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There were no pioneering Zionist movements in Zborow until 1924. Some groups supported the Zionist idea, such as Achva, which was affiliated with the General Zionist party, and the [religiously oriented] HaMizrachi movement. These groups engaged in intense debates in the Beit HaMidrash about finding a solution to the “Jewish Problem.” Regardless of their differences, they held a unified belief among them that a Jewish State would ultimately be established in Eretz Yisrael. They all contributed to the Keren Kayemet LeIsrael (KKL-JNF), Keren HaYesod, and other funds. However, none of these early movements actively pursued Zionism's ultimate goal of settling in Eretz Yisrael, and none of their members made Aliyah.

In 1923/4, a Zionist Socialist movement called Hit'achdut was established in Zborow, with its center located in Lvov. The members of that movement were predominantly young, and they adopted a more positive and realistic approach toward Aliyah. They organized cultural gatherings and frequently invited speakers from the central organization, who highlighted the importance of fundraising to acquire land from Arab landowners and emphasized the duty of making Aliyah. However, despite these efforts, no one in town dared to make Aliyah at that time. That situation persisted until 1924.

There were also anti-Zionist parties in Zborow, such as the Bund, which sought to address the issue of Jewish existence in the diaspora. They held high hopes for resolving that issue through the realization of international Socialism. Another anti-Zionist movement was the religiously oriented Agudat Israel, led by rabbis and admors. This group harbored deep animosity toward the Zionist Movement. They submitted to the authorities and cooperated with them whenever possible, particularly during the election to the Polish Sejm. Supporters of Agudat Israel believed that the salvation of the Jewish nation in its homeland would only come with the arrival of the Messiah. They viewed the Zionist pioneering efforts as a desecration of God.

There were also people in Zborow, who did not belong to any movements. Some were deeply troubled by the issue of Jewish existence, while others, known as assimilators, believed that integration into Polish society would resolve all their problems.

During that period, the economic and political situation of the Polish Jews began to worsen. The Polish government's goal was to eliminate Jewish participation in trade and industry, undermining their economic foundation. They imposed heavy taxes on the Jewish population. Meanwhile, Ukrainians and Poles established their own cooperatives and encouraged non-Jewish communities to buy only from them. As a result, a sense of depression and helplessness enveloped the Jewish community.

I had been considering the idea of making Aliyah to Eretz Yisrael since as early as 1920, but due to the lack of political support and financial means, I was unable to fulfill my dream at that time. In the early 1920s, branches of HeChalutz [The Pioneer] and HaShomer HaTzair [The Young Guard were established throughout Poland and Galicia. However, for some reason, the Zionist movements were slow to arrive in Zborow. In 1924, Yosef Auerbach, who had been studying at a Polish high school in Lvov, returned to Zborow. He was a good-looking young man with a strong sense of Jewish identity. He quarreled with his teachers due to the anti-Semitic atmosphere prevalent in the Polish schools at that time, which led to him leaving the high school a year before he was scheduled to take his matriculation exams.

Since his return, he wandered around town aimlessly, lacking any apparent purpose. Despite being active in sports and even establishing and coaching a soccer team composed of the town's youths, this did not provide him with enough mental satisfaction. During this time, we became friends at that time, and when I suggested starting

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a branch of the HeChalutz in Zborow, he eagerly accepted my proposal.

We reached out to the HeChalutz in Lvov, led then by Dov Shtok (now Professor Dov Sadan Atb Jerusalem University). He guided us, and we began organizing a group for agricultural training. We called for a gathering, and due to the lack of a suitable venue, we gathered in the small synagogue known as Das Shneiderish Shulchel [The small tailors' synagogue].

A few young people expressed interest in participating in agricultural training at that gathering. We compiled a list of these participants and approached Mr. Chaim Linder, z”l, who was the lessee of two large estates near Zborow (we will expand on the Linder family later), and asked him to consider us for agricultural work on his estates, offering to work for food only as compensation. He was initially astonished and responded: “You really do not intend to work here. This is just a temporary craze of yours. What kind of Jews is this who can work hard physical labor?” (This was the prevailing opinion among the Gentiles and Jews alike). After some negotiations and with the help of his two sons, who supported the pioneering Zionism project, he agreed to let us work for him.

I immediately informed the young men that they needed to meet the following day at a location called “Tragovitza” near the estate. To our disappointment, only nine people appeared at the scheduled time–Yosef Auerbach, the two Heiman brothers, Leibish and Nathan (they both made Aliyah over time), Shapira, Diamand, myself, and two more whose names I cannot remember. It was disheartening to arrive at the estate with such a small group, but that was the situation we faced, and we could not change it.

It was toward the end of the summer, the seasonal harvest 1924. We approached the work dedicatedly and thoughtfully to avoid falling behind the non-Jewish workers. It was an uncommon phenomenon in our area, and the Gentiles regarded us as lunatics. The Jews, too, joked about us as if we were crazy. It goes without saying that our parents objected to the entire endeavor, as they did not see any purpose in our work. We worked hard, putting in 12-14 hours daily, from dawn to dusk. We had good relationships with the Linder family, who showed interest in us and often visited us in the evenings. Gradually, people got used to our presence at the estate. I recall a particular incident when a fire broke out at one of the few Jewish homes in the village. The whole group mobilized to put out the fire. We heard people calling out in Yiddish: “Men darf rufen di yideshe chalutzim” [”We need to call the Jewish pioneers”].

We returned home toward the winter feeling confident in our skills and abilities to make Aliyah. However, the HeChalutz center disagreed. They believed we needed more training and should also focus on organizing the next generation. As a result, we began to establish a branch of the HeChalutz HaTzair [The Young Pioneer] in our town. We rented a room and assembled groups of boys and girls above the age of 12.

During the winter months, we held discussions on various issues associated with Eretz Yisrael. The children's parents vehemently opposed to the idea of making Aliyah to Eretz Yisrael. They also disapproved of boys and girls spending time together, viewing it as the culmination of the destruction of moral virtues. This perspective seemed absurd to us, especially considering that there were many instances when daughters from Orthodox homes, where such interactions are restricted, did not follow their parents' constraints. I also recall a typical case when one of the boys (who now resides in Israel) forgot to attend the Mincha [afternoon] and Ma'ariv [evening] services at the synagogue. When his father learned that his son was at the HeChalutz HaTzair, he came rushing, shouting at me the harsh insults and blaming me for his son's absence from prayers.

In the spring of 1925, Yosef Auerbach left Poland as his compulsory service to the Polish army was approaching. He smuggled himself across the Austrian border. He made Aliyah to Eretz Yisrael from Vienna with the approval of the HeChalutz center.

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In the summer of 1925, our group went to Hachshra [agricultural training for pioneers] for the second time. This time, we chose to be far from home and the city. We turned to Herman Linder, the son of Chaim, and asked him if we could work in his estate near Stanislawów (now Ivano-Frankivsk). He gladly accepted us, knowing that we had already some experience. He treated us well. We had people from another town join our group. While working, we connected with the HeChalutz branch in Stanislawów, which was just in its early stages at that time.

The first Zborow HeChalutz members in the Hachshara camp near Stanislawów In the middle of the standing row: Nachum Linder and Hirsch Diemand Sitting from right, N. Heiman And from the left, Y. Stoltzberg-Shapira Laying down from right: Dov Mehlzak

I met Yosef Auerbach in Petach Tikva after I had made Aliyah. He was working in a citrus orchard and lived with one of the groups. It was difficult to recognize him, as his appearance changed due to the hardships of unemployment and inadequate nutrition. The orchard owners preferred to hire Arabs for the work, which led Yosef to leave Petach Tikva and move to Jerusalem to pursue his advanced studies in fine art at the Betzalel academy. When he was still in Zborow, he connected with Lanka Linder, and they were reunited after she made Aliyah in 1928. They married and established a home in Jerusalem. They lived there until after the War of Independence. In 1948, they moved to Netanya, where he secured a job as an official with the Jewish Agency. Unfortunately, he suffered a heart attack three years later and passed away in 1951. May his memory be blessed!

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At the end of my article, I would like to acknowledge Nachum Linder, who could not join us at the Hachshara due to family and health reasons. Despite his absence, he was an active member of our group and played a significant role in establishing the HeChalutz HaTzair. He also contributed to forming of a fund designed to provide financial assistance to the pioneers making Aliyah. To support this cause, it was necessary to impose a small tax on any Jew in town who belonged to one of the Zionist movements or was a supporter of Zionism. Although the tax was just a few pennies, it did help several individuals make Aliyah to Eretz Yisrael. Nachum dedicated a great deal of energy and effort to encourage taxpayers to continue paying and assisted anyone who needed help.

Nachum made Aliyah in 1933 with his wife, Sara, and settled in Jerusalem. They created a warm and welcoming home, where anyone who visited was received with kindness. Nachum trained as a carpenter and worked in that profession for several years until he fell ill with heart disease, which prevented him from continuing. After some uncertainty, the employment bureau arranged a job for him to work at the Histadrut library [Israel's largest labor union], where he worked until his death in 1965. Sara passed away shortly after him in 1966. May their memory be blessed.

Dov Mehlzak (second row, second from the left) with his friends from HeChalutz before his Aliyah to Eretz Yisrael

Our town deserves recognition for the love of Israel that pulsed in the hearts of its Jewish community. Mutual aid and charity were deeply ingrained in our values. The people of the community council were caring individuals. Both the hardworking members of the community and the wealthy shared a common bond–the love of the nation of Israel and the longing for Zion.

When emissaries arrive from Eretz Yisrael, a deep sense of pride in your Jewish identity emerges within you. The phrase “Ata Bechartanu” [“You chose us”] resonates throughout your entire being and fills your heart. We eagerly embrace anything that comes from there, despite knowing that living in the Promised Land is not easy and requires significant sacrifices. The youth organize themselves into groups and participate in Hachshara camps [agricultural training for pioneers]. Various youth movements compete to attract the youth.

I, along with six other young women–Rivka'le Yavetz, Peptzia Baukhaut, Shelka Roth, Ishka Rapp, Klara Haber (now Schneider), and Chana Silber, joined Gordonia. Our group was named Chen [Grace] in honor of Ch. N. Bialik. The name was coined by Zeinvel Liebling, z”l, and Gershon Schneider, may they live long (both of whom excellent counselors). Over time, two members of our group moved to the Achva group, and additional young women joined us.

The remarkable Hebrew teacher, Yakov Yavetz, lived in Zborow. His home was a typical Zionist household with a large family of nine children. The youngest was named Binyamin Zev [after Dr. Herzl. I spent a significant amount of time there, as Rivka'le was my friend. I absorbed my Jewish identity and developed a love of Zion there. It was in this environment that I first spoke Hebrew. I learned there that Eretz Yisrael was the only path ahead for the youth.

A group from the Gordonia movement in a course with the emissary from Eretz Yisrael, Dov Menchemi

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The sweet corner that served as the meeting spot for the youth was the kiosk of Chola Tzipora (now known as Brode). We met there to debate the issues and make plans–when and where [and how to make Aliyah], as well as talk about what was happening in Eretz Yisrael.

In 1935, when a rumor spread that a group was being formed to study in Ben Shemen School [an agricultural school near Jerusalem], we decided to create our own club of candidates. The members of that club included Munio Segal, Dolek Raubfogel, Peptzia Baukhaut, Rivka'le Yavetz, Yehuda Shapira, Clara Haber, Chanuska Silber, and more. Unfortunately, only four of us from that group ended up making Aliyah.

I fondly remember the restful hours of Shabbat. I can still hear the pleasant voice of Levi Remer reading to us from a book. He was a handsome, talented young man who was an artist… When I think of him, my heart aches. I am confident that his heroism and the bravery of many during the Holocaust will be told, remembered, and honored.

I also recall the farewell party that the Community Council organized in 1935 for Yehuda Shapira and me. My happiness about making Aliyah was mixed with deep sorrow for leaving my family and friends and hope that people who were left behind would come after us.

When I was already in Israel, Munio Segal wrote to me: “Your letters are filled with optimism. You were not an optimist here. Indeed, our life is gray in the diaspora.” As I browse over the pictures–I see the Zlota Gora youth meetings, and dances–it seemed sometimes as though the town was entirely populated by Jews. Here is our street named after Mitzkevitz, first there is the house is the house of the Silberman family, followed by the printing house, a writing supply store, an apartment building, and near it, the home of Moshe Linder, next is a restaurant. House after house–we find the home of Dr. Brumer, with its well-kept garden, directly across from the house of Yitzchak Linder. In the backyard, is the home of Mirel Linder who lives there with her sons and daughter, Dora. After that, there is Shapira's restaurant…

The economic situation in most Jewish homes was not bright, but when we came to the movement's branch, we felt lighter, better, and free from all the problems that bothered us at home.

When I think back to those days, I must mention my aunt Basia Lacher. She was a simple yet good-hearted woman, always a source of comfort for any depressed and bitter person. Though always busy, she found both time and resources to support those in need. Every Friday, she hosted lunch at her home for the less fortunate.

Aunt Basia was also incredibly courageous. People shared stories about how she stood up to Russian soldiers during the First World War, whom she referred to as Muskals. She barricaded herself and several others in her cellar room of the Linder house. Armed with anything she could find, she threw objects out the window at the Russian soldiers, trying to invade her home, successfully driving them away.

I would also like to mention Yokim Linder, a scholar, and a wise man. He consulted many people, and many benefitted from his advice.

Finally, I want to mention the village of Bereszowitse, which I left at the age of nine before my family moved to Zborow. I feel that on one else will memorialize it except for me. Bereszowitze was a large village home to about 20 Jewish families, all of whom were good Jews, loyal Zionists. The youth would gather at a nearby forest, dreaming about Eretz Yisrael. Unfortunately, my parents, brothers, and sisters who grew up in that village did not survive the Holocaust.

I am grateful to whoever is helping to memorialize them.

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I want to describe a few memories of my small town, Zborow, where I was born and lived for a third of my life.

Zborow was small and most of her inhabitants were Jews who lived in the center of town. Others, Ukrainians and Poles, resided in the surrounding suburbs.

Historical records indicate that the town was about 1,000 years old and was founded by Jews.

Orthodox Jews have lived there for many generations. An intelligentsia class and dedicated public servants also resided there. Most residents were merchants and laborers. The difference in economic status notwithstanding, a common bond united this community bustling with Jewish life.        

Part of the Rynek, the Commercial Center of Zborow

Our home was traditional and welcomed guests. I remember well our warm and loving family spirit on Shabbat and holidays. My father, Chaim Mordechai, z”l, was devoted to prayer and the congregation loved his warm voice. For many years, he served as the gabbai without expecting any reward. On secular days, he would get up at three

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in the morning and go to the Beth Midrash to study Torah. On Shabbat eve, father would always bring home a guest for the Shabbat meal. Once father invited a guest but had to leave with my mother, Mattel, z”l, before the meal to visit our sick aunt and bless her on Shabbat. Upon their return, the guest was gone. Mother felt sad and ashamed and burst in tears and refused to serve the meal until the guest had been found. I was told to go and find him in the cold winter night. I put on warm cloth and went from one Beit Midrash to the other until I found him. When I brought him home, there was great rejoicing, especially in my mother's face. Unless you saw her expression at that time, you have never seen such an expression of happiness. This was my mother, of blessed memory.

Shabbat songs accompanied the meal and of course father's voice stood out and attracted neighbors to listen to him.

Most of my childhood years passed during the First World War. The Russian army invaded Galicia in 1914. Father was drafted and mother who was raising six children was left alone to support the household. The Russians stole our property and we had to flee from Zborow to Vienna, where we remained until the end of the war in 1918. I went to school in Vienna, but I had to contribute to the family income. We did receive support from the government, but it was hard to find needed supplies during the war. We had to stand in line before dawn to get a loaf of bread or a kilo of cattle-beets and, by 8 a.m., I had to be in school.

Father was wounded while fighting in Italy [he was over 40 years old by this time]. After much effort, mother got him transferred to a hospital in Vienna where he was well taken care of. I would bring his daily meals prepared by mother.

After the war, we returned to Zborow. As mentioned all our property had been stolen but, fortunately, our house was left in good shape. Eventually, our financial situation improved.

In my youth, I belonged to Gordonia [a Zionist youth movement] and for several years I was a counselor until I was drafted. After my discharge from the Polish army in 1934, I immigrated to Eretz (Palestine).

There I belonged to a group that joined [Kibbutz] Chulda, where I live to this day. The conditions at that time were very hard. I was a driver for the farm and more than once found myself in most difficult situations. More than once, I was caught in a fight with Arabs or my vehicle was shot at. During the Independence War, I faced the same dangers that all Jewish drivers faced on the roads.

In 1966, I lost my only brother, Arye, z”l, who lived in Jerusalem. During the Six-Day War, I suffered a very heavy loss. My oldest son, Michah, z”l, was killed on June 6th 1967, in the fight on Ha-Tachmoshet Hill [Ammunition Hill] for the liberation of Jerusalem. May they be of blessed memory and may their souls be bound up in the bonds of eternal life.

Leaving my family, I could not imagine that I would never see them again. They were all exterminated by the Nazi beast with the active help of our Polish and Ukrainian neighbors. Aside from me, there is no one remaining from our large family. Their deaths left me with an unending sorrow.

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After World War I, there was a period of intense conflict and doubt between fathers and sons due to their differing views. This tension persisted until around 1930, when the Zionist movement, in all its streams, consolidated in Zborow. As a result, the divide between fathers and sons began to ease, and the stormy differences of opinion, along with the parents' negative attitudes toward the Enlightenment and revolutionary movements, diminished.

In those days, the town was filled with dreams and a desire for a life of creativity and longings for the land of our ancestors. In the evenings, as we walked, we heard songs echoing from the various youth halls. They sang about the hope for the revival of our people in our homeland. Thanks to our dedicated teacher, Zev Yavetz, z”l, who tirelessly taught the language to the youth with love and commitment, Hebrew became our spoken language.

The evenings spent studying and nights filled with discussions in the youth groups were truly enjoyable. The club was alive with laughter, joy, and singing. We cherished our excursions in nature and the successful shows we produced, even performing in nearby towns. The going away parties for those fortunate to make Aliyah were filled with happiness and celebration.

Those were the days…

During that time, social changes made the youth increasingly aware of a national Zionist identity and a desire for secondary and higher education. Unfortunately, only the children of wealthy families had the means to achieve these educational goals, as they could attend schools in major cities. In contrast, children of poorer families who were equally skilled and eager to learn could not afford this education. Those who struggled to obtain it often sought private tutors to help them prepare for further studies at appropriate institutions.

These tutors were: Mendel Sigal, Naphtali Katz, and Avraham Horwitz.

The girls in this group stood out. For many generations, they were denied such education due to the prevailing prejudice that girls lacked the aptitude for learning. As a result, Jewish girls in the diaspora remained uneducated for a very long time. The opening of the educational opportunities for girls was met with great enthusiasm. Most girls were dissatisfied with the knowledge they received from Polish public schools and sought further education. Notably, these trends extended even to the daughters of Orthodox families. For example, Alta Wohl, the daughter of Michael Wohl, an Orthodox and scholar Jew, was fortunate to receive an education from her father. She had a rare talent for studying the Torah and would engage in discussions about the holy books with her father late into the night, often until sunrise. It was pretty uncommon for a Jewish woman to dedicate herself to serious studies, especially in Torah. Alta Wohl later established a study group for daughters from Orthodox families, which Mendel Sigal taught.

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The High School

Following these changes, the young leaders of the town decided that the time was right to establish a private high school. The founders included Moti Reiss, z”l (perished in the Holocaust), his brother Binyamin, May he live long (currently lives in Uruguay), and Naphtali Katz, z”l (died in Kiryat Chaim in 1970).

It is important to note that the high education level at the high school in Zborow can be attributed to its talented and devoted teachers. This school provided opportunities for students from low economic backgrounds. It fostered a supportive atmosphere through the collaboration between students and teachers. This stood in stark contrast to the antisemitic Polish schools that discriminated against Jewish students.

The high school was well-received, and its teachers dedicated their utmost energy and knowledge to ensure students could pass the final exams at the end of the year. As a result, most of the students successfully passed the exams.

The high school operated for several years before closing due to personal changes in the lives of the teachers. After the school's closure, some students continued their studies in large cities.

Unfortunately, only a few of the students survived. A few now reside in Israel, where some have achieved honored status

Departure of Naphtali Katz to Eretz Israel. Zborow 1934

I made Aliyah to Eretz Yisrael in 1935 as part of the Bosliya group. After 36 years, memories of our town have become blurred, and many details have faded away. However, I will attempt to recall some significant and noteworthy events that took place and have since vanished from my memory. I would like to describe some of the events and facts that occurred before WWI.

Starting in 1907, I remember the society of Agudat Achim (fraternal society) in Zborow. I cannot recall when it was founded or who the founders were. The society was financed through weekly membership fees and donations during the Holy Days. It provided support for sick patients, particularly those suffering from chronic illnesses. Given the poor economic situation in our town, this society played a crucial role in the community.

My father, Simon Buchwald, z”l, was a wealthy and respected Jew who served as the society's head and treasurer (His grandson, the journalist Erich Buchwald, resides now in Israel). I would like to mention another society of that time, the Achva [Brotherhood]. It was a Zionist nonpolitical group that every Zionist joined. The Achva society operated initially in the capital city of Vienna and was headed by Dr Stand. From there, it branched into other cities in Galicia.

I was 8 years old at that time. My older brother, Gershon, z”l, was an Achva group member. On Friday evenings or Shabbat, he would take me to their meetings. Most of the members were educated. I specifically recall two names: Herman Fuchs and Itshi Edel Katz. The group always exuded a joyful spirit. There were lectures and parties. I especially enjoyed the German and Yiddish songs, which intensely expressed a deep longing for the land of our ancestors. Some of my favorites were “Dort vi di tseder” (“There Where the Cedars”), “Kenst du das land” (Do You Know the Land”), and “Oyf dem pripitchek brent a feyerl” (“There on the Hearth Burns a Fire”), and more.

Over the years, a Zionist movement developed in our town, particularly after World War I, as a response to anti-Semitism. This sparked a national consciousness among the youth. Various youth movements emerged from various Zionist streams. The members helped raise funds for national groups, trained for Aliyah and studied Hebrew.

The youth movements significantly influenced the town's public life and brought about a transformation. Young generations earned respected positions on the community council and in other institutions. These movements reached their peak during the 1930s. Many youths from various streams joined training brigades, but a few managed to make Aliyah.

In our town, as in many others in Galicia, there were sharp ideological divisions between Haredim (strong Orthodox Jews) and Zionists. To the Orthodox zealots, Zionism was a sacrilege.

An event that illustrates the extent of these divisions involved a gentle and sensitive Shochet (ritual slaughterer) named Shmuel Zeiger, who was suspected of being a Zionist. He was a competitor of the other Orthodox Shochets, and they did not like him for this reason. They incited the Orthodox zealots against him, who spread all kinds of malicious rumors against him until he became ill. Eventually, due to this hostility, the Shochet packed his belongings one bright day and made Aliyah to Jerusalem with his wife, son, and daughter. Sadly, he passed away two years later. His son emigrated to the United States, studied in a Yeshiva, and was ordained as a Rabbi. His wife and daughter returned to Zborow. A short time later, the daughter also emigrated to the US.

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Leah, the shochet's wife, returned to Zborow with vivid impressions of the Holy Land. She shared captivating stories about Eretz Yisrael and its abundance. We listened with rapt attention, our imaginations ignited by her words. We remember her for her kind heart. She was always ready to help others. She donated a significant portion of the money she received from her son and daughter to people experiencing poverty.

Our town was fortunate to have a dedicated group of women actively involved in social causes. They were ordinary women without a formal education in Marxist theory or Socialist principles and had no funds at their disposal. Nevertheless, they were engaged in these charitable activities to alleviate the hardships faced by the poor. Their work was far from easy, yet they assisted anyone in need without expecting anything in return. I would like to highlight two of these remarkable women.

The first was Yocheved, who was married to a man known as “Moshe Rabeinu” (a honorific title given to the biblical Moses). Her humble husband devoted his days and nights to studying at the Bet Midrash HaGadol. Very little was known about him since he rarely spoke to anyone. There were varying opinions about him in the town; some believed he belonged to the legendary group of 36 Tzadikim (anonymous sages), while others thought he might be out of touch with reality. His wife, Yocheved, who deeply admired her husband, cared for him as one would care for a baby. Her life was challenging. As a Sarverki (an expert cook and baker for holidays and weddings), she worked diligently while also participating in social activities during her free time. Regardless of the heat of the summers and the chill in the winters, she could often be seen walking around with a heavy basket full of bread and challahs, delivering them to families in need. Yocheved was always grateful for her life; she never complained about her difficult circumstances. She was always thankful that God granted her a husband who was a sage and scholar whom she believed would have the privilege to sit at God's feet in the next world.

The second woman was Sara Fuhrman, the mother of the Fuhrman brothers. She was a gentle and weak woman who cared for many children and welcomed anyone who entered her house hungry, feeding them without hesitation. Additionally, she would give out vouchers to the poor that could be used for supplies from Mendel Byk's food market. When her husband went to settle the accounts at the end of the month, he was often shocked by the total amount, leading to serious quarrels between them. Sara endured her husband's complaints, knowing in her heart that he was right, but her compassion for others was strong, and she continued to offer help.

Her son, Michael Fuhrman, reported that a disabled woman would often visit their home. This woman, known as “Mama Rachel,” was also feeble-minded and preferred to eat in a kitchen corner rather than at the table. This woman became associated with a tragic plague event in Zborow. During this difficult plague, the doctors, lacking adequate knowledge, had no cure, and the sick were left helpless. Despite the dire circumstances, the Jewish community did not despair. They prayed, fasted, and visited the cemeteries, hoping that their prayers at the grave of the Tsadik Rabbi Avigdorel would bring an end to the plague. When their prayers went unanswered, the women resorted to the ultimate means to stop the plague: conducting a wedding between a crippled couple at the cemetery. Mama Rachel was chosen as the bride. After an extensive search, they found a groom, a redheaded Jew, and the wedding ceremony took place in the cemetery. However, the following morning, the town was startled by Mama Rachel's cries–her chosen groom had vanished in the middle of the night and left her heartbroken. From that day on, Mama Rachel remained a deserted woman for the rest of her life.

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Report Card for Efraim Katz from the Hebrew School year 1924/5

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The Rynek [market square] with Two Bazaars on the Main Street

I was born in Zborow and left several years before the start of the Second World War. Life in this small town was dull and felt stifling to someone like me. Yet it possessed a romantic spirit that captured the heart and left an unforgettable impression.

After I left, this impression grew stronger within me. The memories of my town lingered with me and became part of my soul and youth.

One of my most vivid memories is the night of Kol Nidrei, which stands before me like an etched picture.

It's time to pray. A spirit of holiness fills the air and a sense of concealed secrecy whispers from all sides. The streets are deserted, with a few people hurrying to ask forgiveness from their relatives and friends, wishing them “G'mar Chatima Tova” [a good final sealing, in the Book of Life]. In the synagogue, everyone is united in prayer to their Creator in Heaven, standing before Him and asking for mercy for themselves and the people of Israel.

This mysterious spirit, the spirit of a “minute silence,” evokes memories of our town and its unique magic year after year. It has taken root in my soul and connected my life with my fellow townspeople–our martyrs who are no longer with us: men, women, young and old, who gave their lives for the sanctification of God in this horrific Holocaust.

They call out to me and the world from the depths, and I bow my head in sorrow as my eyes fill with tears.

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I dedicate these memories to the cherished memory of my beloved mother, Reisel Wahrhaftig, z”l, who devoted her entire life, filled with hardships, to raise me. My father, z”l, fell while fighting in World War I, when I was only four months old.

At age 11, in 1925, I arrived in Zborow from a small town called Kozlov. I quickly became familiar with my surroundings and the unique youth culture in the area. I especially remember the Sunday soccer games between Z.K.S. (the Jewish team) and other local teams. Later, I fondly remember our Shabbat trips to Zlote Gora (Gold Mountain) and the Strypa River, which lies south of town, where we would swim in the summer. In the winter, we would go sledding on the slopes of the Lubinka Mountain. These joyful times were truly unmatched. Who among us could forget Melech Diemand's winter sled? It was a unique creation made of beech wood. Not just anyone could ride with Melech; only a select few were invited, like Tinka Jaeger, Bella Pasternak, Reisele, the Rabbi's daughter, and a few other chosen friends. Melech would sit in front to steer the sled while I sat behind him. I had to tip the sled during our ride, causing the boys and girls to scatter with shouts and laughter. We enjoyed ourselves this way until midnight.

In 1928, I joined the Gordonia movement, led by Natan Heiman, z”l, who later became a member of Kibbutz Chulda (in Israel). Gordonia created a new life for us. We went on excursions to the Parsovtsa forest. We also had a photographer in our group, Adyk (Eliyahu Silberman). Each picture required careful preparation, but ultimately, we succeeded in getting one. Aside from myself, only Melech Diemand in the United States and Shalom Bork in Canada are still alive from that time.

Group Shachar in Gordonia with its Leader Natan Heiman, z”l

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One memory of that time was a Shabbat in 1929 when the club met at Eliyahu Leinwand's in the center of town. We were sitting and waiting for a general discussion when we sensed that something significant was about to happen. Then the door opened, and a tall, robust man walked in. This was Asher Halperin, z”l (who would later be killed at Kibbutz Chulda during Israel's War of Independence. He studied in major yeshivot (religious schools) outside Zborow and was largely disconnected from the youth and Zionist movements. Fortunately for us, he connected with our group and became the leader of Shachar A.

Group Shachar with Its Leader Asher Halperin, z”l

A dramatic club was formed during that time. It was organized by Asher Halperin, z”l, and directed by David Sass, z”l. It is hard to convey the excitement and preparations for each show in writing. I recall the play “Eintige Kinder” (Today's Children), which was focused on the young people longing for Eretz Yisrael. Bella Pasternak had the main role. After our initial success, we decided to perform the play in Pomorzany as well, which turned out to be a sellout. However, Bella's parents locked her in the house and forbade her from traveling, as it was on Shabbat. We waited by the bus in vain until Asher, z”l, had the brilliant idea to have Tinka Jaeger take on the role. Remarkably, she managed to learn it on the way to Pomorzany. We arrived in Pomorzany after pushing the bus, which had broken down along the way, all while singing marching songs. In the end, we successfully performed the play.

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I was my mother's only son, and when she learned of my desire to emigrate to Eretz Yisrael, she feared she would be left alone. One morning, however, she told me: “My child, I had a dream in which your father came to me and asked me to send you away because there will be a great fire…”

I left the beautiful city and my beloved mother on February 28, 1939. At that time, I hoped she would be able to join me; however, the hand of the murderers reached her first.

I recall those young years in our town, Zborow, those years that imbued us with the spirit and strength to withstand the times of hardship and horror. In our little town, we the Zionist youth, lived a life full of meaning and commitment to fulfill the ideal of Zion.

Just as in the song “My Shteteleh Belz” comes to my mind, my hometown, Zborow: the shul, the marketplace, the promenade where we used to stroll, the Saklani [?] mountain where we skated in the winters, the Baron Hirsch playground where we met up and played ball, the Targavitsa [?] [gymnasium?], where the Jewish sports club played its matches. I see before me the river where we swam, trails through the hills of the Zlata Gora, where, after the end of Sabbath meal, we would go for a walk or a hike with the Zborow youth groups.

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I remember what good times we had at those Zionist group meetings with their Hebrew singing and hora dancing. The conversations, the discussions, the Hebrew lessons, the outings, the summer camps–to this day it all fills me with joy.

When I meet with Americans on their return from a trip to Israel, I ask them how they liked Israel and did they travel the entire country from the northern Galilee to the Negev, the kibbutzim and the other settlements, especially the early outpost of Tel Chai, where Trumpeldor fell guarding the land? When they inquire when I had been in Israel, I proudly answer that I haven't been there yet, and that everything I know I learned in my little Polish town of Zborow. When I then ask them in Hebrew if they had learned a little Hebrew, they think that I'm fooling with them, that I must be a yored (derogatory term for one who leaves, “descends from” Israel) and am ashamed to admit it. Not without difficulty do I manage to convince them that I have never been to Israel, but that I had belonged to a Zionist group in the town of Zborow, where I got all my knowledge of the Land of Israel and the Hebrew language. And I am proud of my little hometown and grateful to the Zionist group organizers, who are all now in Israel, and to those of us who were fortunate enough to settle there. But I will never forget those in our group who perished at the hands of the Nazi murderers. Blessed be their memories.

The “Golden Youth” in Zborow

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