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The blessing of the candles - Allweil

I remembered you, mother, on those Shabbat Eves In which you did so many things For the sake of your family members And it was so nice.	How many beautiful things you did, my mother, And I don't remember them all, But I will never forget Your blessing on the Shabbat candles.
I remembered your image on Shabbat Eves, In which you wore majesty and splendor And resembled the Queen of Shabbat In my eyes – always.	Because your blessing was mixed with the tears that flowed from mothers' eyes only in the sad, special light of the Shabbat candles.
I saw your clothing, which shone with great purity, Your face shone which shone with the glow Of the Shabbat coif You wore.	Because your blessing was full of pleas Emanating from a mother's heart - to earn a living with dignity, To lead the sons in good ways And to find a suitable partner for the daughter
And for the people of Israel - salvation and consolation by virtue of the candles of Shabbat Eves.

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When the first sound of the shofar was heard on the first day of the month of Elul, great fear fell upon the Jews of Strelisk, and we, the children, were especially afraid. With the sound of the shofar, the autumn days intensified. Not only the face of the sky darkened, but also the faces of every one of the people of Israel fell and became sullen. After all, it was not a small matter. It was the beginning of the month of Elul! Even the fish in the sea tremble, and what will flesh and blood do? Each of us was filled with thoughts of regret, thoughts of forgiveness in preparation for the Days of Awe that are imminent and coming, terrible days that determine the fate not only of the people of Israel but of all mankind, of the entire universe.

One week before Rosh Hashanah, on Saturday night of the week in which the Days of Awe are held, we wake up for Slichot. I have found the getting up at night and walking in the dark with a flashlight to the synagogue alluring and although I had a deep fear of the “dead” who, according to the story, also come in their white clothes to pray at night in the synagogue. I overcame this fear and begged my father to take me to the “Slichot” too. “No, my son, you're too small, it's not yet time for you to go pray at night, when you grow up, you too will come to the synagogue at night”.

However, the strength of the little children is great. My father could not resist my multiple pleas, therefore he set a condition for me - he was sure, obviously, that I would not meet this difficult condition – “We will not wake you, if you get up on your own, we will take you with us to the Slichot.”

I made a firm decision not to sleep until the Slichot and if I fell asleep, I immediately woke up. And here I heard two knocks on the door, and the voice of Volka the shamash announces in a serious and sad tone “Steit oif tsu Slichot”, that is: “Jews, wake up for the Slihot”.

There was no limit to my joy. I was proud that I overcame the urge to sleep and was considered one of the adults. I jumped out of bed first, right after my father, and I could not ignore the smile that spread across his face. He didn't say anything, apparently, he thought: an agreement is an agreement! Immediately mother began to take care of me so that I would not stand barefoot on the cold floor. She stood and dressed me in all kinds of rags: some of my winter clothes from last year, which were already tight on me, and some of my brother's clothes, that were too big for me. Father and mother urged each other to hurry and both together urged me so we will not to be late, God forbid.

Those who didn't wake up were my older brothers, who stayed in their beds in the small room called “Alkir”. Father came in several times and reprimanded them: you should be ashamed, your little brother got ahead of you, don't you know that this is the night of Slichot? Mother, who had a soft temper, began to influence the refusers with words of persuasion: what would the neighbors say? Are we, God forbid, gentiles? Hurry up and come. While yawning and moaning, they woke up and began to dress.

It was wet and cold outside. The ground was full of puddles of water, and a piece of the reckless moon was reflected in the puddle. For me, it was the first time in my life that I left in the middle of the night from a cramped and stuffy room into fresh air that burned my lungs with every breath and caused me to cough. My mother also wrapped me with her scarf, lest I catch a cold. From the alleys came silhouettes of people, equipped with small lit lanterns and they all flock to the center of the city. Every time a door was opened you could see a spot of light accompanied by the ringing of a hoarse bell that was tied to the door of the shop, which would ring every time a person entered the shop or left it. Everyone was flocking to the great synagogue, which was lit by many candles and whose doors could be opened in both directions, forward and backward, and when a person entered, the door swung back and forth.

Mother turned to a side entrance to the “ladies' section” and we, the men, entered through the main entrance. In the corridor, older boys were standing next to a table with “bowls” for collecting money. Each of the boys announced his goods, whether it was to “Rabbi Meir Baal Hanes”, to “Book Repair” or to the “Jewish National Fund”. It was demanded that one donate, but some entered secretly and evaded the boys.

In the lighted synagogue there was a smell of tobacco. Those who sniffed it were sneezing loudly, and it gave them pleasure. The synagogue collector proudly presented the silver box full of tobacco and the first ones there were privileged to stick their finger and toe into it, raise this fragrant scent to their nose and fill their nostrils. My father told with quite a bit of pride about the heroism of his youngest son and I received plenty of caresses and strokes on the head and pinches on the cheek.

Not a few moments passed and the main rabbi of the town came running followed by his whole entourage. The rabbi, short in stature, was completely wrapped in a fur coat with a tall fox collar, and between the bonnet on his head and the collar, a pointed nose was visible, almost wrapped in a tangled beard which dropped forward and bent down from above.

The rabbi went straight to the east wall and sat down on an armchair next to the Ark of the Covenant and the person praying approached the ark and opened with “Ashrei”. In a gentle, tearful and full of emotion voice he said the “Kaddish”, and reached the peak of the outpouring in the liturgical poem (Piyyut) “Bemotza'ei menucha”. I tried not to fall behind the worshipers and to arrive together with the adults to the last verse of the psalms of forgiveness, a verse that fascinated me very much “Va'ikra beshem hashem” (and he called in the name of the Lord). But all efforts to hold on failed. I couldn't pray at such a huge speed. My older brother came to my aid, and this was his advice: skip a few lines and scream the last verse together with everyone. I must admit that I was innocent and my brother's advice was not accepted by me, nevertheless

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I shouted with all my might: “Va'ikra beshem hashem”. From time to time, I looked upwards towards the “ladies' section” lest I should be able to catch my mother's gaze so that she would also hear my voice and enjoy the fruits of her womb.

I stood and prayed and felt that the boys around me were plotting to do something, some kind of big deed, and my brother promised me that if I know how to keep a secret, I will also be included in the action that the adults were plotting to do. And so it was.

Even before the Slichot prayer is over, we left the synagogue the action. I didn't know where we were going. I didn't dare to ask lest they reject me and the very idea of participating in the act with the elders captivated me. I still haven't had time to concentrate my thoughts and here I found myself next to the fruit garden of their church. Here I was - the smallest of them - carried on shoulders and I was already on the other side of the yard, beyond the fence. The elders threw sticks and stones on the branches of the trees and I was ordered to collect the loot that fell.

I have not yet started my part in the act and here I found myself in the bony hands of the gentile Stephen, the keeper of the garden, I did not know where he appeared from, as if he had grown out of the ground. Out of fear, the kippah fell over my head and disappeared. I stood with my head exposed and the huge gentile grabbed both of my side curls and tried to lift me off the ground. My pain was great and the shame was even greater, I ruined my world in one moment. They all ran away like rabbits and left me to sigh. I burst into tears.

The gentile who saw that I was small, brought me to my father, whom he knew very well. When my father saw my misdeed, he realized that I had fallen victim to the plot of the adults “Bnei Bliyahal”. First, he hurried and covered my head with his “yarmulka” (kippah) which he took out from under his hat. “Woe to me that I saw you like this, my son” - he said – “You have come down from a high rooftop to a deep pit”.

The family of Yosef (Yosel) and Hania Leib		Shimon Klarer and his wife

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The upper row from the right: Monique Strom, Tsila Strom. Tsila Ehrlich, Feige Beller, H. Strom, Breincha Katter, Isaac Shleifer, Avraham Rock (in Russia), Koka Eisen, Laibish Eisen, ? Strom, Dr. Yr. Zvi Eisen, Shimon Kater (survived), Yoel Kris, Shimon Shtiker, Yitzhak Hochberg (in Rehovot). ? Shtiker, Lipa Lotringer (in Ra'anana), Yente Nas, Breincha Safran, Katter, Feige Hochberg, Sarah'ke Bergman, Hanchi Shpayer

Reb Yeshaya (Shaya) Shor had a large store in the heart of the city not only for food needs but a kind of “all-in-one” store both wholesale and retail. Rabbi Shaya Shor was considered a respected man and one of the city's richest. Therefore, it is no wonder that he was called by his explicit name and not by any nickname, or initiation. Although they did not greatly praise him, neither did they speak badly of him and did not reproach him. Rabbi Shaya Shor was completely immersed in his business. When he was asked for charity, he gave according to his status, not more than others, but also not less than others. In the Beit Midrash, where he used to pray, he had a permanent place near the Eastern Wall among the rest of the city's wealthy.

His wife Toiva was a woman of valor; she was called Toiva Zelner, because she ruled the roost, and she was generous. For her part, she also distributed charity modestly, secretly, and without the knowledge of her husband. She was known for her “giving in secret” to the neediest in the city who were ashamed to ask for a donation. However, in everyday life, she did not behave extravagantly.

The store and the warehouses were bustling with buyers from the morning, even before the others had opened their businesses. And the same was true in the evenings, while the others had already closed their stores, the store of Toiva Zelner or Toiva Shaya Shor's (that is, of Shaya Shor) was still open.

Whenever you passed by Reb Shaya Shor's store, you could see that it was always full, even in the summer during the harvest season, when the gentiles were in their fields and had no time to come to the city to do their shopping, most of the shopkeepers were standing at the door of their stores yawning with nothing to do – but that was not the situation with Reb

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Shaya Shor, with him, there was never lack of proceeds. Especially during the winter, when there were not enough hands to serve the many buyers who would come to the store. The other shopkeepers were obviously jealous of him and they were looking for a reason for his abundance. Reb Shaya and Toiva had a son named Faivish, who was a little unusual, and there was a saying in town: “due to their son Faivish they have all this abundance”.

“Tarbut” Hebrew school in Bobrka

Reb Shmerl was an ultra-orthodox and God-fearing Jew, one of those modest people, who are satisfied with little: he did not agree to serve as the porter of everyone. It was said about him: “He is a privileged porter”. Rabbi Shmerl was loyal to Reb Shaya and Toiva Shor, they paid him handsomely and even treated him with respect. Therefore, it's not surprising that in the last few years he did not take other portage works, except at Reb Shaya Shor.

In front of the store, on the sidewalk in front of the door, outside, they would roast coffee in some kind of strange vessels that would make sounds like when you put a coin in a charity box. Fire sparks would fly and the smell of coffee would fill the entire space of the market. The back end of the store continued all the way to the other side of the yard of the Catholic church and close to Reb Meir Tieman's bakery. In this bakery they roasted the nuts. The smells of the roasted nuts would mix with the smell of the fresh rolls for one appetizing smell that filled the whole environment. And indeed, those who have not tasted the roasted nuts of Toiva Shor have not tasted the taste of nuts in their lives. It is therefore no wonder that the “boys of the cheder” would flock to Toiva's store to buy nuts.

I remember, that on one of the market days in the winter, while I was still a student in the cheder, I won a Kreitzer coin (a penny) from my late mother. With the coin in my hand, I went to Toiva's store to buy nuts. I went up the steps in front of the store's door. The bell rang as I opened the door and I entered the store. Toiva stood behind the counter, standing on a slightly raised base, so everyone can notice her managing everything with a high hand. She was wearing a three-quarter length winter coat; the coat was lined with a thick layer of cotton wool. The outside of the coat was shiny from oils and salted fish extract and she also wore an apron with two large pockets.

Toiva was famous in the city in one more mitzvah. As soon as she noticed that a student in the cheder, a young boy, entered her shop, she would immediately leave the gentiles, or as they used to say back then “leaves them to wait”, and devoted all her attention to the boy. And here I was making my way between the gentiles' men dressed in their thick furs and among the gentiles' women each wrapped in half a dozen of sweaters and handkerchiefs, and here I was at the counter.

-What would you like my boy? - Toiva asked. – Nuts in the value of a Kreutzer? American nuts? Toiva knew very well what these small traders came to buy from her. She would immediately take a generous handful of nuts and add another handful of nuts to it inside a large paper and hand it to me – here my boy, may you be healthy; Indeed, the blessing is not found in measure or scales, but in secret, in this manner, here, take two handfuls of nuts. And it is not surprising that the common saying among the townspeople was: thanks to the students of the cheder and the generosity and wisdom of the heart of Toiva, the woman of valor, the blessing reigned in their home.

Children of Israel in Bobrka

The school where we studied was located very close to my parents' house, on the top of the hill on Baturgo Street, named after Batory, King of Poland. We climbed a very steep ascent every morning, except for Saturdays and Sundays, to go up to the school. Only on Sunday was the school completely closed, as with us on Saturday, in contrast. On Shabbats, the school was open only for the Poles' and Ukrainians' children. Not a single Jewish child showed up to school on Shabbats. We looked enviously at the children of the Gentiles, because on Shabbat, when we were not at school, the teachers organized trips and games.

The house was two stories high, surrounded by a well-kept fence with flowers and surrounded by clean paths and acacia trees that spread intoxicating scents in their blooming season. The slopes of the hill were planted with senna grapes and another type of small grape called weinferlach, which looked nice and were suitable for eating. More than once, we were caught in the act of trying to taste the sweet-sour fruit. In the summer we liked to stretch out on the grass during the break time in the school yard, in the shade of the acacia trees. To the northeast of the school was the Catholic church, from which the bells that called the faithful to prayer were heard every morning.

I remember well the first day at school. With fear mixed with joy I looked at the big house, at the group of teachers among whom there was only one Jew, Mr. Morris Diamond, the religious studies teacher (may God forgive us if we did not always treat him with great respect).

The teachers gathered us into classes and advocated morals to us: to behave well, be polite and quiet and write strange letters that were not used at our parent's house. What a joy it was to hear the ringing of the bell announcing the first break. How good it was to be freed from the dark classroom, which for us was full of mysteries- and the icon of the hanging cross oppressed us.

We soon got used to the teachers and studies; we even started to like the gray building with its dark rooms. The teachers began to appreciate our talents, the talent of the girls of Israel, over the other students. To this day I am full of wonder how we were taught three foreign languages at once: Polish, Ukrainian and German. Polish - the language of the region, which once belonged to Poland before its partition; Ukrainian - the language of the people of the country, the majority of the inhabitants of the region; and German - the language of the metropolitan city of Vienna, the seat of the House of Habsburg and the language of education for the Jewish youth. And all this was in addition to the two languages Yiddish and Hebrew. Yiddish - the everyday language, the language of father and mother, the language that was spoken at home, and Hebrew - the language of prayer and the language that was spoken in the “cheder”. This is how our soul was divided day by day into five parts.

With tears in our eyes, we parted at the end of the seventh year from the school and from the teachers, whom we learned to appreciate and be grateful to for giving us a foundation in the first steps of our lives.

I still see before me the classroom we studied in as a vivid image; as living figures stand in front of me - my friends, even though more than half a jubilee year has passed since then. They all perished at a young age. I remember them one by one.

In the first row sat the graceful Sheindale Rapp, an excellent student who later graduated from a teacher's school. After her sat the beautiful and noble Toivale, the daughter of (Tzali) Bezalel Deixler, one of the richest in the city. Here I see before me the best of my friends, the nice and gentle Tsila Ehrlich, who would walk every day from the village Sterilka to the town, both in winter on frosty and snowy days and on hot summer days. Tsilka died a heroic death, she was a symbol of a Jewish mother who preferred to die with her child rather than giving her to the Gentiles. It is said that Tsila hid in the bunker with her child and when she started to cry, the Damn Germans discovered the bunker and killed all the people in it.

In the third table sat Hanchi Speyer, a gentle soul, always startled and a little scared, as if she knew her days were short and numbered. After her sat Gitcha (Gutha) Shapel, with eyes as blue as the sky of the Land of Israel. In the middle column sat Tova Klarer, the daughter of the educated Shimon Klarer, who longed all his life to immigrate to Israel and was not privileged to fulfill it. In Tova Klarer's column sat the wise and nice Bronka Safran, the tall Hinda Panzer, the modest and good Veintela Nas.

Among my friends were also Bronka and Atel Baum who lived in the center of the town, as well as Tsila Eisen, who graduated from a gymnasium in Lviv and also a teacher's school. The black and noble Khaya'li Rock was also a devoted friend. All of them were killed. They all perished in the devil's dance of that evil. They were all exterminated: killed or burned along with the rest of our town's residents by the Damn Nazis. Only one girl survived, Genya Mayes (now Kempe), who was saved thanks to fake certificates she received from a Ukrainian friend from the nearby village of Stock. She spent the war in the Saarbricken camp with the sword of Damocles constantly hovering over her head. The fear that they would discover her Jewishness did not give her rest until the day of liberation. She immigrated to Israel in 1949 and settled in Ra'anana. She remained the only one of her large family.

All my other friends that I mentioned were killed or burned together with all the people of our town. May God avenge them. It's hard to get used to the thought that such young lives have disappeared from the face of the earth in the hands of Gentile persons.

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My late father was one of the first of the Histadrut “Tze'iri Zion” in our city and even continued to buy the Zionist shekel all his life. With the outbreak of the First World War, our family moved to the village of Lipsha, a small village where a total of three Jewish families lived. My father leased an agricultural farm there and specialized in agriculture – a rare phenomenon in the diasporic environment.

The Lipsha area was surrounded by extensive forests and these served as a place of refuge for robber gangs, especially after the First World War. Our house was also visited by such a gang. My father stood alone against five robbers and only after they wounded him in the head, they managed to get inside the house. The influence of this event was extremely deep and my father decided to leave the village and returned to Bobrka to live among Jews. All his days my father aspired to immigrate to Israel and work there as a farmer. Unfortunately, he was not privileged to fulfill it!

I remember the impression left by the news of the events of 5689 on our town. The excitement was great. We were expecting news from the country; the young people were just waiting for the call: Come! My late father was also ready to abandon everything and go to the aid of the attacked settlement, but the spark of enthusiasm went out under the pressure of the gray reality of everyday life.

I am the only one of my family who was privileged to break through the wall. I immigrated to Israel, and what remains of father's family are the letters I used to receive “from them”. I read the letters before me, all imbued with a desire to immigrate to Israel. Why didn't they come? Why were they late to come?

They were killed together with the other saints of our town in the Aktziya of the year 1943 in the Białowieża forests. May their souls be bundled in the bundle of the nation's life.

The first of his family to come to Bobrka at the beginning of the 19th century, was my grandfather, Rabbi Yosef Avigdor, the son of Rabbi David Shapira ztz”l (Chief Rabbi of Brest Litovsk).

Rabbi Yosef Avigdor Shapira married the daughter of the Rabbi of Bobrka at that time, the daughter of Rabbi Simcha, of the Rupshitz dynasty, a Horvitz man, who was known as Leiter.

Rabbi Yosef Avigdor Shapira was a wise and well-known Torah scholar. He did not want to take on a rabbinical position. He had copper and alloy factories in the city of Danzig. In Bobrka he built mansions and rented them to the government, which housed its offices in them, such as: the court, the post office, the tax offices, etc. He was extremely wealthy and changed his last name to Mantel, fearing that the Austrian authorities would hand him over to the Russian authorities.

When his wife died, he married the daughter of the Rabbi of Zhovkva, who gave birth to a daughter and a son - who is my grandfather.

My grandfather, Rabbi Mordechai Zvi Shapira ztz”l, was known as “the prodigy of Bobrka”. When the last rabbi of the Leiter family died, they offered the position of the head of the rabbinate to Rabbi Mordechai Zvi Shapira, who was then in his twenties, but he gave up the rabbinate in favor of his brother in-law Rabbi Chaim Simcha Vitales.

My grandfather, Rabbi Mordechai Zvi, died at the age of 30 and left behind a widow and three small children. My grandmother, Esther Bach, belonged to a rich and privileged family from Lviv. The girls grew up, married and left the town.

My father, David Leib Mantel (Shapira), lived almost all his life in Bobrka; he served as a member of the community council in the years 1901-1910.

At the end of his life, he lived in Lviv and when he died in 1937, he was buried in the Bobrka cemetery.

My mother, Faige Mantel, the daughter of the Rabbi of Buchach (Bichuch), and three of my sisters perished at the hands of the evil Nazis.

My aunt, my mother's sister, Raizela Leiter, lived in Bobrka until World War I, when she fled with her children (two daughters and son) to Vienna, and they never returned.

Rabbi Chaim Simcha Vitales served for decades as a rabbi in Bobrka. After his death, his children moved to the neighboring city of Lviv.

In the holocaust that the evil brought upon the people of Israel, not a single soul from our family was found in the city of Bobrka, but the hand of fate caught them wherever they were.

This is the story of one family that no longer exists.

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