[Page 402]

I am willing myself to probe the past so I can dredge up memories. We were a family of seven–my mother, z”l, four sisters, and two brothers. From earliest childhood, I thought of myself as an orphan. I have no memory of my father nor an image of him. There are no photographs of him. My mother, Sara Jaeger, was a native of Zborow, but my father hailed from another town and his family had emigrated to the United States before the First World War. We were, as I said, six children at home, but my mother told me that she had given birth to twelve. Six died young from an epidemic that swept the town and surrounding areas. In a single week, she suffered the loss of three children, aged 5 to 7. A boy named Hersh, was an especially beautiful child. My mother was a spirited woman who bore her grief bravely. My family was split apart–my father in the world to come with six children, and my mother in this world with six.

During the First World War, many of the townspeople escaped from the Russian threat into central Austrian territory. As the Czar's Russian army advanced, Galicia became a battlefront. Members of my family too, made their arduous way Vienna, the Austrian capital. It was hard for us to adapt in a strange land and start everything anew. We were refugees of war, with little or no means. Two of the children fell ill with a contagious disease and had to be hospitalized, a heavy burden on my mother, z”l.

After the war, we returned home, to Zborow. Most of the town was in ruins, including our house. We found temporary shelter until things settled down and then moved to new quarters. But one bright day, a fire broke out and our new home with all its contents went up in flames. We were left homeless and stayed with friends for the next few nights. I stayed with my maternal grandparents, Avrom Marder, affectionately called Avromchi, and Tzirel-Ettel, may they rest in peace. My grandfather, an ironware dealer, was held in high regard by the community and took me to the synagogue every Sabbath. He was a tall man with a long beard, while my grandmother was short and round. She was good hearted and unpretentious–she used to slip me a few coins and whisper: my dear grandson, buy yourself something sweet. I also remember my grandfather's mother, Malka, who was close to 100 years old.

We were a Zionists at a time when many in town were detractors and dissuaded their children from going on Hachshara and making Aliyah. My sister, Bronia, z”l, was fluent in Hebrew and my brother, Zuniev

Fantsche and Zuniev Jaeger, z”l

[Page 403]

was an ardent Zionist and wholly dedicated to the cause. Before he left for the Land of Israel, we used to sleep in the same bed. On our last night together, we held each other close and cried. It was our last parting.

My sister Bronia's son, Moshe'le, z”l, longed for Aliyah but did not live to fulfill his dream. His fate was that of the rest of those who could not get out in time.

And let me end by honoring the memories of our aunts and uncles, the Heiman, Marder, and Herman families, who were left behind and were annihilated in the Shoah. May their memories be for a blessing.

It has been 40 years since I left my hometown, Zborow, and yet seems as if it were yesterday. It all lives on in my memory, clearly and tangibly. Zborow was the capital of an administrative district. It was not a large municipality, but it was pleasant and clean, full of charm and joie de vivre. It could be said to be progressive and even modern. During the First Word War, many of the town's residents lived for a time in Vienna, where they engaged with and absorbed European culture.

Under mostly blue skies, the town was set in the midst of green fields and valleys strewn with flowers, lush and colorful, a delight to the eye. It opened to large tracts of land for growing wheat (Poland was known for its fertile ground).

At the outbreak of the First World War, I was four years old. My mother, z”l, like many in town, fled with her three children to the Austrian capital, enduring many trials and tribulations along the way. My father stayed in town to guard our property.

We stayed in Vienna for eight years. It was there I learned Hebrew. I attended a Hebrew kindergarten and joined the youth group of Makabi, where Binyamin Ze'ev Herzl's vision and direction had already taken root.

In 1916, my father, Yisrael Dawidsohn, z”l, joined us in Vienna, by then itself on the verge of hunger and deprivation. My father was no longer strong, and while waiting in line for potatoes, he caught a cold and died in the prime of his life. He was 37 years old, a man of faith in the Torah and love for his people.

Mali Dawidsohn		Mali Dawidsohn, Her Sister Leah, and Husband Gershon Liebling

[Page 404]

Sagacious in the best sense of the word, he pored over the Torah day and night and was said to be a prodigy. I was only seven when he died and I remember him as if in a dream.

When my mother became a widow, the harsh burden of providing for the family fell on her. We stayed in Vienna while the war raged on. Only after eight years, with the fighting finally over and with no prospects for a future anywhere in the world, we returned to our hometown of Zborow.

On our return, we found a town in ruins, laid to waste by war. The returning residents, as well as the Polish authorities, began to rebuild. We, too, rebuilt the family house and moved in with our grandfather Itsik Hersh Katz , z”l, and grandmother Sara Katz, z”l.

Grandmother had three sons, Uri, Aron, and Motele, and two daughters, Yetti (Kronisch) and my mother Basia (Dawidsohn), z”l. Grandfather, a pious man, was also diligent, deferential, and much loved and respected by everyone. Grandmother was an eshet chayil [woman of valor], competent and compassionate, and always on hand to help the orphaned or needy. She was known for her exemplary character.

My three uncles, too, were pious and scholarly. Sacred texts as well as worldly works found a home on their bookshelves. They stood out for their gentility and gentleness toward others. Aunt Yetti was a woman of many good works, and her husband, Meir Kronish, was a scholar and Gabbai in the Beit Ha-Knesset Ha-Gadol. My younger sister, Mali, worked in a law office and dreamed of making Aliyah. But the war broke out. She and my sister Leah, as well as my mother and her entire family, perished in the horror of the Shoah. May their memory be for a blessing.

I lived in Zborow for 12 years. At age 12, I returned from Vienna and at age 24, I married David Karpin and in 1934, I made Aliyah

Woe to us that our beloved hometown was so brutally desecrated with no trace of our community left, not even a gravesite to visit or a memorial to honor our martyrs.

That is the agonizing pain that gnaws at us and for which there is no relief.

At the outbreak of the First Word War in 1914, we lived in Zalizts. We had a candy and confectionary shop which provided my family with a good living, but it all went to ruin during the war. We left our home and moved in with my father's parents, Eliezer and Tzvia Pfeffer, z”l, in Mshanets and, after a time, we moved to Tarnopol.

In 1922, we settled in Zborow. It was after the war and we wanted to be near the remnants of the family: my father's brother, Shmuel Pfeffer, who lived in Zborow with his wife and six children: Ruzia, Alu, Adyk, Dolek, Yuzhek, and Lulu. My father's sister, Chava Riman, a widow, also lived in Zborow with four children: Ruzia, Bronia, Geula, and Josef. Ruzia made Aliyah in one of the first clandestine immigration operations. She joined the [Kibbutz] Chulda settlement, where she lived until her death. Geula lives in Israel, in Kibbutz Mishmar Ha-Sharon. Josef and his family, his wife and two daughters, currently live in Neve Sha'anan,

[Page 405]

Haifa, previously in Chulda for six years. Bronia, z”l, perished in the Shoah.

In our first years in Zborow, we were in the beverage and liquor business. It was hard work but business was bountiful. In time, we built an imposing two-story house in the center of the city, housing the business, a restaurant, and an inn, “The Grand.” We were seven children at home: Avraham, Ruzia, Moshe, Milek, Binka, Lolu, and Bozhu. The two younger boys, twins, were born in 1927. My eldest brother, Avraham, had left Tarnopol earlier and made Aliyah in 1921. He and his wife and three children live in Haifa.

I left Zborow to make Aliyah in 1935. My parents saw me off with tears and trepidation, but I was in bliss, feeling fortunate to fulfill my longing for the ascent to the Land. I was convinced that my parents and brothers would soon follow and we would be together again. To my everlasting sorrow, it was not to be. I settled in Haifa, and in 1939, I married Pesach Altman, a native of Jezierna. We have two children, Amnon and Gili, both married with children of their own.

Much of what I know of Zborow during the Shoah, I learned from Tzvi Fuhrman and his wife, who, in the time of the ghetto, lived in one room with my mother, my sister, and my cousin.

The family of Pinchas Pfeffer

[Page 406]

During the first Aktion [roundup], in 1941, my father, Pinchas, and my two little brothers, Lolu and Bozhu, were discovered hiding in an attic of Pedko Kozh, desk mate of my brother at school. A Ukrainian brute yanked them out, beat them murderously, and dragged them off to the empty field near Adler's, where they and the other Jews who had been rounded up were ordered to dig a pit. My father refused to climb out of the pit and was shot on the spot. Bozhu, made to jump repeatedly in and out of the five-meter-deep pit, was tortured to death. My brother Lolu was shot in the leg and fell into the pit to be left for dead. In pain and in terror, he somehow managed to climb over the corpses that had fallen on top of him. He nearly suffocated, but somehow freed himself and climbed out of the pit. With a bullet in his leg, he crawled home, to our mother. Our house had been requisitioned by the Germans and my mother was confined to the kitchen. My brother rapped on the kitchen window, and my mother suddenly saw her son, who she thought was dead. He had to be hidden so as not to be discovered and was secretly taken to a doctor and treated. From him, the townspeople learned of the atrocities the Jews suffered at the hands the Germans, Ukrainians, and Poles.

In 1943, my brother Moshe made his way undercover from Tarnopol to Zborow to see the family. He almost did not recognize our mother, a mere shadow of herself. Lolu told him of his sufferings–the forced labor, the cold, and the hunger.

Lolu was interned in a labor camp, and when the Germans were about to out close it down, he and his friends escaped to the woods. A few days before the Russians invaded, Polish marauders surrounded the woods and killed many of those hiding there, including my brother.

After all the agony and anguish this young man endured in his battle for life, he ended up falling prey to a Polish fascist.

In 1943, when the labor camp was finally liquidated, my mother, Yetti Pfeffer, my sister, Binka, and my cousin Bronia were shot to death. They were buried behind the “Sokol” [sports stadium].

When the Germans first invaded, my brother Moshe and Chaim'ke Katz, of Milanowce intended to flee to Russia, but Chaim'ke was killed by the Ukrainians and Moshe was stuck in Tranopol with nowhere to go, no means and no hope. He ran into our relatives, Mrs. Zeid and her husband, who offered him shelter and he stayed with them from July 2, 1941 to September 10, 1942. For six weeks, he was bedridden with a high fever, and only recovered thanks to Mrs. Zeid, who cared for him like a mother. Weak and depleted, he still had to report for forced labor. When he got out of the ghetto, Moshe worked in a labor camp, and later, in 1943-44, in the fields and in the forest. In the camp, he worked side by side with the Bazar brothers, Tzvi and Chanan, from the village of Zshechneki [?], near Tanopol, where they owned property, employed a good number of locals, and were well regarded. My brother befriended the two brothers and went with them into hiding at a villager's home. Later, when the labor camp was liquidated, another villager gave them shelter with the aid of their sister, Rivka Bazar. Thanks to the Bazars, my brother remained alive. The brothers and their sister survived the war and they, too, live in Israel. After the war, Moshe and his wife made their way to the Foehrenwald DP camp, where they intended to await Aliyah, but ended up staying in Germany and settling in Munich.

My brother Milek arrived in Rusia in 1941. While working at the Tarnopol Post Office, he was conscripted into the Russian army. He was dispatched to Moscow for six months of training and then to the front line for three and a half years with the infantry. He also served as a translator for a year. After he was discharged from the army, he spent a few days in Zborow. Our house had not been hit, but it was no place for Milek. He couldn't bear to set foot on ground soaked in the blood of our martyred loved ones. He quickly took off for Gleiwitz and on to Bytom, where he met Moshe. It was an emotional reunion between two brothers who rose from the depths of hell and survived the Shoah. Milek headed for Prague, to await an opportunity for Aliyah, but fate intervened and he too settled in Munich with his wife and two daughters.

They are the only remnants of our wide-branched family. All the others were murdered by the Nazis and their minions.

May their memory be for a blessing.

[Page 407]

A native of Zborow, Rabbi Herschel Schachter [he was actually born in Brooklyn, NY in 1917 and died in 2013], one of the most important rabbis in the United States, a leader and president emeritus of the American Jewish community, responded to our outreach as follows:

My father, z”l, was born in Zborow over 100 years ago [December, 1873]. His father was Shmuel Tzvi [b. 1843], son of R' Sender [the] Schochet [1797-1902], was well known in Zborow, where for over 65 years, he served as a Shomer and Mohel. My grandfather R' Shmuel Tzvi's children were: Yehudit [Yides married Nechama] Gang, my father, Pincus, Shewa [married to Chaim Elio] Bettinger, Binyamin, Uri, and Moshe. As far as I know, my father was born around 1870. He was 19 when he married my mother, z”l, Miriam, daughter of R' Tzvi Shimmelman from Bosk near Kalusz. He learned his vocation from relatives in Podhajce and served several years in the village of Zawoja [?]. From there, he immigrated to America in 1903, and brought my mother over a year later. They lived for awhile in Manchester, New Hampshire, and in 1913, moved to New York, where they lived for the rest of their lives.

In November-December 1936, my parents travelled to Zborow. My father felt a deep longing to see his hometown and to spend a few weeks with his brothers and their families, just as the Shoah was closing in. When he returned from the visit, he told us that in his heart he knew there was no future and no hope there…

My mother died on December 3, 1947 and my father on October 28, 1952. All his life, he was a Shomer and a Mohel, devoted to Torah, Mitzvot and good deeds…

Text of letter to Mr. A. Silberman, 46 Pevzner St, Haifa–dated “day after Yom Kippur, 1972” To the Honorable Mr. Silberman, This is to acknowledge with thanks receipt of your letter of September 14 and to apologize for not responding earlier as I was out of town and preoccupied with preparations for the holiday. Regretfully, my busy schedule does not permit me to delve more deeply into my memories and therefore cannot comply with your call for a more detailed entry. Please accept my great appreciation of your endeavor which is certain to bring much good, and my small contribution towards its successful completion. Yours truly, Herschel Schachter [From the Accidental Talmudist, 2024, Honoring Rabbi Herschel Schachter. https://www.accidentaltalmudist.org/heroes/2024/07/16/the-rabbi-of-buchenwald-rabbi-herschel-schacter/ Rabbi Schachter, as an army chaplain, was one of the liberators of the Buchenwald concentration camp. He stayed in Germany for two and a half months after the war, tending to the broken spirits of survivors, most of whom had lost their entire families. Many were the only survivor from their entire town; everyone they ever knew had been murdered. A famous photograph shows him leading Shavuot services at Buchenwald. This photo occupies an entire wall at Yad Vashem. What Rabbi Schachter saw at Buchenwald was hell on earth…. Rabbi Schachter noticed Yisrael Meir Lau, 7 years old, hiding behind a pile of corpses. Known as Lulek, the child had lost most of his family and had been on his own since age 5. Rabbi Schachter cared for the boy and helped him immigrate to Israel, where he would one day become Chief Rabbi.]

[Page 408]

Of my father, Shlomo Linder, z”l, I have barely a memory. He died when I was 6 years old. My father was the son of R' Mendel Linder (Yeruslavitzer), z”l, who headed a wide branched family. My grandfather, R' Mendel, had six sons and one daughter, all economically well off.

With the outbreak of the First World War, the Linder family began its wanderings in flight of the coming threat. They were landowners and farmers and I remember them amassing their belongings on dozens of horse drawn wagons. After weeks on the road, our family arrived in the Czech capital of Prague, where they settled for a while. My father, z”l, was promptly conscripted into the Austrian army. He was wounded in battle and was brought back to a hospital in Prague in 1916. He died shortly thereafter, on October 16, 1916.

The youngest of the brothers, my father died young. From what I remember hearing about him from his brothers and others who knew him, he was fair-minded and warm-hearted and much loved by all.

Josef Linder, z”l		Mirel Linder, her daughter Dora and son Moshe, z”l

[Page 409]

As I got older, there were times when I did not want to pray, but I continued to “lay tefillin” daily for my mother's sake. Her devotion to her children was boundless. When my sister Dora fell ill and there was no recourse in town, my mother spared no effort and even sold a plot of land and used the proceeds to travel with my sister to Vienna to get medical advice.

I was to leave on Aliyah while my mother and sister were in Vienna. This was in March, 1930. I sent word to my mother that my train was due in Vienna at 10 o'clock at night. In a pouring rain, my mother and sister came to part with me at the train station. My mother told me there was a chance that my sister would recover. Her dream was for her sons to ascend to the Land, and for her and my sister to follow.

After my brother Muni arrived, I put plans in motion for getting the rest of the family out, but it was not to be. My mother died on February 1, 1938 and my brother Moshe and sister Dora perished in the Shoah.

May their memory be for a blessing.

The Linder family originated from the village of Jaroslawice in the Zborow District. The family patriarch was Mendel Linder who was known locally as Mendel Jaroslawitzer named after the village where he lived. He was the lessee of an inn owned by the estate owner in that village, who was also his private consultant. R' Mendel was a scholarly Jew who tended to extend his prayers for hours and preferred not to be disturbed during those hours. The estate owner, too, would send a messenger to him to ensure that R' Mendel had completed his prayers when he required his assistance.

R' Mendel had six sons: Avrum'chi. Itzik, Yokim, Moshe, Chaim, Shlomo, and one daughter named Basia. All the sons worked in agriculture until the First World War, but after the war, only Chaim continued and became a lessee of the estates, acquiring one of them for himself.

My father z”l, Hersch Mehlsack, served as a manager of Chaim's estates for many years, both before and after the First World War. My father, too, came from a family of agriculturalists. His father (my grandfather) was an expert in liquors made from potatoes, and distillers from the entire area came to consult with him to ensure maximum production results.

Hersch Mehlsack, z”l

Chaim passed away in 1928, and his sons, Herman and Itzik, continued in their father's footsteps. They leased additional estates and my father continued to work for them almost to the outbreak of the Second World War.

Except for Iztik, who died from typhus in the ghetto, all the others were annihilated by the great oppressor, damn him.

May their memory be blessed.

[Page 410]

R' Mechel Liebling, z”l

My parents were very hospitable. They opened their home to Luzer Kleinhandler, brother of the Rav, for an extended stay. Luzer had come of age, but had no home and no means. His only legacy was the yichus [distinguished pedigree] inherited from his parents, the luster of which, to his misfortune, had dimmed with the new winds of thought. But Luzer kept living in the old world, unsuited for serious scholarship, but unprepared for learning a lowly trade. Though he applied himself, it was clear that he would not climb the rungs of advancement. My parents did their best to make Luzer's stay with us pleasant. He spent most of his time in the room allotted to him, poring over sacred texts and humming quietly, at times raising his voice in a Gemara chant, to their delight and naches [pride and joy]. We, whose religious faith had by then been replaced by Zionist fervor, found ourselves uncomfortable in his presence. When we were at home while he was “learning” we were not allowed to make a sound, and if one of us raised his voice, my mother, z”l, would take us to task: “What kind of children did I raise, with no respect for a Ben-Torah?”

Our parents had five children, three sons, my sister Rivka, z”l, and me. As the winds of change blew around us, our house became home to diverse and nuanced ways and wants. My parents, z”l, carried on as before. My brother Gershon, z”l, joined the Mizrachi movement, I was in the Bosliah group, Zeinvel, z”l, in the Gordonia group, and my youngest brother Aba, [acronym: yud bet lamed chet] was a member of Hashomer Hatzair. Opposing beliefs and ideals were the order of the day and at times passions prevailed and clashes ensued. My mother, z”l, though a stranger to our views, would join in the polemics. Speaking clearly and to the point, she sometimes succeeded in keeping the tempests at bay.

Our parents dreamt all their lives to make the ascent to the Land of Israel, and held the vision of Jerusalem bidechhilu u'vrechimu [with awe and reverence] before their eyes]. But when their quest was about to come true, the great catastrophe befell them–Hitler's annihilation of the Jews.

[Page 411]

From survivors of the Shoah we learned that my father, z”l, was murdered in the first Aktion. My mother, z”l, was taken to the extermination camp at Belzec. Gershon and his family and Zeinvel, z”l, were killed when the bunker in which they hid was discovered.

May their memory be for a blessing.

Elka Mintzer was born in 1892. She was murdered by the Nazis in the month of Tamuz in 1942.

The noble image of my sister, z”l, whose life was cut short by the Nazi murderers, remains vivid in my mind, despite the many years that have passed since then.

Elka possessed a logical mind and a good-hearted spirit. She was always ready to help others, earning her the respect of both her Jewish and Christian neighbors. Thanks to these relations, one of her Christian friends hid her during the breakout of the war. Elka stayed with her friend, Mrs. Yankevitz, for a long time. Despite all of Mrs. Yankevitz's efforts to save Elka, they were ultimately in vain–the arm of the murderers reached her.

Elka was shot while trying to escape from the Aktion on the way to the annihilation camp.

Elka Mintzer, z”l

In her last letter, my sister mentioned that her children proposed to bring her to the US. She shared with me that this proposal put her in a difficult position because she had always planned to make Aliyah to Eretz Yisrael.

Her noble spirit lives in me, and I will never forget her.

[Page 412]

In the first Aktion, on the eve of a Sabbath, hundreds of the town's elderly were marched to their deaths, accompanied by a barrage of blows and beast-like shrieks by the Nazi murderers. The victims were herded to a field abutting the woodshed [lumber yard] of Meir Adler, z”l, near the Strypa River, where they were shot en masse and buried in a giant pit. Among them were our father and our aged grandfather, Jakov Ambos.

Our father, Rav Nachum, z”l, had goodness written all over his face, yet this gave only a glimpse into his soulfulness, his gentility, his eagerness to offer aid and solace with an open heart and open hand. His compassion for the less fortunate found expression in his community involvements–Bikur Cholim, Chevra Kadisha, as well as in individual matters like collecting money to buy a horse for Itsik Ely, the wagon driver whose horse had given out. As Shaliach Tzibur, my father led the prayers on the High Holidays in the small synagogue of the Stratin Chassidim and in the Beit Midrash Ha-Yashan, where his sweet voice captured the hearts of his fellow worshippers. To paraphrase the poet, he walked in dignity and grace. He wore his years well, with a handsome beard, a pleasing voice and at one with his fellow man.

From right: Julia Heller, Our Mother and Jacob In front: Julia's Son Shmuel

These were our parents.

We will remember them always with love and sorrow.

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