[Page 233]

A. The Riverbank^[1]

Sunday, or a holiday, a market day, or as mother used to call it “Auction Day” the entire routine of the day was changed. First, my mother got up, and she practically picked up the house “Quick, Quick why are you dawdling?” she prodded the girls and they understanding the earnestness of the day didn't let themselves stay in bed. Not dead, not alive, they sprung out of bed in a great hurry, running, entangling, looking for a sock, a shoe, barely dressing and leaving. What we will eat or drink, who can think about such things? Mother, barely dressed, holding her coat in one hand ran out of the house like, G-d forbid, from a fire. The girls would, while running , braid their hair, or tie their shoes, nothing trivial, we have to run to the shore . To the shore, to the shore. “We shouldn't be late for the shore mother would scream with anxiety, quick, children, quick run straight to the shore! do you hear? To the shore!”

The first to the shore, early in pious communion, ran the storekeepers—women. The men, because they had to daven, put on tefillin and not forget the Shma, came later. And perhaps one might find a young man who was more interested in business than Torah and was too lazy to set himself up in business, but to earn a kopek, wanted to buy from on and sell to the other. The women wouldn't allow him any merchandise; when they would remind him that it was time for prayers, they would curse him and drive him away. In truth, it sometimes happened that a young man who had been chased, took the ferry to the other side of the shore, went far away to the green inn and fooled the women and grabbed a fat bite…

But how many of those were there and when did that happen? Which Jew would so easily brush away the praying? If people would learn about it they would stone him! No, few risked that and therefore in the early morning the women drove him away with their curses.

Here comes a Gentile—the women approach him. They look, search, tap his wagon in every corner.

“What do you have, Sir, anything to sell?” asked a Jewish woman.

“Oh, such a diligent housewife. Such an honored guest. It's been a long while since I've seen you. How are you? Wait a while, I can't climb on the wagon like a man”…and she climbs on the wagon.

“It was probably so fated! Her luck! If G-d wills do you need brains?” They comforted themselves.

“Oh, G-d, heavenly father, you should have pity and send a plague, a cholera, on one witch so that there should be nothing left of her. May her brood roll away—the bastards! Did you hear about it? She attached herself, like a spot—may she attach herself to the Angel of Death—she grabs the prizes—may her teeth ache her…. For who? If I told, I had a quarrel with her. She doesn't allow anyone to live, grabs the bite from the mouth, may she be crippled!”

“May she be mute, dear G-d!” With a prayer tune and a crying voice called the woman who had entrapped the Gentile.

The others do not stay in the background.

—“Aha—she's busy? She should have a bellyache! The nerve. The world is too little! Her Gentile! Did you hear? It's a joke…. Her own Gentile? Did she buy him? Maybe she had him herself—What? She has no shame, blinded eyes—may she be stuck with pins and her bones broken! Psst, psst—a trifle. What business do I have with her? The whore—Perhaps the thief won't get enough. Did you see? I'll get a mitzvah—driving the dog to convert. Don't you think I have children? I'll get even with her.”

“Hear—there are no momzers [bastards] in my family, no converts either, and my sisters had no bastards. So, that's good! But woe is me, with whom I have to argue. That I have to stand in the same Ave. as she! That's the greatest pity. But if I were like you— Ha?....” And the first one shot back, and started to cough.

“Oh, what a good G-d we have ! You are choking—a miracle from heaven—indeed—You will soon hit people in the street. Everything is hers—all the Gentiles”, all the merchandise, all the customers—did you see—a Rebbitzen—did you see what a commotion she makes! May agony strike her….”

With a scream, she cried “Gevalt! Women—have pity. I'm here bareheaded.”

“Feh, feh, those on the sidelines mixed in, put a kerchief on her bare head and separated the women—one here, one there.”

“Go already—go away with your Gentile” they advised and threw me envious looks.

Soon after the first minyan, the men folk came scurrying. The small merchants, who have nothing, have nothing to lose and live from hand to mouth, fall upon each Gentile who appears. All cries of justice are nullified. There is no more such thing as “your” Gentile. As long as he has a bit of merchandise, he's theirs and pleading doesn't help.

A Gentile gets off of a wagon full of merchandise. The crowd is drawn to him as to a magnet. A woman recognizes him as her Gentile, and she begins her well known formula: “Ay, ay Ivanishke, how are you?” But before she can approach the wagon, he is surrounded by a big group of small merchants who top the wagon and bid for a price.

The woman screams, cries: “Thieves, he's her Gentile, he owes her money, she already has a claim on the merchandise, who hears her?” The competitors raise the price, bidding each other up heatedly! They know full well, that business from such prices is unlikely, but they are so competitive, and perhaps because there is no business, they tear at each other all the more. They begin scolding each other, first in Yiddish, then in the vernacular, so that the Gentile can judge who is right. They call each other all sorts of vile names and sometimes it goes to fists…. One pleads with the Gentile, as he bends his head over, that he shouldn't allow this band of thieves and swindlers to carry out a catastrophe! “Here, you have your money see?”—and he stuffs two new ten ruble notes into his bosom. (His hands are occupied holding the reins) “You understand, you'll have no tricks from me, here you have cash, drive away the dogs from here and drive the merchandise to me!” screams one and looks at the others as though he were the victor. “Hey, be careful,” should out the others as though a great danger occurred. “Better guard yourself from this man, you've probably heard about him. He's a thief. Never mind, do you see his ears, that's how you'll see his wares, or money. Never mind, from his hands you won't come away dry. Hear, do you want a good true high price for your wares, come – on my wife and children, you won't get a higher price. Come, bring me the merchandise. I tell you, you won't be sorry,” screams another small business man, seating himself next to the Gentile and pulling the reins out of his hands….

The farmer this whole time enjoyed the bickering and still not knowing the right top price, got a bargain.

“Oh, brothers—you're fighting in vain,” he says to the merchants with a naïve tone and a pleasant manner. “It's a sin for your trouble—the merchandise is already sold. And for what a price….” He mentions a price, and it's clear that he is lying: “No, for nothing, it's not my habit to change my mind. If you really want the merchandise, one of you will have to raise the old price. And whoever will raise most, to him will I sell—but hurry it up. The day doesn't stand still. I haven't eaten yet today!”

“So, What do you say?” one asked the Gentile. “Will you take my price?” And mentions an altogether different amount.

It is understood that in transit and upon weighing the merchandise became much smaller in quantity. The produce slimmed down. There had been too much of a to do about it. The Gentile scratched himself behind his head with wonder, he said he thought it should have been more. But when he added the pint of 80 proof whiskey and a delicious freshly cooked fish and broth, which “the not so bad Zhids” gave him, and he was content, lauded the Jews but even more the whiskey.

The Jews though not in high spirits, were quite content and not put upon. They thanked and praised the one above for a good livelihood, which he sent them that day.

And G-d did indeed send help to the other merchants. They caught a farmer who had several hives of honey, severed knots of cooked wax and a few measures of linseed—so much merchandise for one Gentile seldom happens…. Anyway, for his linseed, they gave the farmer a fair price and because they wanted to be on his good side they didn't negotiate too hard for the honey—on account of the honey and the hives, then the empty hives—but when it came to the wax. the merchants got a meaty bone! They decided that the price of the wax must be the same as the honey. They argued that wax and honey are the same, that there is no such thing as honey without wax, and that by reason and justice, the Gentile deserves no more for the wax than for the honey!

The farmer screamed loudly, translated—“Honey cost five ruble a measure, and wax—40?” he argued, he squeezed the honey, cooked the wax and derived perhaps a few pounds of wax from the pood [a little over 36 pounds] of honey. But it didn't help. “If you don't want it different,” said the merchants, “take back your merchandise!” But since the honey had already been emptied into the big vats and mixed with the contents in it, so the Gentile really couldn't take back the honey. They made an agreement and paid the farmer separately for his trouble, for his squeezing and cooking the wax and making it into a ball.

People on the sidelines, who were drawn to the tumult and screaming, nodded their heads. Others smiled; others said that it was a desecration of G-d's name—open thievery, and such things do no favor to the people of the market place. But the merchants paid not the slightest attention to those words. They reached an accounting with the farmer, who was not too happy, but they were very happy. They thanked and praised the one above for his charity and for the clever idea, that they had never before even dreamed of.

But not every day is a holiday—not always and not often did not merchants win from these shenanigans. Sometimes they would meet a Gentile—a snake, a murderer—who would immediately bring several Gentiles and beat up the Jews. Or they would go directly to the police and they would drag the Jews to the police where they would rest for a few days, receive a few blows, pay damages, anguish, shame—and also lose an entire day for which they long awaited and was important for them.

The shore was for us an exchange place. It was happy, lively, active, if you earned or if you didn't—you were involved…. The flaw was only that it only happened on Sunday, this market day. Every other day in an entire year, the shore was null and void. The merchants would lie down there and rest for the whole day. It was very hot in summer and very cold in winter. Autumn and spring one would soak in the rain and the cold lake wind would slap the cheeks without mercy, chap the faces and change one's appearance.

A merchant could be spotted from afar. He would arrive home broken, like a wreck. Tired, anxious, angry and not seldom drunk. From among these Jews were the first who beat their wives and for whom the Jewish home became a hell.

[Page 238]

B. A “Good Jew” Has Come^[2]

The city was bustling. Everyone was rushing somewhere. They were burdened and tired. The faces were flushed. At holiday times the crowd was in an elevated mood. The teachers let their pupils out of cheder earlier. The heads of the yeshivas—the yeshivas' boys, and even the storekeepers in the market kept their shops half-holiday. One half of the door was closed, the entrance open; but they stood and conversed quietly.

No men were seen in the streets. Somewhere a misnaged [Orthodox Jew] blundered into tour midst or as my father used to call a misnaged, a Tavan.

“See”—he would say. “This too has eyes, wings, a rear but he is dead…. It is just not a living fish!”

In the house opposite us, on the corner, where Bertshe Getzil lived, they scrubbed and washed, cleaned and prepared exactly as before Pesach, although it was an ordinary Wednesday soon after Pesach.

Even the paved road, which was untouched, except for royal celebrations, or when the Governor came, today was being cleaned and swept by soldiers and constables, with gilded brooms. They smoked their tobacco and carefully cleaned the dirt into piles on the sides of the road.

Everyone who remained in town—the caretakers and Gentile sausage sellers included—looked eastward and waited for something to come from there.

And so it happened. Soon was heard the sound of kapelye [a band]. The well-known melodies of our wedding music came closer and closer. And we clearly heard the well-known lively playing. It didn't take long and masses of Jews appeared, they danced and pranced; whoever could, hopped, jumped, danced in rhythm. Others tumbled on the freshly cleaned road. Just as though it were Simchat Torah.

Afterwards many carriages came, coaches and phaetons, so many came closer and closer that one couldn't see the beginning or the end. At the end came a large carriage, with four well-groomed horses.

There was a great tumult and then a scream:

—“The Rabbi is here, the Rabbi is here—blessed is his coming—the Rabbi is here.”

Two Jews making a bench with their hands brought Reb Leibele into the house – into a secluded room.

The Gabbai, a tall strong Jew with a stately appearance, selected the most important people and invited them to enter. The rest of the crowd, still singing “Blessed be his coming, come in peace”—began to dissipate.

All day Thursday and half of Friday they disturbed my room but afterward I remained a resident at Bertshe Getzil's home.

The Rabbi was in the room almost the entire time, but the house was full of people. In and out, out and in. And only a select few were allowed to go in to see the Rabbi, and only for a short while. After the welcoming of the Shabbat, after the beginning prayer and before maariv—the house was so packed with people, that it was crushing. The crowd came to listen to the Torah, which the Rabbi would recite. One stood on top of another. They stood on the benches and windows; They pushed and they shoved, each wanted to get closer to the Rabbi and it was very tumultuous. But suddenly, it became deadly still. As though by some divine power, the noise stopped and with bated breath the crowd remained, each in his spot—Reb Leibele appeared, quickly approached the prepared seat in the middle of the hall around which there was a big circle so the Rabbi would be free.

The Hasidus [Hasidic philosophy] he said softly and quietly explaining an issue to his intimates. From time to time he rubbed his handsome brow and often gave a deep sigh. His Hasidus lasted longer than an hour. The crowd that actually head and understood the Hasidus (my father was one of them) was in seventh heaven.

Psh, psh, it's already evening, they said to one another. They were pleased with themselves. A satisfied smile, the joy and look of the eyes, the strange manners and the deep but sweet tunes were witness that Reb Leibele raised them high, very high on his spirited wings and took their souls far far away…

The evening prayers (maariv) didn't last long, but the Hasidim, warmed by Reb Leibele'sTorah, davened until quite late. Here stands Avrum bar Yermiahus, a tall Jew, with a bright loving face, with clever eyes and a high brow, a known Hasid and a learned man, somewhere in a corner near a brick oven and repeating for the tenth time; Shma Yisrael! He prays so heart fully, it touches me. He gives it ever so many variations; he signs like a small child, intones like a pleader and then he rises like a field marshal after a victory. first he sings softly, semi-softly like one in love; so strange his sad and gentle tunes, slowly eats deep until the root into the soul. And then he begins to speak plainly, simply and argues with clear words; “Shma Yisroel! Shma Yisroel!”

In another corner, near the window, stands Elikum-Mordechai. An ordinary Jew in appearance, but he had a big name among the Hasidim. He would preach and had a great reputation in the Tzaddiks' court. He stands still as a pole; one hears not a sound from him. He doesn't move a limb. He stands with his head bowed and downcast eyes, from which tears fall to the ground, like from a roof after a rain and I think that he doesn't feel anything.

Yudele Chaves—a fired-up Hasidish young man—a clever fellow—runs around here and there in the hall with a force like a horse that has torn loose from its cart: he doesn't see anyone, he doesn't hear anyone and if one doesn't get out of his way, he would climb over you in haste and thrashing around. Yudele runs and smiles, his face is fresh, happy and lively, he runs and continues to count his fingers. He caught the spirit that he was missing, and Reb Leibele helped him find it….

Pineh Avreml Beinstein was banging the wall with his fist with great enthusiasm, snapped his fingers sand, nodded his head—as though he agreed with that idea, and with eyes closed tightly he has gone to the highest planes, high, high in heaven.

When I came home, the Sabbath candles were almost out. My sisters were already sleeping. My mother did not even say anything but it was obvious that she was not too happy with such a Sabbath supper. Happy over-joyed was only my father. A new skin covered him.

On the next day, Shabbos, as people were leaving all the synagogues, they were still reading the Torah at the Rabbi's, they called Reb Leibele to maftir [the last person called to the Torah on the Sabbath; he also reads the Haftorah]. The blessings over the Torah and the first prayers of the Haftorah Reb Leibele said almost like all other Hasidim. Maybe with a bit more fervor, more involved, but nothing new. But when he came to Jeremiah's speech in the chapter, it was not just saying the Haftorah—what trop [symbols indicating how a phrase should be chanted]—but an outpouring of soul in a prayer with true feeling.

With a unique Hasidish tune, full of heartfelt sweetness, Reb Leibele expounded on each phrase and each word of the phrase. Often he sang with a high voice but when he came to a certain passage, he cried so hard that he was like a child who cried so hard he couldn't catch his breath. The audience was disturbed and frightened. Someone even screamed. “Water.” But the Rabbi gave a deep sigh and went on with the Haftorah. Saying the Haftorah took three quarters of an hour. He was soaked from sweat and tears. Apparently all his strength was drained: and with all his might he leaned on the Gabbai and dragged himself back to his room. The audience, the true Hasidim, were elevated: they smacked their lips, winded their eyes, oohed and aahed.

The entire Shabbos they did not set a prepared table. Reb Leibele ate his meals in his room. Later, he recited Torah again—a deep one as the cognoscenti said. He first came and visited with the audience at night. At a long, prepared table, decked out with all kinds of delicacies, whiskey and wine, the leaders of our town sat.

There were known Hasidim learned Jews, wealthy men, important businessmen and pious people as well as the ordinary shul goers.

When the Gabbai appeared and immediately behind him Reb Leibele, everyone stood up and started to sing the “Lubavitchers' new tune.” And with what enthusiasm they sang. they forgot about everything! They forgot about their debts and suffering, their worrying about earning a living—even about the Diaspora—it seems they forgot everything and delved into the tune. Their faces radiant with joy. The inner joy was reflected in their eyes and heard in their voices.

But suddenly the singing stopped. A police officer and a pair of soldiers with guns appeared at the door. The entire group of Jews was like frozen. Many faces turned white from fear and they cringed from anguish and pain. The gevir [rich man] Lozinsky went over to the uninvited guests, talked to the police officer, gave them some cognac and food and got rid of them. Lozinsky smiled, telling that the police officer, passing by, wanted to know what the celebration was? And now he knows—he became richer with a 5 ruble note.

The previous tune was no longer sung. They tried—but it wouldn't come. The attempted, tried other tunes, sang bim-bam, snapped their fingers, but it wasn't the same. The earlier mood was gone Reb Leibele talked about all sorts of matters about the Diaspora and the soul, told wonderful stories about his father and grandfather, the old Rabbi Reb Schneur-Zalman. The crowd listened intently with open mouths. They applauded but the shadow of the police, many his name be obliterated, hung like a black cloud over the hall and over all those assembled. They sat until quite late, they ate and drank. Some Hasidim snatched scraps form the plates that were being taken away from the Rabbi Leibele, but only a few and half embarrassed.

The entire week that Reb Leibele was with us, was spent in saying Torah and in singing, except what he collected from contributions.

[Page 241]

C. Nicholas I Visits Bobruisk^[3]
(From My Father's Telling)

When I saw with my own eyes the wildness and cruelty of Nicholas, may his name be obliterated! The terror of the Jews once came to us in Bobruisk for a big maneuver. The black hear knew him, they said, that several corps assembled in the barracks. It was a beautiful summer Shabbos, still warm, a real beauty. The whole town, everyone, Jews and Gentiles, went to the barracks to see the Czar and observe the maneuver. The area where the maneuver was to be was roped off. We stood for hours and watched how they fired the cannon; how horses jumped over mounds and over deep holes; soldiers ran, threw themselves on the ground and fired guns. There were many interesting events. But who can remember them. It became dusk. The maneuvers were apparently over. The Czar, those knowing said, was impressed. The maneuvers were carried out. He rubbed his hands together and said, “Good men, very good, excellent!” And everyone shouted “Hoorah!”

Father stopped there. Tears choked him. He reddened like fire, his whole face flamed, and banging on the table until all the dishes shook he screamed:

Believe me. I swear, if I would have had a pistol or a gun, I would have shot him like a mad dog, I would have been right, before my people and before G-d…!

[Page 242]

D. Fires^[4]

Fires were nothing new for us. Every Monday and Thursday they occurred, over the stove, as if to spite us, in summer and in the middle of the night, when it was so delicious to sleep and there were no dreams of the Rabbi or cheder. It made no difference where the fire was, it could have been in another part of town, the first thing one did was wake the children, dress them and quickly pack the bags. The children crying, faces pale, things are falling, we are rushing, the poverty sticks and we harm ourselves more than the fire. It happened that a stall burned and the owners lost good merchandise, furniture. Our people were frightened. Fires were a plague. A town of wooden houses we were afraid because of the fortress. If one house caught fire, others would quickly catch as well especially in summer, when the roofs were dry as bone. And if there were a wind, it was especially dangerous. Quarter after quarter would go up in flames. The market, the schools, half the town would disappear in an hour or two in a fire. We even had a “Firefighting Brigade” but it consisted of six old nags harnessed to six little wagons. On each was a dried barrel and a thin old hunched fireman would have to run a verst or two to the Bobruike for water. In the meantime the whole town could burn. Not seldom did this happen, that the water ran out of the barrel, before it reached the fire. The nags received plenty of lashes, but they pretended not to notice and barely moved. The firemen screamed, “Whoa, Whoa”. The open barrel of water shook and water pilled, but it didn't put out the fire. and a town of Jews were ruined.

The screams and cries of the children, the moaning and wailing of the women, the groaning of the men mixed in the air with the crackling of the fire, with the thuds of the falling balconies, with the shattering of glass and porcelain utensils, the flames and thick smoke, like wild animals, surrounded and threatened the bystanders with death. The fathers ran around as though poisoned, the mothers carried the children, others held on to their aprons and tore the hair from their head. One runs around bewildered and asks everyone, what date is today? And when he finds out, he falls in a faint—just yesterday his insurance on both houses and store, furniture's, was over and he is left a pauper.

The next day, the remaining chimneys like tombstones, bare witness. They came to search in the ruins, perhaps something remained whole and the women cried so bitterly, as if at the grave of their fathers. There was immediately a shortage of food, but a dispatch to Minsk would soon bring help.

For long weeks, and often months, Jewish merchants would wander in the military fields, eating dry food, sleeping on the bundles of bedclothes, that they snatched and not undress or change their clothes.

Shabbos, they said their prayers then the lucky ones cooked and brought their cholent there. They prepared enough for all. One time another disaster happened… The eruv [a ritual enclosure around the community] broke on Shabbos and the wives, boys and girls, who carried pots to the people, were stranded. But our clever rabbi allowed us to bring the food to the hungry and lifted the Shabbos restriction.

Slowly, slowly the community recovers. Some earlier, some later and a new town gets built up. The poor erect shacks, stoves, and stalls. The rich build ever nicer houses than before. and life resumes in its old patterns. One begins to catch ones breath, to establish oneself again—but, aha, another fire. Again cries, troubles, despair and sadness.

Years and years it went like that. The first disaster was not forgotten and already there was a new and bigger one until—until Jewish youngsters founded a volunteer fire department.

Hundreds of them would come running by day or by night, with axes and buckets and they would work quickly. Aside from that, there was a special division that would pack the belongings of the nearby houses and stores, like experienced people, and drag the furniture upstairs, not allowing the dwelling should catch fire.

But that was many years later, when I too participated in the department. When I went to Cheder, there was no volunteer fire department and there were many fires.

[Page 244]

E. Be With Reasonable People^[5]

A Jewish wedding, when I was a cheder boy, was the greatest event, not only for the couple, but for the parents. It was a topic to talk about for years and years, to relate and remember. For the ordinary man, this joy was difficult, like crossing an ocean. He wanted to make the right match, give a dowry and a wardrobe, like everyone else, and make a wedding supper that one would not be ashamed of. One had to hold fast for other reasons: It shouldn't harm one's credit for other matches…others were really extravagant and were left impoverished, almost flattened, as long as they put on a beautiful wedding! They mortgaged houses, stores, borrowed from usurers, pinched one's cheeks as long as the paint should remain.

It often happened, that after an outstanding wedding the important host, took money from orphans and widows and he received more curses than blessings for the wedding.

Not seldom, it would happen that a son of Torah, a respected person would be unable to bear the shame and would die. The gall would burst and he would pay with his life!

Lineage, honor, “being equal” was more important in the dough from which Jewish life, in my time in our town, was kneaded. At weddings, circumcisions, in shul, at charitable affairs when a young boy was brought to cheder—each time only one idea was remembered to show oneself off!

To dress oneself—to go out among people—one allowed oneself to spend one's last groschen [a coin of low value]. Dare not ones enemies rejoice! Alone at home, when no one saw, one scrimped and managed with whatever…no white bread or roll was seen from Shabbos to Shabbos. A thin dish of groats, a potato, a cucumber with bread, a bit of sour cream and herring—were the main delicacies in even respectable homes, and it is no wonder that our Litvish [Lithuanian] Jews were pale, thin, emaciated—indeed, starved!

When it came to a draft, it was trouble. There was simply no one to draft. The rich and healthy were unable to be drafted and the poor—they lied. They are not suitable, the doctors would say.

[Page 245]

F. The Nabor [Draft]^[6]

Opposite our house was the place where young men were held until they were sent off to the military service. Soon after Succoth, they would begin the snatchings and the captured ones were held in the Sbornia until they were sent off to the military, around the New Year. The work of the community was not to improve the candidates, they should be fit for soldiering, but this seldom worked. A poor tailor-boy, emaciated, a water carriers lad, an exhausted yeshiva boy, such types surely couldn't be made ready.

For entire days they recited psalms, little by little they fasted, they cried and moaned and said prayers, that the one above should have pity and release them from the Gentile hands. The community was unable to prevent Jews from fasting and crying in such a time of trouble! So the military service was terrible for the community and the candidates—who had much to tell about for many years—they remained deathly sick from their diet here.

The community would have to ransom them or supply other boys who would sell themselves for a few hundred rubles and go and serve. They were called okontikes. They would stuff themselves with the best, call for the musicians, dance and have a wild time. One time a poor boy sold himself as an okontike. When they asked him before the enlistments, as was the fashion, what he wanted, he cried out with great ecstasy: forty kopitkes [kopeks] worth of beans and bread.

The request from this okontik remained in the town as a saying for generations.

[Page 245]

G. The Marriage Brokers^[7]

We had quite a few matchmakers. One didn't have to invest any capital in this business, one didn't have to risk much (except perhaps with two young lives—as they were strangers), no great faith, except talking, was needed, so there were many practitioners.

Aside from a few percent of professionals, for whom match-making is perhaps the only means of livelihood, whatever teacher, caretakers, torah reader or just any idler added match-making to his long list of occupations.

Too successful, it is understood, the match-makers did not become, because for each match four or five of them attached themselves, as one does to Challah, barely waiting for the blessing, but each had a crumb of a few kopikeh. First they awaited schnapps and something to eat to snatch a good meal and a kopeks.

The boys and girls knew full well that the money was wasted. But how can you not get involved with matchmakers when it's time to make a match. Even a cat can cross your plans. And one must allow oneself to be found because otherwise you could remain single.

About the matchmaking, there would be curious tales. About one prospective father-in-law. it is told that he came to a nouveau riche man to discuss a match for his daughter. When the other learned to whom he was speaking about a match he was astounded:

—“What do you mean, do you think I talk about matches with just anyone?”

—“Get out of my house, you arrogant fellow!”

—“Now, I first see what an even match it is . Letter for letter, word for word, my other in-law screamed at me in the same manner and drove me from the house….”

But Shepsel, the matchmaker was extraordinary. They called him “Shepsel the land-shadchan” [matchmaker]. He didn't go to just anyone, with ordinary people he didn't occupy himself, but he made matches between the important and the rich. He arranged matches for people from far away, from Mohilev, Minsk and Vilna. It also happened that he even went as far as Warsaw. Shepsel soon became well known: he was clever and he conducted his affairs in a business-like manner. He had a book, which he arranged alphabetically, and he listed the names of the towns and the prospects each in their proper place. He had a pointed and accurate description of the status of people, their pedigree, the dowry and board and he made his own account of the virtues and the faults of the brides and grooms

Shepsel's custom was to first meet with the groom or bride before he made the introduction. He had a good sense to find who was suited to whom.

Shepsel was careful about telling too man lies or exaggerating and so people had respect and trust in him.

[Page 246]

H. The Pogroms of 1881^[8]

Suddenly, on the first of March 1881, the new arrived that the Nihilists killed the Czar!

All the people trembled, like an earthquake had struck. Both Gentiles and Jews got nervous. In the stores, in the shuls, in the baths and in the churches they talked about this. The Gentiles almost all bewailed the great loss. Among the Jews there were just a small number of free-thinkers, my father, for example, who ate their hearts out over this tragedy…. But for the most part, the Jewish people were troubled and the reason was that they were afraid that the new Czar would be even worse.

Our few young people were full of joy, but they ran around, like poisoned, one to the other asking; what should we do, how can we help? And not knowing how, that is how it remained.

But soon afterward. born on dark wings came the sorrowful news of the first pogrom in Kiev!

Jews were disheartened by the frightening news. They let down their heads and walked around town with anguished hearts and asked themselves: “From where will help come?”

The Gentiles and especially those who dislike Jews, held their heads high and with looks, taunted the Jews—their neighbors with whom they had until now lived in a friendly manner.

In Bobroisk, where one then knew little of the outside world, in town, where everything belonged to Jews, with their Jewish customs and ways, where Shabbos one never saw a living person in the street, except when Jews were going to and from shul. And perhaps if a foolish Gentile brought a wagon load of wood to sell, he either had to bring it back or wait around until night and then ask a Jew whom he knew to buy it from him for a very cheap price: In Bobroisk, where the biggest market day was Sunday, and he Gentile churches were empty, when on even a festival—a holiday in the Czar's family—they had only half the door of the store closed, like half a holiday—and that only for a short while.

And naturally, knowing that he would receive a present for the New Year or another holiday, he never not chatted or was not buddy-buddy with the Jews—even in Bobroisk, we then felt that Jews are in the Diaspora—and the clanging of the pogroms threw a trembling, bitter fear and covered us with a black mood with a fright—that previously it would have been hard to imagine.

But the young people were the first to recover. They began quietly discussing, organizing a “Samaaborone”—a self-defense group—so that if there was a pogrom they could oppose them.

How our “Samaaborone” would have ended, not having any ammunition but their then fingers, it's not hard to find….But it was some consolation for them. The preparations along gave them a big of courage and eh older people believed in our strength and calmed down a bit.

Footnotes

1. Amol Iz Gevein [Once Upon a Time], New York, 1926, pages 45-63 Return
2. ibid, pages 109-117 Return
3. ibid, pages 167-169 Return
4. ibid, pages 188-191 Return
5. ibid, pages 243-244 Return
6. ibid, pages 244-245 Return
7. ibid, pages 300-302 Return
8. ibid, pages 371-3722 Return

[Page 247]

I remember very well that day when my father carried me in his arms, wrapped in his tallit, and brought me to Reb Avrehmel Slutsker's cheder, when I was four and a half years old. My father sat me down on the bench, which was next to the table, and the Rabbi spread before me the “Alef-Beit” letters and began to show me the shape of the letters and read their names in my ear, and for each letter that I read after him correctly, an “angel” from above threw over my head small, honeyed coins and small honey cookies, which I grabbed and put in my pocket. I learned in the cheder of this melamed for a whole year. There were about thirty of us there, and the Rabbi studied with each one separately. I studied every day for about ten minutes before lunch and ten minutes after lunch, and the rest of the time we played in the yard with commotion and noise, and in the winter, we played in the cheder whispering and insinuating. Rabbi Avrehmel was a Slutsky opponent, cold as frost and always sad. He never got angry or agitated, but also, he showed us no signs of affection. Our cheeks remained the whole year without slaps and without petting. He did his work with faith and I learned to speak “Hebrew” properly. I didn't know the “Mil'el” and the “Milra” stresses, but I pronounced complete words and I didn't rush or swallow any of them, and I could already pray from the siddur like an old and regular Jew.

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From this cheder I moved to the cheder of Rabbi David Umwald, who was the complete opposite of the previous Rabbi. He was always happy and kind-hearted. He treated his students with open love, and we loved him too and went to his cheder willingly. I studied there for two years. During the first semester (zman), he began to teach us the Pentateuch; during the second semester, he added Rashi to it, except for the more serious verses in it and those that included grammar. During the third semester, he added the first prophets to them, and during the fourth semester, he added the Gemara to them. And so, there were four classes in the cheder. But the Rabbi didn't teach each class on its own, but arranged the studies in a practical and useful way. During the first semester, in which I was in the first class, I studied the Pentateuch every day for two hours, one before lunch and one after lunch. The other six hours in which I was staying in the cheder, I played with my classmates in the yard or at home. During the second semester, in which I was in the second class, I studied two hours of Pentateuch and two hours of Rashi per day, the Pentateuch was studied with the first class, in order “to repeat the first ones”, as the Rabbi used to say. And so, I studied at that semester four hours a day and I played for four hours. During the third semester, in which I was in the third class, I studied the first prophets for two hours a day, and I also studied Rashi with the second class and the Pentateuch with the first class. And so, I studied already six hours a day and played for two hours a day. And during the fourth semester, in which I already studied in the fourth class, I studied two hours of Gemara per day and I also studied with the first, second and third classes their lessons. During this semester, I studied during the entire hours I was in the cheder. Besides that, before Purim, the Rabbi studied with us the Megillat - Esther, before Passover, part of the Haggadah, before Shavuot, the Megillat Ruth, and on the evening of Tisha B'av, he would tell us in his pleasant voice full of tears the legend of destruction, and our eyes flowed with warm tears. In the month of Elul, the Rabbi would interpret for us the prayers of the “days of Awe” and also the prayers of Shabbat and the holidays.

When I started, at the age of seven, to learn Gemara, we started with “Lekach Tov” (a good lesson) - a king of a Gemara for beginners, and then we moved on to the chapter: “Elu Metziot” (which findings). Once the Rabbi “came to our house on Shabbat to test me in the presence of my father my progress in the studying of the Gemara. He opened the subject of “Yeush shelo mida'at” (unconscious despair) and ordered me to say it. I said the subject in a loud voice and in the well-known tune, and with complete confident, I explained it in its entirety without any obstacle or mistake. There was no end to my parents' joy. And on that Purim, when they brought the Mishloach manot from the Rabbi to my father, my father placed on the Rabbi's bowl not only fruits and delicacies, but also a three-ruble bill.

In the two years that I studied in Rabbi David's cheder, I finished the entire Pentateuch, Rashi and all the first prophets and knew them well, and unwillingly I left the room and this kind teacher, and unwillingly my father sent me to the cheder of Rabbi Shalom Bar, who was well known as a very diligent in his studies. This melamed and his cheder did not leave any impression on me. I only remember that he had severe tuberculosis and he was terribly strict, and most of the time he was sick and during the second or third semester after my entrance to his cheder, he also passed away, and his uncle, Rabbi Haim Leib, replaced him, so that he could help the family of the deceased as well, and “out of mercy” - my father left me in the cheder for another two or three semesters. During the time I studied in this cheder, Dr. Piartog came in once to visit one of the patients in the house. He sat at our table to write the medicinal drug. He happened to sit next to me and he asked me: What “sidra” today? I was childish and I dared to say: “And do you know?” The doctor lowered his eyes and delved into his writing. When he left, the Rabbi scolded me for my insolence and rudeness. I knew the reprimand was justified and I regrated deeply for having done this evil deed. And many years later, when I met with this distinguished doctor, I felt guilty and tried to express respect for him. When I had to leave this cheder, my father jumped strangely, the reason for which I still don't know to this day. From this cheder, in which I studied a lot of Gemara, my father sent me to the cheder of a Rabbi Menkel, where they studied only the Bible, without any mention of Gemara. He was considered one of the best melamedim of these studies, and in his “cheder” the sons of the city's wealthy studied. Apparently, my father realized the wrong decision he had made, and I studied in this cheder only one semester, in which I went through the book of Isaiah with the commentary. And my father went from one edge to the other and he sent me to the cheder of Rabbi Baruch Meir Kendel's, where they studied only Gemara, without any mention of the Bible. I was a ten-year-old boy at the time.

Rabbi Baruch was the greatest Gemara melamed in the city. He accepted only six, seven students into his cheder, and made sure that all of them were talented and it is certain

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they will succeed in their studies; And he also examined that the students' knowledge of Gemara would be equal and he would only deal with one class. But he was very angry and, in his anger, he did not know how to halt himself. When he sat down at the table to study with us, he held his thick stick in his hand, and in the corner of his mouth he pinched his pipe, and when he was angry, he hit with the stick along the table and gritted his teeth and hissed out of his mouth: “Speak up! Speak up! Speak up!” (Te garadt! Te garadt! Te garadt!). He threw at his disciples not only his bitterness and anger, but also his boots, which he would take off over his feet in the summer days, and also nails, and everything that was in his reach at that time. And if he did not hit us, it was really a miracle. Once I was also injured during his anger.

The cheders that I studied in were not in the melamedim's apartments, but were rented rooms in other houses. Most of them were tall, spacious and clean, with a few windows. Such was also our last cheder. The Rabbi had a weak heart, that's what the rebbetzin always told us about him, and she would bring him food and drink from her house twice a day. Before noon, she would always bring to the cheder a small pot full of boiled potatoes with a small bowl half full of olive oil to dip the potatoes in - a proven remedy, according to her, to his weak heart. In the evening, she would bring him a kettle made of clay full of hot tea and cookies and the Rabbi would eat them to strengthen his weak heart. Once I was in a hurry to leave the cheder, and when I opened the door to the other room, I collided with the rebbetzin who was carrying the hot kettle in her hands, and as a result, the kettle fell from her hand and broke, and she was burned from the hot tea. A great uproar arose in the house. When the uproar subsided, we sat in our seats and the interrupted study began. The Rabbi sat across the table, and along each side of the table sat three students, and I, the seventh, also sat across the table in front of Rabbi. When I sat down in my place, I saw that the Rabbi's eyes gazed at me with furious and anger, and my heart prophesied that something bad is about to happen to me, and therefore I did not take my eyes off him. I was completely upset by the incident that happened and I could not pay attention properly to the study and I failed at something. And suddenly the Rabbi threw one of his heavy boots right in my face. I managed to tilt my head a little to the side, and the boot hit my shoulder, and I felt the pain of the hard blow for many days after that, but I did not tell the story in our house, because “things that happen in the cheder must not be revealed” …

Thus, we sat and studied for ten hours a day under angry looks, the gnashing of teeth and the knocking of the stick, and we were all lively children, alert and playful, and suppressed the laughter of our happiness all day long as true “heroes”. Under such an atmosphere, immediately as we left the cheder at eight in the evening to go home, all our happiness and joy burst out forcefully, especially in the winter evenings. At that time, the students also came out of other cheders, and we were divided into two camps, and a huge battle broke out between us. Snowballs flew everywhere and hit the heads, walls and window shutters. The Rabbi would come out of the cheder after us. He would hear our Joyful cheers but he pretended that he didn't see us and went to his house. What we did outside his cheder didn't concern him at all. The battle was most interesting in the dark evenings, when the moon was not visible in the sky. In the streets of the city at that time there was not a single lantern shining and all the window shutters were closed, and through them not a single line of light penetrated from the houses outside and the street was completely dark. Each of us had a lantern in his hand, either a glass lantern or a paper lantern, which was made of circular folds and anointed with oil, so that it would shine more brightly, and in the battle between us each aimed to hit the enemy's lantern with his snowball. And if someone managed to break a glass lantern or set fire to a paper lantern, the joy of the winners broke all limits. After that we made “peace” and we walked together with songs and music until the streets cheered towards us…

Original footnote:

1. Reb Itzhak Nisenbaum, “Aley Khaldi” (Warsaw 5687), pages 8-14. Return

[Page 250]

The city of Bobruisk, where I worked as a volunteer in the army, was no stranger to me. I visited it many times with my father, who had business in the city. We even had relatives in Bobruisk, the family of the military contractor Mendel Vygotsky, a well-established and respectable family house, large and multi- branched. This Vygotsky provided wood and other supply needs for the Bobruisk fortress and the army, and he had influence in the city's military institutions. The assistants of M. Vygotsky had offered me several times before to use their connections with the military authorities. They advised me, which regiment to choose from the four regiments stationed in the Bobruisk fortress. I decided in favor of the One Hundred and Seventeenth Yaroslavl Infantry Regiment, Sixth Gunda, headed by the regiment's chief Maksimov.

If I remember correctly, I was the first volunteer in the Bobruisk army. Even the young men from Israel volunteering for the army were subject to a limit in their number: a maximum of two young men in one battalion. A volunteer who was not a Jew was respected by the public as a soldier of the highest class. He was considered a semi-officer. Whereas the Jew could not under any circumstances rise to the rank of officer, not even to the rank of a feldfabel (sergeant), and only rarely would he rise to the rank of deputy officer. However, that was the thing that gave the young volunteer a special value and grace among the Jewish public. Among the Jewish public, such a volunteer would serve as a major light, in terms of a live protest against the government and its orders. “Let everyone in the world see and know that we are fulfilling our duty. Here is an officer by nature walks among us, but the government does not want to admit it.” As a volunteer, I was endowed, as mentioned, with special rights. I did not have to live in the barracks together with all the other soldiers. The down side was that I had to dress in soldier's clothes and live at my own expense. I lived in Bobruisk, and the barracks were outside the city, inside the fortress. I had to come to work every day early in the morning, at six o'clock. Any lateness resulted a severe punishment on its part. Regularly, they would address the volunteer in a title of honor that was more than a gentleman and less than the title of an officer. And my instructor, my uncle, who was a deputy officer, was the one who taught me first how to hold the rifle and how to use it, how to stand upright without moving and what are the rules of greeting and addressing the officers with the high and low ranks. Within few days I acquired this skill. And my guides as well as the deputy officer were proud of me. And again, it was for a good reason: I was the only one in my Gunda, among hundreds of soldiers, who graduated high school. All the other soldiers were peasants and most of them were from Inner Russia, from the district of Penza, and again it was not necessary to understand higher mathematics in order to surpass everyone else in education. All my colleagues at work were never among the students of any school, and therefore, anyone who passed the first classes of a primary school was considered to have an education and stood out from all his friends.

I read a lot about the peasant from Great Russia and I was sure that I would meet simple, rude and ignorant people here in the barracks. I knew that ninety percent of the people of Russia could not read or write. And yet I was surprised when I met these people face to face for the first time, people that everything was new to them. of Genesis in every way, people who had not experienced any culture. The civilization of the new era did not influence them. Even our peasant, of White Russia, had a low level of education and civilization, but compared to his brother in Penza he was considered as a member of a refined modern culture. There is no exaggeration in the following story, that for whole weeks we had to help them memorize where their right side was and where their left side was. And many of them who could not grasp in their minds the concepts “right” and “left”.

It took many weeks until they knew the names of the different parts of the rifle and the rest of their weapons. However, the main problem is memorizing the theoretical concepts that all soldiers must recognize was that in addition, the Russian soldier had to know the names and titles of the members of the Russian royal family. Under no circumstances could our soldiers remember the names of the whole royal family: it was a large family,

[Page 251]

with many members. The simplest duties, such as this duty of saluting, of changing the shifts, of standing guard - all these were extremely complicated for the perception of the ordinary soldiers. The feldfabel, who had to teach them this doctrine, would reach the point of a furious rage: streams of sweat washed down his face, he would beat them with more and more blows and pinches. And the new soldiers were sitting with blunt faces, immersed in stupidity, helpless, praying silently in their hearts that God would put an end to this endless hour of study and instruction …

One of the officers memorized with these soldiers a chapter every day, which was repeated over and over without any change or addition: Questions followed by answers.

The officer: “Who is a soldier?”

The soldiers: “A soldier is the one who protects the homeland from external enemies and internal enemies.”

The officer: “Who is an external enemy?”

The soldiers: “The Turks, the Bashibuzuks.”

The officer: “Who is the internal enemy?”

The soldiers: “The socialists.”

They said that many of the officers would add to the last answer: “and the Jews.” But I have never heard this addition myself.

In the second month of my work in the army, I was appointed a teacher of my Gunda. I have to admit: this appointment did not bring great joy to my heart. The feldfable ordered me to treat them with great severity and hardness. Remember, said feldfabel to me, that it is not small children you must teach, but grown men, and in addition peasants from Penza, who are famous all over the world for their stupid minds, in which no idea in the world can enter unless it is brought in by beatings and whippings. The feldfabel obliged one of the soldiers to inform him during the first weeks of our studies, lest I should treat them gently and softly. I never raised a hand against one of the soldiers. I simply could not under any circumstances raise a hand against a person. Even so, feldfabel forgave me my softness, as a few days later, it was revealed that although I did not beat my students, they succeeded more than the students of my friends, who beat them with many blows. Even at the beginning of my teaching, I realized that I was quick to pass judgment on their lack of talent from a first worrying impression. They were indeed great ignoramuses; Their thoughts were primitive and narrow thoughts, but through this rigid shell of primitiveness, I often discovered a sharp mind, though a wild mind, and a strong childish desire to learn, to know, to understand. The brutal rudeness of the officers, and especially of the feldfabels, only aroused in them the stubbornness, the racial reluctance of the villagers. And as a response to these words of insults and the blows, they were withdrawn into themselves. They were silent as if they were saying: “Do you want to teach us? We are on strike! You are bothering us. We won't make your job easy for you.” And I was a stranger to these soldiers and I would approach them with the manners of a stranger. They immediately felt that I did not mean to dominate them. I had no slight intention to use improperly the higher rank I had. And they were grateful for that and treated me with courtesy and friendliness. They were not be afraid to come to me with questions and difficulties, and I tried as much as I could to answer their questions and solve their difficulties in their simple language.

Furthermore, sometimes I would visit my students of Penza even in my spare time. At that time, they told me about their lives in their homeland and their eyes lit up with the light of longing and yearnings as they spoke about their fields and forests, about their relatives and their loved ones. This doctrine that we memorized with them day by day, little by little, that here they were made the defenders of the homeland against the Turks, the Bashibuzuks and the socialists, could in no way remove from their hearts their deep longing for their village, their district and their soil. They counted the passing days, bringing them closer to their return to their village, to their home. Some used to cut thin cuts in their stiff mattress, one cut for each week: so and so weeks have already passed. Many of them had never seen a Jew and could not draw one for themselves, what it looks like. I was the first Jew that some of the soldiers knew him closely. With their innocent childhood, they told me how they memorized the doctrine of hatred for Israel every day. As to them, the Jew was a kind of a legendary creature, a kind of dark figure from a story, a creature of the night, that anyone must beware of him and to run away from him. However, this old legend already struck deep roots. And when they encountered a Jew who did not fit the framework of the legend, they saw it as a contradiction not to the legend, but of the Jew standing before them.

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This human type of Great Russia, peasant Russia, took a firm hold of my heart, but, of course, I conducted my conversations with them very carefully. In many things which interested me the most and I wanted to ask about them with great interest, I was not even allowed to touch, and the barracks were not a suitable place for that. I was especially careful about the questions of religion and the question of their patriotism. And a certain and definite impression I was impressed by them: before me stood a human type that may be like material in the hand of the creator - get up and knead the dough as you wish. However, the leaven that was put in this dough by the government was also mixed with deadly drugs.

There has already been talk of the head of the battalion Maksimov, the head of the sixth Gunda. When he stood in the training field, he behaved strictly and carefully. But everyone knew: it was just a false impression. Everyone knew that Maksimov had never hurt a soldier. They also knew that the head of the battalion Maksimov did not drink alcohol, and an officer who did not drink regularly was considered very rare. But the wonderful thing about him was that the head of the battalion Maksimov was not anti-Semitic. He never uttered the nickname “Z'hid”, a derogatory nickname in the Russian language for a Jew. He treated the Jewish soldiers in his Gunda with great friendliness, which surprised the people. A Jew, who was hurt by the excessive rudeness of the deputy officer or the feldfabel, knew that he had someone who would make justice for him - Maksimov. In short, Maksimov was an enigma in the eyes of the officers: he would not beat the soldiers, did not drink alcohol, and would not insult Israel. Therefore, they called him: “Maksimov, a half-Jew”, and this nickname suited his exterior no less than his interior, for although his facial features were not distinctly Jewish, they were more like the facial features of a Jew than a Russian.

Maksimov was very friendly towards me. Things came to such an extent that he did not hesitate to tell feldfabel in my position, that he should consider me as a soldier with special privileges and therefore would not assign me extremely difficult jobs. I immediately felt that in this friendship of Maksimov, something wonderful and most internal was cast in it. Something that does not arise from the very relationship between the soldier and the officer, but a different, more general purpose in the matter. And this feeling of mine did not deceive me. However, I did not reveal this feeling even by a hint in my conduct. Even now, I fulfilled my duties to all their details. I performed my work very diligently, as always. I didn't want to take advantage of my friendship with my commander.

Maksimov's friendship with me gradually turned into a kind of deep friendship. He invited me into his house and introduced me to his family. I felt in my soul that I was facing a secret, the discovery of which was getting closer and closer. I often diverted our conversation towards the Jews and complained about the persecutions of the people of Israel. Maksimov would always express his participation in our sorrow and would always try to comfort us: be patient, things will change in the future. Maybe the savior will appear again soon! And I tried in various ways to open Maximov's heart more and more. I wanted him to reveal his secret to me willingly. His secret became more and more clear to me from his conduct with me, from the words of consolation that he preached to me. When his mouth uttered words of comfort, I felt in his voice that he was comforting not only me but also himself, as if we were brothers in sorrow and suffering. I was certain that there was something Jewish about Maximov, but I did not know if he was a converted Jew who had been converted by his ancestors or if he was the son of a “abductee” Jew. It was not out of mere curiosity that I wanted to uncover the secret of this man's past. My interest stemmed from a deeper source than this: this man carried a wounded heart in his chest, and this heart is perhaps like my heart, of the same blood and sharing the same fate. And so, I became more and more claimant in our conversations.

Once, I diverted our conversation from the general discussion about the persecution of the Jews to the history of the “abductees”, to the great victims of Jewish children during the time of darkness and malice of Nicholas I. And so, I witnessed the spectacle that I will never forget him from my heart. It was like the spectacle of Yosef's revelation to his brothers. Suddenly, Maksimov hugged me and kissed me, and revealed his secret to me. He was not one of the abductees, but his father was. After his father accepted Christianity “of his own free will”, he rose to a high position in the country. A few days before his death he called his son and revealed to him his will: that he will love all his days the people of Israel. Battalion Chief Maksimov was born as a Christian. His father was a converted Jew and his mother was born Christian. He knew nothing about Judaism, but he kept his father's will all his life and fulfilled his father's commandment according to his own way. His father's will was that he will love the people of Israel. He could not express his affection to the entire people of Israel because there are already some suspicions about him.

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After all, even now people insulted him without knowing at all about his origin and called him “Maksimov, a half-Jew”. And therefore, of all his Jewish soldiers, he singled out only one among them, and expressed all his affection for the people of Israel towards him. When Maksimov finished his story, he added: “How happy I am, that God privileged me to have a Jewish soldier “with rights”, whom I may bring openly into my house.” He asked me to keep his secret with me. He was not ashamed of his origin, but the memory of his father was sacred to him, and he didn't want that people will talk about him. The friendship between me and Maksimov grew and deepened. Our ancestors bound and connected us forever.

Later I found out that there were two more “abductees” in our battalion: Both officers were of a high rank and treated the Jewish soldiers with affection and friendship. In contrast to these, there were two more converted officers in the battalion, who converted their religion to Christianity on their own will, and they treated the Jewish soldiers more cruelly than their fellow Christians. And this was the difference between those who were converted since their childhood, without their knowledge or willing about it, and those who converted their religion on their own will. The former wreak deep tragedy in their hearts and arouse affection and participation in our hearts, while the latter are the symbol of betrayal and indictment and should be despised.

One of the converted of their own will was called Ace. For several years he was a student of the teacher's seminary in Vilna. When he once failed the exams, he converted his religion and entered a military school. Ace was a typical converted of his own will. He was full of bitterness about himself, about his origin, which his comrades in the battalion would allude to in explicit allusions. He would pour out his anger on the Jews who were subject to him. The word “Z'hid” was regularly said by him when he spoke with the Jewish soldiers and he would not miss any opportunity whatsoever to hurt their Jewish feelings. He wanted to satisfy his dark urges for revenge for his despicableness and he yearned for to subside the feeling of betrayal by using a great degree of cruelty.

Most of the Jewish soldiers would not eat at the same table as the Christian soldiers. The Jewish community in Bobruisk held a special kosher kitchen for the Jewish soldiers. The government allowed it because it believed that the fear of God is good for a soldier and brings him closer to discipline and authority. The converted Jew Ace led a world war in the kosher kitchen. He tried to prove that there was danger in kosher foods as they associated the Jews with their religion, the religion of Israel, which is not suitable for a good soldier. And when he failed in this war, he poured out his anger on the Jewish soldier, in particular. Once he ordered a Russian soldier to forcibly feed a Jewish soldier with pork. And this soldier happened to be fearful and anxious, and the incident happened to him a week before his release from his army service, which lasted four years and eight months. In all his years of work in the army, he never tasted forbidden foods. Ace decided to cause this kosher soldier eat non-kosher food.

In particular, Ace have had enough of me. I was more educated than he was, and had the nerve to be proud of my Jewishness. He, the converted Jew, saw this as an insult aimed at him. However, it was not in his power to harm me, since any attempt to harm me during my mandatory work would have raised Maksimov against him. Therefore, he did everything he could to abuse me when he met me by chance in the city and especially during the hours I spent with young women from my acquaintances and friendships. He used to come to me with claims that I do not salute him according to the laws of salute and he would force me to repeat and salute several times one after another. Once, during a winter day, he found me in the company of young women as we skated across the ice. What did he do? He stopped me in the middle of skating and asked, if I have permission to do so from the head of the battalion. I had to answer: no. So, he ordered me to take off the skates and return to the barracks. During the act of taking off the skates, he was standing next to me, and was probably watching and waiting for me to ask him for permission to skate. But I didn't want to ask a converted Jew for a favor. I asked the young women to wait for me until I bring a certificate of permission to skate from the head of the battalion. When I returned, he saw me, but he could not stop me from skating, and only from time to time I noticed his furious glances at me.

Original footnote:

1. S. Levin, “Memoirs of My Life”, 12 (401 5696, pages 111-121) Return

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Bobruisk is one of the largest district cities in the region of Minsk. Two rabbis served as the heads of the rabbinate: the rabbi of the Chassidim, Rabbi Shmaria Noah Shearson, the grandson of Rabbi Mendeley of Lubavitch, owner of “Zemach Tzedek”, and the rabbi of the opponents, Rabbi Raphael Shapira, the son-in-law of the Netziv, head of the Volozhin yeshiva. The two rabbis and their communities lived in peace.

I found a holy soul, a pure heart and a noble character in Rabbi Raphael. He was moderate, comfortable and generous in all his virtues: his big and beautiful eyes shone with mercy and love. He was humble and beloved by all the strata of the people. The Chassidim also adored him. The educated and progressive youth respected him greatly. And yet he lived in a small and poor house, lived a life of poverty and studied the Torah, day and night.

In my childhood, being raised up in a pious opponent's home and in a city of opponents like Slutsk, I have heard a lot about the rabbis of the Chassidim who demand sermons in a hint and in secret according to the discipline of the Kabbalah, and the Chassidim swallowed every word without understanding a single letter, and I always said in my heart: when will I be privileged to hear such a sermon. And my wish was fulfilled on the Shabbat of Parashat Ki Tisa, in the year 5653 (1893).

With my educated friend, Reb Shmuel Alexandrov, I went on Shabbat in the early evening to the synagogue of the Chassidim to hear the sermon of Rabbi Shmaria Noach, who used to pray every Shabbat. The synagogue was full of Chassidim, some of them sitting, some of them standing, and all of them were waiting for his sermon. We also sat and waited.

In the twilight time, the last lines of the sun lightened up the faces of the Chassidim who were talking among themselves, arguing, all talking as one, and the noise in the space was like the noise of the waves of the sea. The darkness was getting darker, the noise was getting louder. In the middle of the synagogue were a large table and chair, also waiting for the Rabbi.

Darkness. We could not see each other's face; our patience was expiring. Suddenly, there was silence, light footsteps were heard, we didn't see anything, we only heard when he sat in his chair. We knew that he, may he live long life, arrived and that he was with us …

After the moments of silence, a voice was heard, not clear, but shrouded in mystery as a voice coming from a distance. We heard only these words: “Ki tisa et rosh bnei Israel” (for you will carry the head of the people of Israel). This short sentence was repeated several times in different sounds, he said up these words and their letters for a long time, weaving all kinds of things around them, tying all kinds of conjunctions from the Kabbalah, supreme and wonderful secrets, hidden clues. At this point he was elevated, in the seventh heaven, not far from the throne of honor and the retinue of heaven. We heard the opening of the Ark of the Covenant when he began to say “Koach Hatzimtzum” (the power of reduction) and the light of the Holy Shekinah was shed. He rose to infinity and often talked about the ten sefirot, the supreme person, father, the creation on a small …

Suddenly, the voice became silent. There was a complete silent among the listeners, a door opened quietly and closed. “Vehu rachum yechaper avon” (and he is merciful and will atone for iniquity) was heard from the darkness. A few more moments passed and then they lit up the candle and the Rabbi's face were not seen.

Where is the rabbi? We asked the Chassidim. He, may he live long life, does not pray with us, they answered us.

I gave fifteen speeches in Bobruisk and in all of them Rabbi Raphael was among the listeners, and after each speech he blessed me with the blessing of “Ishar Koach” (well done).

When I left Bobruisk, Rabbi Raphael accompanied me to the train station and blessed me with a strange blessing that is still carried out in me.

And so was his blessing:

-Go in peace, my friend, God will preserve you from wealth.
-What does our Rabbi mean? I asked him with amazement.
-Simply put, - replied Rabbi Raphael innocently - If you get rich, God forbid, you will not return to the cities and make your sermons, and we need you.

Not a Chassidic and not a Rabbi of Chassidics he was, but a Rabbi in Israel he was - and his blessing was carried out in me.

Original footnote:

1. Z. H. Masliansky, The Book of Memories, New York 1924, Chapter 22, pages 107-109. Return

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