all its expenses. One of these expenses was the “trouble” called the mikvah [public ritual bath]. That “trouble” required continuous repairs. When the restoration of one section was completed, the other section required repairs. These repairs cost a fortune, much above the value of the whole mikvah.

As mentioned, the community council was recognized by the regime. It was undoubtedly an essential support for its existence. But that was not the source of its authority. That source came from the dedication and loyalty of those who headed it–the Parnasim [activists]. These community Parnasim were active everywhere there was a Jewish community and over many generations. The heads of the community in Zborow made the council an institution benefiting Jewish life and an address for everybody. With all the respect people had for the Parnasim, they were not above criticism. Like in every human society, there were differences of opinion, and the community council contained within it an opposition. Nevertheless, both sides were public servants who fulfilled their mission loyally.

The lives of the Jews in our towns were entwined years upon years with the golden threads of Jewish tradition, and they progressed peacefully. However, the peaceful life was occasionally disturbed by internal storms that made their mark

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on the community over time. I meant the differences of opinion concerning the election of a rabbi or a ritual slaughterer. These were a common occurrence in Jewish towns, and our city also experienced them.

I remember that such a disagreement darkened the bright sky of our city, caused a tear within the congregation, and resulted in a scandal and blasphemy. The cause for the disagreement was the election of a new slaughterer, when the old slaughterer, R' Mendel Shapira retired because of his fragility. The new slaughterer, from Western Galicia, was also a known singer and was liked by the rabbi, the community Parnasim, and the Jewish public. Nobody found fault with his candidacy, and everybody respected his work. I think [the Chassidic] Rabbi Meir'l approved him, and everything looked kosher.

However, he was not accepted by the Belz Chassidim. The two slaughterers in town, a father and son, also Chassidim, did not agree with the decision. Following them, the Belz Chassidim hurled insolent talk against the new slaughterer that he was not sufficiently G-d fearing and not sufficiently a scholar and demanded to throw him out of the city.

When the community refused, the Chassidim began a slander campaign against their rivals. The disagreement caught fire until one of them, usually a quiet and pleasant man during the entire year, did something that should not be done. He broke all the windows of the town rabbi in a moment of rage because the rabbi supported the new slaughterer. That act shocked the entire town, and even the wild Chassid probably secretly regretted his act. At a later time, when he encountered pain and suffering, the city people considered them as a punishment for his crime.

In that disagreement, the Chassidim lost. Subsequently, they were the only ones in the city to boycott the work of the new slaughterer and considered the meat he produced—treifah, like the meat from a pig. In the eyes of the rest of Zborow's Jews, R' Josef Winter was kosher and honest. They not only considered his work kosher but also liked him for his pleasant singing. He lived the rest of his life in Zborow. If I am not mistaken—he lived there until the entire Jewish community was exterminated.

There were many poor people in Zborow. The poverty of some among them “stung the eyes.” A lot was done to ease their lives, but the town did not have many resources. As mentioned above, there were only a few wealthy people, and the help handed to the poor by the community council was sporadic despite the plenty of goodwill and heart invested in it. It was impossible to establish a constructive process for assisting the needy. The maximum that could be achieved was to prevent them from dying from hunger.

However, the community council was not alone in assisting the city's poor. In parallel to the community assistance activity, various righteous women's organizations were active. Their assistance was essential, and without them, the distress would have become limitless. One of these associations was the Yiddeshe Froyen Untershtitzung-Frein [The Welfare Women Association] headed, at the time, by Mina Katz. The associations monitored all the town's poor and assisted in special cases. When a poor person fell sick, the association paid for a physician and necessary medications. The same is true in other urgent cases.

This is the place to mention that, when the winter began, the town rabbi himself went door to door to collect monies for the community needy.

The welfare activity peaked with the approach of Passover and the opening of the Maos Chitim [Wheat Money] fundraising campaign. The fundraising was based on the principle of taking from those who had for the benefit of those who did not, so everyone would have. Those who had money to buy matzahs had to set aside some for those who did not have the money so that the entire community would have matzahs for Passover, without any exceptions.

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Usually, it can be said that even though the assistance was not plentiful–it was given kindly and generously, without condescension and without the aftertaste of philanthropy. It was provided out of a feeling of pity and understanding befitting the merciful, descendants of the merciful.

Besides the welfare organization, some individual Jews were active and dedicated themselves with all their heart and soul to provide relief and assistance to the needy. We had a Jew called Yona Roth, who considered visiting the sick, the greatest commandment. The poorer or lonelier the sick person was, the more diligent Yona was in fulfilling the commandment. He would not move away from the sick person's bed, days and nights, and served and fed him. Another Jew by the name of Azriel Schwab, who carried on his shoulders many of the community's tasks, and also served as Ba'al Tfilah [prayer leader] and Ba'al Koreh [Torah Reader] was active. He knew about any person in town who was distressed even though the person tried to hide his distress from the public. Azriel provided his assistance under various peculiar pretexts. Schwab was like the information bureau of the community and even the authorities were helped by his information. He knew the details about the origin of every family and about its family tree, several generations in the past.

We had in our town a family named Brust. A branch of that family settled in Vienna and completely assimilated among the residents. One of the descendants, the successful lawyer Josef Brust lived in Meidling near Vienna [today—the 12th district of Vienna], married a Christian woman, and did not have any contact with Jews. This Josef Brust used to send, every year on the anniversary of his father's death, a substantial amount of money for welfare. It was an act of respect for his father's memory, an expression of the connection to the Jews in his native town, an expression of pity he felt toward his poor brothers, or perhaps the combination of all the reasons? Who knows the heart of a Jew?

Finally, we should mention the Jewish estate lessees in the city's surroundings such as Chaim Linder, Schutzman, and Schechter. These people used to send carts with potatoes, cabbages, and beets for the city's poor.

Despite its poverty, the city acquired a name among the wandering beggars as a place that excelled in its charity. Many of them were frequent guests. Besides the few coins they collected, they were also given a warm dish or a piece of bread and a cup of broth. These beggars made their poverty the source of their livelihood and put their poverty on display. They were fortunate to eat their fill, more than the local poor who hid their poverty and felt shame in being poor.

Like in every other place, people in our town were usually judged by their economic status. The richer the person was, the more honorable he was considered. Nevertheless, the scholar student stood at the top. The Torah was, after all, the best asset, and even though a learner was poor, he was considered among the best in the community.

The social instinct was very advanced among our townspeople. Most were not of the type described in the phrase “Each man, to his homes, O Israel!” [Chronicles II 10:16]. They were visiting each other. Every family festive occasion became a public social event and an opportunity to meet friends. The same was true with a family's grieving event, which became a public event. Walking a young couple on the first Shabbat after their marriage to the morning prayers was like a collective parade with a unique Jewish character. Every such event brought aesthetic pleasure and joy to the entire Jewish population in the city.

If a tourist would have visited our town trying to judge according to what his eyes saw, he would doubtfully have seen the inner sweetness under the outer covers. Poverty has an ugly face and the hard life in our city was not always a nice sight. But our sages have already said: “Don't look at the jar but at what's in it.” Under the gray surface throbbed a rich life. The Jews, with their

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kapotehs and sidelocks may have looked to a man of the big world as trailing behind the civilization and culture R”L [Rachmana Litzlan–which means in Aramaic–may G-d protect us from that]. But they followed a rich spiritual world. The longing for the Torah and the values of morality and humanity pulsated in their hearts.

There were no movie theaters, fancy cafes, or other entertainment venues in town. Wandering theater troupes visited the city from time to time, and their shows were played in the Polish sports hall. Jewish theaters stopped by sometimes, and the Jewish youth were among the principal audience; however, as a whole, the Jewish congregation did not show interest in them. Their entertainment was on a completely different plain. Jewish wisdom and Jewish treasures were at the center of their world.

Our town's Jews were busy handling the worries of livelihood and thus were far from the insanities of this world. Nevertheless, they were joyful and seized any opportunity to celebrate together. One of the expressions of that joy was the commandment meals that the charity associations organized annually based on an ancient custom. These meals were well attended by the public and were social events of the highest level.

I recall such a feast that took place at the apartment of Rabbi David Kleinhandler. It was the annual graduation celebration of the study of the Six Seders [Sections] of the Mishnah. The participants were among the best learners in the town. Only people who were close to the Torah and the Torah was close to them were allowed to participate. No guards were placed at the entrance, but no unqualified dared to come. It goes without saying that the participants prepared for that feast like welcoming a king. They washed and purified themselves, combed their side locks and beards, and wore Shabbat clothing.

It was indeed a festive occasion. The participants were far from gluttony and drunkenness. Not the fish and meat prepared by the Rabbi's wife attracted them so; it was the spiritual foods that charmed them and brought them immeasurable pleasure: The Torah and knowledge sayings, sharpness teasers of the brain and tongue, competition of the minds, and the Shakla and Tariya [in Aramaic–long negotiations with complex deliberations] about world affairs.

When we lived on our land, like all other nations, we also had nature holidays, such as the Harvest Holiday (Sukkot), Tu Bishvat [The New Year's for the trees], and the like. However, when we were exiled from our country, those holidays became only memories. A Jewish rabbi, a Torah scholar, created his own harvest holiday. He collected his spiritual crops–the Talmud tractates he studied during the year, and arranged for a spiritual holiday. In the feast for that holiday, he presented the spiritual flowers of our nation. I was not fortunate to participate in such a feast, but I was told it was the perfect spiritual feast. The people of the scattered and oppressed nation forgot for an hour the plight of exile and the worries of livelihood. Sitting at the table with the Shechinah^[6] dwelling among them, indulged in their exalted pleasures and consumed them to their fullest.

The charity meals organized by the charity associations and Chevra Kadisha [burial society] also constituted important events. The food in these feasts was plenty, and the participants took advantage of it; however, they did not, G-d forbid, make the meals into gluttony and drunkenness feasts. A Jew always knew to preserve his image, created in the image [of G-d].

The spiritual experience of our people took a shape and shed a shape. The young generation began walking in its own ways. The national ideas penetrated the Jewish street and captivated the hearts of our youths. At my time, they concentrated within the Zionist association Achva [Brotherhood]. At the organization's center, they gathered to read a newspaper and book, listen to a lecture, or simply for a discussion. The association was skillfully and dedicatedly managed by a group of activists headed by Mendel Sigal, Herman Fauker, Herman Fuchs, and others. A youth called Avraham, the son of Leib Katz, was a member of that association. He had a sharp mind and a phenomenal memory. He could lecture

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about a book with the most weighty content only after reading it a single time. In his lecture, he could quote whole pages from the book.

The social ideologies also found followers in our town. They considered themselves as the branch of the Social Democrats of our city and would gather every Shabbat in a small room. They did not have books or newspapers and made do with speeches in their meetings. They lacked leadership worthy of its name, like the leadership team of the national youth, and that deficiency made its mark.

I recall how the young women's tailor, Moshe Rotlieb, tried to establish a craftsmen's association. He approached that project enthusiastically and managed to crystalize the format of the association. His former teacher in the school named after Baron Hirsch answered his request and agreed to lecture on the week's current affairs to the association members. The lectures continued regularly for a week, and Moshe Rotlieb was happy but his friends were fed up; they stopped coming for the lectures and Moshe Rotlieb remained with an empty association and a broken heart. Years later, he found his place in the Zionist association as an enthusiastic member and regular guest in the lectures and discussions.

The canvas depicting our city's social and cultural activities is long but incomplete. Those activities had deepened and widened over the years. I raised a part of it on these pages with the hope that others would complete it as best they could so that it could serve as a memorial.

The Zborow Chassidim were not many, but we cannot ignore their story. Besides Rabbi Meir'l Moskowitz, a descendant of Gaon R' Meiril Premishlner, who served as the Admor for Zborow Chassidim, the courts of the Admorim from Stratyn and Belz exerted substantial influence among them.

In addition to the Kloiz Rabbi Meir'l, the Kloiz of Stratyn Chassidim and the influential Kloiz of Belz Hassidim existed in the city. The Belz Chassidim were a minority, but their influence on the lives of the Jews was substantial. They excelled in their strict unity, following the saying: “One for all and all for one.” If anybody was involved in a quarrel with one of them, the entire congregation became his rivals.

Many among the Belz Chassidim were good Jews and Torah scholars like R' Mendel'eh Kaufman, the father of Rabbi Uri Kaufman in New York, who was also the grandson of Rabbi Yehoshua Heschel BABAD from Tarnopol. That R' Mendel'eh was a great scholar and could have become the rabbi. Zborow's Jews treated him like a rabbi, but he preferred to be a flour merchant. Other Torah scholars were R' Nathan Lichter, knowledgeable in the visible and the occult, schochet R' Tzvi Shapira, and others less known. Many among the Belz Chassidim's sons had sharp minds and excelled. Rabbi Uri Kaufman was the apprentice of the Belz Kloiz in Zborow. R' Mendel Shapira also excelled in his sharpness and would have become prominent if not for his illness.

The Belz Kloiz was an expression of the spiritual revelations of traditional Judaism in our city. While a dry Mitnagdim's spirit blew in the Beit HaMidrash HaGadol, mixed with

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the Enlightenment currents originated by Moshe Mendelssohn and the philosophy chapters of the RAMBAM, Spinoza, and RN”K [Rabbi Nachman Kromchel]. The Belz Kloiz was engulfed in Hassidic enthusiasm and the innocent faith of the G-d-fearing congregation. The passion of “Kuliver Melamed” alone was enough to ignite whole congregations of Jews.

Even though the Belz Chassidim were zealots and upheld all rules punctiliously, they sent their daughters to state schools, where the Christian faith prevailed, and the girls were exposed to Christian prayers and faith-based songs. They were only careful with their sons and did not send them to any schools, not even to the Jewish school. Even though the Baron Hirsch School was imbued with a Jewish atmosphere, it was not “kosher” in their eyes for the fear that the enlightened Hebrew teachers would negatively affect their sons.

Even though those sons did not attend secular schools, they knew how to read and write. Ignorance was not a charm for Belz Chassidim, and they found ways to teach their sons to read and write and other general subjects. Not only the Chassidic children did not fall behind others in their knowledge, they even surpassed them. Over time and gradually, some Chassidim relented and sent their sons to the Jewish Baron Hirsch School—among the latter was the grandson of the ritual slaughterer, Shapira.

There was one thing we did not forgive Belz Chassidim–the blind obedience to their leader, the Rabbi from Belz. It was evident during the election. Zborow's Jews usually voted for candidates who supported the Jewish national views–decent Poles who excelled in their general liberal approach and sympathetic attitude. In that view, there was no difference between the [other] Chassidim and non-Chassidim. All were loyal to the national interest. This was not how Belz Chassidim behaved. They ignored the Jewish interests and voted for candidates selected by their rabbi, even though they were from the worst possible kind–reactionaries with anti-Semitic attitudes. In doing so, they followed the deal their rabbi made with the district governor and did that without any complaints.

The Belz Chassidim could not stand the Zionist election activists. They hated the guts of Zionist and secular Herman Fauker. As far as they were concerned, Jews should not have disobeyed the authorities. In their eyes, an anti-Semite Gentile was preferred over a secular Jew.

Over time, a change occurred in that area among the Belz Chassidim. I recall some of them managing the propaganda for our national candidates. In that period, the Zborow district Jews had their own representative, the good and loyal Jew—Henrich Reitzes.

The Belz Chassidim may have changed their views during the Polish regime. A friend who visited Galicia in the 1920s told me that while he was at Lvov's train station, he saw a fancy reception organized by the Polish army for the Rabbi from Belz when he passed through the station. He saw Polish officers standing to attention in his honor. It is inconceivable that the Poles would stand to attention in honor of an old Jew without getting anything in return. He probably earned that honor…

It must be said about the Belz Chassidim, despite their behavior during the election, they were not fools. With their keen sense, they felt the coming of a new reality. It was not pleasant for them, but being wise, they knew that the progress of time cannot be stopped. Therefore, they avoided stretching out the differences of opinion between us.

Not all the people who prayed at the Belz Kloiz were the followers of the Belz Rabbi, and not everyone went to see him, but all were affected by him. He remained in my memory as one of the links of the golden chain of the Jewish community in Zborow.

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The School Named After Baron Hirsch

The Jewish school in Zborow–gifted by the Jewish philanthropist Baron Moshe Hirsch, constituted a forward step in the cultural progress of our town. It helped many children from poor homes, particularly in education and cultural development. I do not remember the opening of that school, perhaps because I was still not a citizen of this world. However, I have heard about the strong impression made by the school in its beginning. Some people objected to the school, fearing it would lead to agnosticism. The Hassidim were obviously among the main opponents. But Jewish Zborow did not want to stay in the dark. The enlightened rays of the new age penetrated it, like other Galician cities, and the school was established.

The school has gone through many incarnations. It took a long time until it settled into its own spacious and beautiful building and until it acquired a name for itself in the field of education.

Baron Hirsch did not suffer from a lack of money, and he donated it generously. By building and maintaining a series of schools, he made an important contribution to Jewish Galicia. We can say about him, in terms of his contribution to the education of the children of Israel, what was famously said: “From Moshe [Rabeinu] until Moshe [RAMBAM], there was no one like Moshe” [Baron Hirsch's first name].

With his enormous fortune, much of which he donated to his people, he could have acquired a higher honor with other nations. But he was a loyal son of his people and felt their distress. He especially felt the danger of neglecting to provide modern education for Jewish children.

The activity of the Baron and his wife Klara was not limited to education. Their contributions spanned many areas, including settlement. Not everybody knows that in Zborow and other Galician cities, a fund named after Baroness Klara Hirsch secured free sewing machines for Jewish girls so that they could earn their own livelihood.

The Galician Jews were thankful to the Baron and appreciated his activity. When the child returned from school with a suit, coat, or winter boots, his father would offer many blessings to the Baron and his wife. The philanthropic activity constituted a loyal partner of the school. They both operated in complete harmony.

Perhaps this is the place to linger and protest the insult to that dear human and Jew. Baron Hirsch deserves to be included among our Nation's greatest. But he does not receive the appropriate respect. People do not mention his name on the anniversary of his death, as if he never existed. Many do not forgive him for the failure of the Argentine settlement enterprise. His critics forget that he, as a proud Jew, could not have tolerated the suffering of his brothers and sisters in Russia and established the settlements in Argentina for them. He should be the last person to blame for the failure of that project. Many were angry at him for his disagreement with Dr. Herzl, as if everything he has done, including his enormous effort benefiting his people, is summed up in this disagreement.

In Zborow, the Baron Hirsch School fulfilled a revolutionary role in educating generations of Jews to knowledge and work. It was a Jewish school in its name and spirit. With that, strict care was given to general studies and modern educational teaching methods. From that point of view, the school stood on a much higher level than the state schools and some Christians knew that and preferred to send their children there. The school was under the framework of the state schools, and as such, its doors were open to any citizen, Jew and non-Jew. Some non-Jews took advantage of that, and they cherished the school.

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The influence of the school played a considerable role in shaping the new generation in our town. Its share in fostering the national sentiment was undoubtedly also considerable. The school's board of trustees was located in Vienna, headed by the banker Baron Gutman, who was also the custodian of the school fund. However, the school was far from the spirit of assimilation. Besides religious studies, Jewish history, bible, and Hebrew were taught in the school. Hebrew songs such as “Sham BeMakom Arazim” [by Dr. Yitzchak Peled], and “El HaTzipor” [by Ch. N. Bialik], and more could be heard during the singing class.

The days before the Jewish holidays were dedicated to learning about their origin and customs. At one time, the school was closed for half days on Rosh Chodesh [the first day of the month], so the students could visit the houses of prayer. Later, that custom was annulled, and instead, the students were allowed to come an hour late.

Before I end this chapter, I must devote part of my memories to the Galician Hebrew teachers at the Baron Hirsch School. Every school had a Hebrew teacher with unique virtues, contributing his energy and knowledge to the school. The youths congregated around that teacher and became the base for and carrier of our national and human revival.

I need to tell you about one of those teachers even though it is hard for me to write about him, as the man was close to me, and I am involved in this story.

Yehuda Labiner

The Hebrew teacher was a friend of the working person and was following the world's social struggles through the newspapers. That was reflected not only in their views but also in his approach and attitude toward human beings, by his simple and cordial attitude toward relatives on my mother's side of the family—

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simple and decent people. He brought them close to him and wasn't condescending, neither because of his knowledge nor of his improved economic situation. He considered them his relatives and friends, humans like himself.

I still recall that there wasn't a day when other Jews came to him and asked him to write inquiries or letters for them including groom-bride letters. He fulfilled these requests naturally and willingly, could he not? Everyone came to him as “one of them” and not as a “paritz” [wealthy person] where one turns to him with fear. They came to him as one of their supporters, a man they loved.

Our city native, the famous author R' Binyamin (Yehoshua Redler), was the Hebrew teacher's favorite, and the latter mentioned him in his book with an abundance of warmth. I still remember him coming to our house frequently, and he used to “swallow” the Hebrew newspapers arriving at our home. The teacher recognized the virtues in his students and prophesied greatness for him. The friendship continued even after R' Binyamin had left our town, wandered around the world, and found his destiny in Eretz Yisrael.

Yehuda Labiner was not corpulent, nor was he tall or strong, but he was blessed with a high and courageous spirit. Besides being a teacher, he wrote for several newspapers. As a person close in his spirit to the youth, he participated in the German journal Young Judea and the HaOlam HaKitan [The Small World] in Hebrew.

My father, may he rest in peace, R' Yehuda Labiner, dreamt of marrying his children, retiring, and living the rest of his life in Eretz Yisrael. He did not live to see any of that. He passed away in 1917 after suffering from a severe typhus disease. Nothing was left of his dream, like many other nice dreams.

Translator's Footnotes:

1. Based on Wikipedia: “ Ten Tannaim”–ten prominent rabbis living during the era of the Mishnah who were martyred by the Roman Empire in the period after the destruction of the Second Temple. Return
2. Mincha and Maariv–the afternoon and evening Jewish prayers respectively. Return
3. Observant Jews eat three meals on Shabbat. The first meal is held on Friday night, the second, during Saturday day, and the third, late on Saturday afternoon. Return
4. The literal translation of the Yiddish expression “Luft Geshften”–means “the wheeling and dealing that is associated with making a quick buck out of nothing” (based on www.luftgesheft.com). Return
5. Based on Berdichev.org: Gutt fun Avraham is a prayer recited Saturday night before Havdalah. It is customary to recite it three times consecutively. Return
6. Based on Merriam-Webster Dictionary—The presence of G-d in the world as conceived by the Jewish theology. Return

1. To the writer of the article–well done! If everyone from among Zborow's natives in Israel and other countries were to write from their memories, we would be able to preserve the memory of our native city.
2. I do not know the writer, but I knew his father, Yehuda Leib, well. As a matter of fact, I owe him many thanks. Reaching at a known level in our literature, I must note that he also gave me spiritual assistance. From him I received, for years, the journals HaMelitz (Peterburg), and HaTzfira (Warsaw). I was a frequent guest at his home. His wife was from the Fuchs family in Zborow. In my time, he had several little children.
3. The picture he drew of the Beit HaMidrash HaGadol is truthful and beautiful. I mentioned it in my articles and will continue to do so.
4. It is not true that my brother, Dr. Simcha Bunim, was once the president of the Galicia Zionists.
5. Rabbi Josef Schwab, z”l, was the son R' Azriel, the son of R' David Wolf's son, both of whom were caretakers at the Beit HaMidrash HaGadol.
6. Yitzchak Auerbach is not mentioned in textbooks about the Jewish theater. However, during his time, he was considered to have great skills. Gimpel showed his plays in Lvov. The melodies were composed by Wolfstahl in Tarnopol. I know him from Zborow

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where he was a best friend of Yehoshua Shapira. The latter, a Zborow's native, a charming man, among the first teachers who taught Hebrew in Hebrew at the Hebrew school of Avigdor HaLevi Murmelstein in Przemysl. (At that time, the author-poet Tzvi Eliezer Tahler, the brother of the teacher Israel HaLevi Thaler, z”l, in Rehovot, Israel, wished to take him as a groom for his daughter and wrote to him: “I prayed for a son like you.”) I met Yitzchak Auerbach in Berlin at the beginning of this century [20th]. He married and moved to Argentina. I heard that he became wealthy there from trade. I once read his Yiddish song published in an Argentinian newspaper. Since then, I have not received news about his life and death. All my inquiries were in vain.
7. R' Zeinvel Roth was a noble figure. He published several books of poems in an amiable publication. Two are located in the National Library in Jerusalem, and the third in the state libraries in Washington and New York. He was also a learner. He studied at the Beit HaMidrash HaGadol in his youth.
8. From my time, we need to mention R' Tzi Tzverdling (In Zborow, they called him Hersch Mechil Berishes). He published a pamphlet by the name of “Avnei Zikaron” [“Memorial Stones”], which is in Washington.
9. Among the enlightened of my time, we should mention R' Eliezer Pollak, R' Avraham Schwebel, and R' Leib Feuerring (The father of Yitzchak Feuerring whose money financed the establishment of Moshav “Beit Yitzchak” near Netanya, Israel). His son is a physician in America. At the top of the group, was R' Aron Czapnik, the philosopher, researcher, poet, and learner.
10. Among Zborow's greats, we need to mention the great Gaon R' Avraham Teomim, the author of the responsa “Chesed to Avraham.” He was the grandson of the Gaon from Lissa [Leszno?]. The father of R' Teomim was a rabbi in Zborow. He authored an important book. He died in Zborow. People think that his son R' Yakov was born in Zborow.

Simchat Torah (October 20, 1970). The Meeting of Zborowers in Haifa As They Decided To Begin Work on a Memorial Book for Zborow

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